The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland

by George Pattullo

  CHAPTER XLIII

  MOFFATT ONCE MORE

  Towards nightfall on a day in June the boss of the Anvil rode in toheadquarters from a tour of some water-holes that required patching. Hisson accompanied him, astride a mouse-colored bronco that, a monthbefore, neither Lafe nor myself would have suspected him capable ofhandling. There was nobody near the stables, which was unusual, but Mrs.Horne met them at the corral gate. She was very collected, but so whitethat she frightened Lafe.

  "Well," she said distinctly, "it's all over now. He's dead."

  Johnson had just stepped out of the saddle. Still holding his horse bythe cheek of the bridle, he said in amazement: "Ma'am?"

  "Yes," she repeated, "he's dead."

  Then she began to sway on her feet, and before Lafe could reach her,Mrs. Horne had fainted. With his son's help he bore her to the house.There he found everything in confusion. Two native women were paddingabout, wringing their hands and wailing for help, while Manuel kneltbeside a sofa in the dining-room and bathed Horne's face and foreheadwith water. Lafe gave Mrs. Horne into the care of these females and badethem sternly to be silent. He then turned his attention to his employer.

  In her distraction and first outbreak of grief, Mrs. Horne had been toohasty. The cowman was not dead. He had a bullet through his neck andanother in the region of the stomach, but he was still alive and Johnsondid not give up hope. Well he knew what a tough person this same Hornewas, and he calculated that his indomitable spirit would help nature topull him through. To Mrs. Horne, now revived and tearfully anxious to beof use, he said: "Pshaw, don't take on so, Miz Horne. It'll take more'ntwo bullets to kill the ol' man. How did it happen?"

  In a gush of words she began to tell him, but Manuel rose from the floorand interrupted. The Mexican was almost hysterical, but from the two ofthem Lafe was able to piece together a fairly accurate picture of whathad transpired.

  Headquarters had been deserted except for the owner and Manuel, who wasworking in the stables at the time, and the three women. Old man Hornewas dozing in a hammock, when a rider came to the corral and turned hishorse inside. Horne woke in time to perceive the stranger throw hissaddle on one of the Anvil horses. The cowman called out to him to knowwhat he meant by it, and getting no reply, descended from the verandaand hurried to the corral.

  Manuel was cleaning out the stallion's stall when he heard loud talkingin the corral. Hardly had he laid down his fork in order to go toascertain the cause of the disturbance, than there came two shots. Hereached the door of the stable in time to see a man ride off at fullspeed. In the corral he had found Mr. Horne lying unconscious, and heheaved him on to his back and carried him to the house; all alone he didit.

  In about half an hour the cowman opened his eyes.

  "Hello, Lafe," he said.

  The boss despatched his son to Badger to fetch Dr. Armstrong and himselfset to work to ease the cowman's pain. The wound in his neck gave Lafeno concern, but that in the stomach caused Horne acute agony and Lafefeared internal hemorrhages.

  "It was that skunk, Steve Moffatt," Horne told Lafe in a whisper. "He'scome back after all these years."

  "Don't talk," said Lafe.

  "I will talk," said the cowman. "I'm not going to die for a long whileyet."

  "What was the trouble about?"

  "I didn't know him at first, on account of he looks so much older. Andhe's grown a beard. He wanted a horse and I wouldn't give him one. Thenhe plugged me. Plugged me in cold blood, he did. Just as he did it hetold me that would square us for me and Floyd offering that reward wayback fifteen years ago."

  In the course of nine hours Lafe, Jr., returned with the doctor. Bythat time Mrs. Horne had taken to her bed and was almost as much in needof Armstrong's services as was her husband. He made a brief examinationand reported that the wounds were dangerous, but not necessarily fatal.The patient's advanced age was his greatest concern. Reassured on thispoint, Johnson and his son went to sleep.

  The cowman sent for his manager in early afternoon.

  "Lafe," he said, "I'm going to get all right. I've got enough nurseshere, and I want you to go get Steve Moffatt. He's always tried to giveme and you dirt, and I'm beginning to think that the Lord intended youto round him up. Take what money you need and go fetch him."

  "I'll get him," said the boss.

  "And, say," the cowman called after him, "when you catch him, bring himhere to me. Whether he's living or dead, bring him here to me. I want tosee Steve Moffatt for what he did yesterday."

  Lafe promised and went out. He found his son near the corral, repairinga cinch with a bit of twine.

  "Where're you going?" the boy asked.

  The boss paused in his walk and surveyed him critically for somemoments.

  "I'm going after a man I've hunted for sixteen years," he said.

  "Steve Moffatt?"

  "Steve Moffatt," his father replied. "How did you know? Him and me havebeen shooting each other up since we were old enough to carry a gun."

  Lafe, Jr., turned to his task of repairing the cinch again, and saidnothing more for a few minutes. His father was inside the corral, ropinga fresh mount.

  "You might catch me ol' Beanbelly, Dad," Lafe, Jr., cried to him.

  "What for?"

  "Why, you're going to take me along, ain't you? You're going to give mea chance at him, too, ain't you?"

  "You're damn whistlin' I am," said his father. "Come and get yourhorse."

  CHAPTER XLIV

  THE DUEL IN THE MALPAIS

  For twelve days Lafe and his son followed the trail of the outlaw.Sometimes they lost trace of him, but Moffatt could never refrain fromtrifling displays of bravado which betrayed his identity everywhere hemoved, so that Johnson was able to pick up his tracks without much lossof time. He was never more than three days behind Moffatt.

  Evidently foreseeing that the telegraph of the entire continent would beput in service to capture him, Moffatt did not attempt to get out of thecountry by train or by any of the frequented roads of travel. He kept tothe by-trails and the wildest regions. Instead of stealing over theBorder, he headed north. Lafe heard of him one day in a mountain hamlet;the next at the home of a nester, in a deep valley thirty miles distant.So with his son he followed him along the Border, up into New Mexico andacross it, over the San Andres Mountains and onward towards the Capitanrange.

  At the Bar W headquarters near Carrizozo he learned that a man like theone he sought had taken dinner there and had later ridden onward intothe Malpais. Accordingly Johnson and his son followed into these badlands.

  When they started, the sun was glaring ferociously from a pale blue skyand the dust of the flats rose like fine powder under their horses'feet. On their one side was an expanse of baked clay, loose and flakylike a crust of pastry, that stretched away to the base of somefoothills where were areas of green, dotted with grazing cattle. Beyondthe hills a mountain gloomed, mist-capped. In the right foreground was agrove of trees with a red house nestling in the midst. A windmill rosebeside the house, and not far off, standing naked on the parched plain,was an adobe structure, square, flat-roofed and with a single stove-pipechimney. These were the Bar W headquarters.

  Ahead of the two the level country terminated abruptly at a dull redline, and beyond that was a fit abode for lost souls--twisted, gnarledheaps of metal and rock, a torn land where nothing of life stayedvoluntarily.

  They had set out from the Bar W on Wednesday evening. On Thursdayafternoon Johnson and Moffatt were taking pot shots at each other frombehind heaps of lava far out in the Malpais. Near the sheriff was hisson. Lafe, Jr., lay in a fissure behind a mound of slag-iron andendeavored conscientiously to shoot off the top of Moffatt's head as itbobbed for the fraction of a second from behind another mound a hundredyards away. They had abandoned their horses when they entered theMalpais, because the footing was so treacherous that they could make asgood progress by walking. Moreover, there was nothing of sustenance forthe beasts in all the forty miles of waste. Coming upon Mof
fattunexpectedly as he was examining his jaded horse's feet, the sheriff hadnot been able to carry into execution his plan of hiding Lafe, Jr., in aposition where he would be safe and could yet render assistance. So nowLafe, Jr., flattened out in his fissure in equal danger with his father,and exulting vastly. Of course, what the pursuers should have done,according to the best military tactics, was to separate and come uponthe outlaw from two sides, thus exposing him to a shot. About the onlyobjection that could be urged to this strategy was that they couldn't doit. Moffatt could see their every movement and they dare not budge fromtheir shelter. Whatever the quality of his courage, nobody could denythat Steve was terrible with a rifle.

  "So now Lafe, Jr., flattened out in his fissure in equaldanger with his father."]

  "How about that one, Lafe?" the outlaw yelled, as a bullet from his25-35 skimmed along Johnson's shoulder and back.

  "Two inches too high, Steve," said Lafe, without resentment.

  Shortly after this the two pursuers ceased firing, though maintaining awatchful eye for any movement of the fugitive, and partook ravenously ofbread and cold beef, canned tomatoes and tepid water.

  Night was creeping over the Malpais. Away to their right yawned thecrater whence this monstrous flow of lava had anciently spouted. Fromits base to its rim was about two hundred feet. On every side were thedistorted, grotesque knolls of melted rocks, brick-red in color,stretching for leagues like a slag-heap from the fires of giants. Not amoving thing had they seen in their progress through this region. A tinyshrub clung here and there in a fissure, where an inch or two of soilhad been gathered by the winds, and once Lafe, Jr., had narrowly escapedfalling into a devil's pincushion. About three miles to the southtowered the highest point in the Malpais, a precipitous hill of scorchedrock, crowned with a blunt shaft. Atop this shaft was a dark object.Presently it soared into the heavens. It was an eagle.

  Johnson scanned the western sky and the glory of the setting sun in itshalo of gold and crimson and purple. Then he pointed to where the hostsof the storm kings were gathering above the pines just below ElCapitan's peak. From the thickest of the mass a flash of lightninglicked downward.

  "The cook done told me yesterday," he said to his son, "that that ol'mountain yonder is always raising hell. If the lightning gets goingstrong, there're better places to be in than these here Malpais, son."

  "I reckon you're right," said the boy, not without an anxious glanceupward.

  They exchanged shots twice with Moffatt before the dark came. With itscoming they felt a warm splash of rain upon their faces, and in aleaping flash that illuminated the heavens, they beheld El Capitanswiftly despatching his cloud warriors over the country.

  "It's getting blacker'n the wash basin at headquarters," said Lafe, Jr.,with a nervous laugh. "Moffatt will give us the slip easy in the dark,Dad."

  "He won't travel far in this storm, son."

  Nor did he attempt it. The rain burst upon them in squalls that drove inregular procession like waves of the sea, and back of it, urging itforward, rode a hurricane of wind, shrieking and tearing among themounds. From north to south the lightning flared; they could smell it.The detonations of the thunder rocked the earth. A great jagged spearwas hurled upon the pile where the eagle had sat his vigil, and theirstarting eyes had a momentary vision of the awful impact. Lafe, Jr.,crawled close to his father. He was shivering.

  "Do you reckon we'll be killed, Dad? Look at the lightning."

  To right, to left, behind them and in front, the forked flashes playedupon the metal heaps, the splitting strokes blinding them with blue andgreen glares. It was a carnival of fire. Johnson stared fascinated, hiswhole being numbed. A loafer wolf, his tail between his legs, whiningdolefully, slunk past them to his den. He did not see or, seeing, didnot heed, his hereditary foes.

  An especially brilliant flash, followed on the instant by a shock ofthunder, brought the sheriff half-way to his feet, so close did it feel.In their ears sounded a wild, immeasurably plaintive scream, and hepeered over the mound.

  "That's a horse!" he shouted close to his son's ear. "They yellsomething awful when they're mortal scared. Yes, I swan there's Steve'shorse laying on its side on a rock."

  Lafe, Jr., was mumbling to himself, but his words were unintelligible,although Lafe afterward assured Hetty that he heard "Now I lay me,"quite distinctly. However that may be, his son took heart and began togrope about in the dark behind him.

  "What's the matter, Lafe?" asked his father anxiously. "Anything wrong,boy?"

  "I'm looking for my slicker. I brought it along."

  "What do you want your slicker for? You're soaked through now. You can'tget any wetter."

  "I'll feel sort of safer," said the boy obstinately. "Here it is. I'mgoing to put it on."

  He got to his knees to don the sticky, clinging coat, and as he held itextended loosely in his hands to discover the armholes, a fierce gust ofwind whipped it from his grasp and it flew high over their heads with aloud flapping, straight towards Moffatt's hiding-place. A shout, a shotand maniacal laughter came to them faintly against the tempest.

  Peeping over their barrier, in a succession of flashes that lighted upthe wastes for miles, they made out Moffatt standing on top of hismound with his hands raised to the sky. His hat was gone and his riflehe had thrown away. For a full minute he was blotted from their sight.Then, in another illumination, they say him running towards them,laughing wildly.

  "It's the angel of the Lord!" he shrilled to the contending skies. "It'sthe angel of the Lord. I seen him."

  The renegade ran a dozen steps more, whirled dizzily and toppled to theearth. Shaking off his son's imploring hands, Johnson sprang into thedark. Three minutes later he was back, dragging Moffatt by the arms andshoulders.

  "The lightning done hit him, I reckon," he panted. "Singed down bothsides, he is. I reckon he got hit twice. He ain't dead--not him."

  Moffatt regained consciousness in a few minutes, but the horror of itwas still upon him, and his imagination peopled the night with avengingspirits. He cowered down between the two and endeavored to interpose theboy's body between him and the elements.

  "You won't let the ol' man kill me, will you, son?" he whimpered.

  "Shut up," said Lafe, Jr., coldly.

  "You keep quiet, Steve," said Johnson irritably. "It's bad enoughwithout having you blubber like that. We've got to stay here tilldaylight."

  "All right. I'll be quiet, Lafe. But you-all won't kill me, now?Promise? Where's my gun?"

  "I've got it," said Lafe, Jr. "'I do believe this ol' storm is blowingitself out."

  At daylight they sought their horses, Moffatt carrying his saddle overhis shoulder and staggering weakly beside the boy. He was too frightenedto remain near Lafe, and implored his son whiningly at every step tointercede for him with his father and the Anvil men. If he only would,he would treat him fair and teach him how to shoot.

  Their mounts had drifted with the gale and were nowhere in sight, andthere was nothing for them to do but toil the weary miles on foot. Theyarrived at the Bar W bunkhouse at nightfall, spent with hunger and wantof sleep. They slept twelve hours, with Moffatt locked in the cook's ownbedroom.

  CHAPTER XLV

  THE END

  It was five days later that Mrs. Horne, emerging from the door onhearing a horse neigh, espied a pair of riders coming up the lane. Hermouth opened in amazement and she sped into the house, crying excitedlyfor Manuel. Lafe, Jr., pulled up at the yard gate and said; "No, youdon't, Moffatt. You get down first and go in front."

  "Sure, I'm ready, Lafe. Better not get too reckless with that li'l gun,boy. She's liable for to go off."

  They passed into the house and entered Horne's bedroom, after Lafe, Jr.,had whispered to the perturbed Manuel. Mrs. Horne was standing guardbeside the bed, her face white and accusing, as Moffatt was thrustforward by young Johnson. The renegade would not look at the sick man,but mumbled, and fidgeted from one foot to the other. Horne surveyed himdully for a moment; then his eyes brigh
tened and he turned his facetowards Lafe, Jr., with a smile.

  "Dad and I got him over in New Mexico," said Lafe, Jr., in answer to thelook. "We caught up with him in the Malpais. Dad, he had to stay homethis morning because mother's poorly, so he sent me with him."

  The boy did not state that Lafe had purposely permitted him to comealone, for his greater triumph and the hardening of his nerve. In fact,Lafe, Jr., did not know it.

  "Is he--what's wrong with him, Lafe?"

  "Lightning. He got burned awful bad. He's awful scared, too, Mr. Horne.Here, you, stand up straight!"

  "Moffatt," said the cowman weakly, "I ought to give you up to be hanged.You aren't worth shooting. But I reckon you're worse off alive thandead. Turn him loose, Lafe boy. I always knew his nerve wasn't real. Hewon't bother us any more."

  "I can go then, Mr. Horne, sir?" the prisoner quavered.

  "You heard what he said, didn't you?" said Lafe, Jr. "Out you go! No,you can't have that horse. You can walk. And say--get a move on you. I'mgoing to begin shooting when I've counted fifty."

  "Say, Lafe, you'll give me a fair count, won't you, boy? Don't be meanand cut in on it, Lafe. Yes, yes, I'm a-going."

  "One, two, three, four--"

  THE END