Louisiana Lou

by William West Winter

  CHAPTER X

  THE GET-AWAY

  "If you need money--to pay the fine," began Solange, doubtfully. Heshook his head.

  "I have a fancy to do this in my own way; the old-time way," he said."As for money, you will have need of all you possess. The cowboy,Sucatash, is a type I know. You may take a message to him for me, andI think he will not refuse to help."

  He gave her rapidly whispered instructions, her quick mind taking themin at once.

  "And you," he finished, "when you are ready to start, will gather youroutfit at Wallace's ranch near Willow Spring. From there is only oneway that you can go to follow your father's trail. He must have comeout of the Esmeraldas through Shoestring Canyon, therefore you must gointo them that way. I will be there when you come."

  Solange turned to the door and he bowed to her. She shook the gratingand called for the turnkey. As she heard him coming she swung roundand, with a smile, held out her hand to the soldier. His sallow faceflushed as he took it. Her hand clung to his a moment and then thedoor swung open and she was gone.

  De Launay took the bullet from his pocket and held it in his hand. Hesat on his bunk and weighed the thing reflectively, balancing it onhis palm. It was just such a bullet as might have been shot from anyone of a hundred rifles, a bullet of which nothing of the originalshape remained except about a quarter of an inch of the butt.

  He wondered if, after nineteen years, there remained any one who hadeven been present when French Pete was found dying.

  As for the mine, that was even more hopeless. No one had seriouslyattempted any prolonged search for the murderer, he assumed, knowingthe region as it had been. Homicides were not regarded as seriously asin later days and a Basco sheep-herder's murder would arouse littleinterest. The mine, however, was a different thing, as he knew by thefact that even recent arrivals had heard of it. It was certain that,throughout all these years there had been many to search for it andthe treasure it was supposed to hold. Yet none had found it.

  Solange's premonition made him smile tolerantly. Still, he was pledgedto the search, and he would go through with it. They would not findit, of course, but there might be some way in which he could make upthe disappointment to her. He thought he could understand the urgethat had led her on the ridiculous quest. A young, pretty, butportionless girl, with just enough money to support life in Francefor a few years, hopeless of marriage in a country where the womenoutnumbered the men by at least a million, would have a bleak futurebefore her. He could guess that her high, proud spirit would rebel, onthe one hand, at the prospect of pinching poverty and ignoble workand, on the other, from the alternative existence of the_demimondaine_.

  Here, in America, she might have a chance. He could see to it that shedid have a chance. With those eyes and that hair and her voice, thestage would open its arms to her, and acting was a recognized andrespectable profession. There might be other opportunities, also.

  But the vendetta she would have to drop. In the Basses Pyr?n?es onemight devote a life to hunting vengeance, but it wouldn't do in theUnited States. If she found the man, by some freak of chance, whatwould she do with him? To expect to convict him after all these yearswas ridiculous, and it was not likely that he would confess. Thoughshe might be certain, the only thing left to her would be the takingof the law into her own hands; and that would not do. He did not doubther ability or her willingness to kill the man. He knew that she woulddo it, and he knew that she must not be allowed to do it. He shudderedto think of her imprisoned in some penitentiary, her bright haircropped and those fathomless eyes looking out on the sun throughstone walls and barred windows; her delicate body clothed in rough,shapeless prison garments. If there was to be any killing, she mustnot do it.

  She would insist on vengeance! Very well, he had promised to serveher; he had no particular object in life; he was abundantly able tokill; he would do her killing for her.

  Having settled this to his satisfaction and feeling a certaincomplacent pleasure in the thought that, if the impossible happened,he could redeem himself in her eyes by an act that would condemn himin the eyes of every one else, he lay down on his bunk and went tosleep again.

  In the morning he was aroused by the turnkey and brought out of hiscell. A couple of officers took charge of him and led him from thejail to the street, across it and down a little way to the criminalcourt building. Here he was taken into a large room just off thecourtroom, to await his preliminary hearing.

  The rest was almost ridiculously simple. He had had no plan, beyond avague one of breaking from his guardians when he was led back to thejail. But he formed a new one almost as soon as he had seated himselfin the room where the prisoners were gathered.

  He was placed on a long bench, the end of which was near a doorleading to the corridor of the building. A door opposite led into thedock. A number of prisoners were seated there and two men in uniformformed a guard. One of them spent practically all his time glancingthrough the door, which he held on a crack, into the courtroom.

  The other was neither alert nor interested. The officer who hadbrought De Launay, and who, presumably, was to make the charge againsthim, remained, while his companion departed.

  Among those gathered in the room were several relatives or friends ofprisoners, lawyers, and bondsmen, who went from one to another,whispering their plans and proposals. One, a bulbous-nosed, greasyindividual, sidled up to him and suggested that he could furnish bail,for a consideration.

  De Launay's immediate guard, at this moment, said something to theuniformed policeman who sat near the center of the room. The otherglanced perfunctorily in De Launay's direction and nodded, and the manstepped out into the hall.

  De Launay whispered an intimation that he was interested in the bailsuggestion. He arose and led the bondsman off to one side, near theouter door, and talked with him a few moments. He suggested that theman wait until they discovered what the bail would be, and said hewould be glad to accept his services. He had money which had not beentaken from him when he was searched.

  The bondsman nodded his satisfaction at netting another victim andstrolled away to seek further prey. De Launay calmly turned around,opened the outer door and walked into the corridor.

  He walked rapidly to the street entrance, out to the sidewalk, anddown the street. At the first corner he turned. Then he hurried alonguntil he saw what he was looking for. This was Sucatash, loungingeasily against a lamp-post while De Launay's horse, saddled andequipped, stood with head hanging and reins dangling just before himat the curb.

  A close observer would have noticed that a pair of spurs hung at thesaddle horn and that the saddle pockets bulged. But there were noclose observers around.

  De Launay came up to the horse while, as yet, there had been not theslightest indication of any hue and cry after him. This he knew couldobtain for only a short time, but it would be sufficient.

  Sucatash, against the lamp-post, lolled negligently and rolled acigarette. He did not even look at De Launay, but spoke out of acorner of his mouth.

  "How'd you make it, old-timer?"

  "Walked out," said the other, dryly.

  "Huh? Well, them blue bellies are right bright, now. You'll find packhosses and an outfit at the spring west of the Lazy Y. Know where itis?"

  De Launay nodded as he felt the cinch of the horse's saddle.

  "But how the deuce will you get them there? It's nearly ninetymiles."

  "We got a telephone at pa's ranch," said Sucatash, complacently."Better hit the high spots. There's a row back there, now."

  De Launay swung into the saddle. "See you at Shoestring, this side theCrater," he said, briefly. "Adios!"

  "So long," said Sucatash, indifferently. De Launay spurred the horseand took the middle of the road on a run. Sucatash looked after himreflectively.

  "That hombre can ride a whole lot," he remarked. "He's a sure-enough,stingin' lizard, I'll say. Walked out! Huh!"

  A few moments after De Launay had rounded a corner and disappearedwith his
ill-gotten habiliments, excited policemen and citizens camerushing to where Sucatash, with nothing on his mind but his hat,strolled along the sidewalk.

  "Seen an escaped prisoner? Came this way. Wasn't there a horse here aminute ago?" The questions were fired at him in rapid succession.Sucatash was exasperatingly leisurely in answering them.

  "They was a hoss here, yes," he drawled.

  "Was it yours?"

  "Not that I know of," answered Sucatash. "Gent came along and forkedit. I allowed it was hisn and so I didn't snub him down none. Was hethe gent you was lookin' for?"

  "Which way did he go?"

  "He was headin' south-southeast by no'th or thereabouts when I lastseen him," said Sucatash. "And he was fannin' a hole plumb through theatmosphere."

  They left the unsatisfactory witness and rushed to the corner aroundwhich De Launay had vanished. Here they found a man or two who hadseen the galloping horse and its rider. But, as following on foot wasmanifestly impossible, one of them rushed to a telephone while othersran back to get a police automobile and give chase.

  De Launay, meanwhile, was riding at a hard pace through the outlyingstreets of the town, heading toward the south. The paved streets gaveway to gravel roads, and the smoke of the factories hung in the airbehind him. Past comfortable bungalows and well-kept lawns he rushed,until the private hedges gave place to barbed-wire fences, and thecropped grass to fields of standing stubble.

  The road ran along above and parallel to the river, following a ridge.To one side of it the farms lay, brown and gold in their autumnvesture. At regular intervals appeared a house, generally of thestereotyped bungalow form.

  De Launay had passed several of these when he noticed, from one aheadof him, several men running toward the road. He watched them, saw thatthey gesticulated toward the cloud of dust out of which he rode, andturned in his saddle to open the pockets back of the cantle. From onehe drew belt and holster, sagging heavily with the pistol that filledit. From the other he pulled clips loaded with cartridges. Leaving thehorse to run steadily on the road he strapped himself with the gun.

  The men had reached the road and were lined up across it. One of themhad a shotgun and others were armed with forks and rakes. They wavedtheir weapons and shouted for him to stop. He calmly drew the pistoland pulled his horse down in the midst of them.

  "Well?" he asked as they surged around him. The man with the shotgunsuddenly saw the pistol and started to throw the gun to his shoulder.

  "We got him!" he yelled, excitedly.

  "Got who?" asked De Launay. "You pointing that gun at me? Better headit another way."

  His automatic was swinging carelessly at the belligerent farmer. Theman was not long in that country, but he was long enough to know thedifference between a shotgun and an automatic forty-five. He lost hisnerve.

  "We're lookin' for an escaped convict," he muttered. "Be you thefeller?"

  "Keep on looking," said De Launay, pleasantly. "But drop that gun andthose pitchforks. What do you mean by holding up a peaceable man onthe highroads?"

  The rattled farmer and his cohorts were bluffed and puzzled. Theautomatic spoke in terms too imperative to be disregarded. Capturingescaped prisoners was all very well, but when it involved risks suchas this they preferred more peaceful pursuits. The men backed away,the farmer let the shotgun drop to the ground.

  "Pull your freight!" said De Launay, shortly. They obeyed.

  He whirled his horse and resumed his headlong flight. He had gainedfifty yards when the farmer, who had run back to his gun, fired itafter him. The shot scattered too much to cause him any uneasiness. Helaughed back at them and fled away.

  Other places had been warned also, but De Launay rushed past themwithout mishap. The automatic was a passport which these citizens wereeager to honor, and which the police had not taken into account. Tostop an unarmed fugitive was one thing, but to interfere with one whobristled with murder was quite another.

  A new peril was on his trail, however. He soon heard the distant throbof a motor running with the muffler open. Looking back along the road,he could see the car as it rounded curves on top of the ridge. All toosoon it was throbbing behind him and not half a mile away.

  But he did not worry. Right ahead was a stone marker which he knewmarked the boundary of Nevada. Long before the car could reach him hehad passed it. He kept on for two or three hundred yards at the samepace while the car, forging up on him, was noisy with shouts andcommands to stop. He slowed down to a trot and grinned at the men whostood in the car and pointed their revolvers at him. His pistol wasdangling in his hand.

  "You gents want me?" he asked, pleasantly. His former captor sputteredan oath.

  "You're shoutin' we want you," he cried. "Get off that horse and climbin here, you----"

  De Launay's voice grew hard and incisive.

  "You got a warrant for my arrest?"

  "Warrant be hanged! You're an escaped prisoner! Climb down before welet you have it!"

  "That's interesting. Where's your extradition papers?"

  The officer shrieked his commands and imprecations, waving his pistol.De Launay grinned.

  "If you want to test the law, go ahead," he said. "I'm in Nevada asyou know very well. If you want to shoot, you may get me--but I canpromise that _I'll_ get you, too. The first man of you that tightens atrigger will get his. Go to it!"

  An officer who is on the right side of the law is thereby fortifiedand may proceed with confidence. If he is killed, his killer commitsmurder. But an officer who is on the wrong side of the law has nosuch psychological re?nforcement. He is decidedly at a disadvantage.The policemen were courageous--but they faced a dilemma. If they shotDe Launay, they would have to explain. If he shot them, it would be inself-defense and lawful resistance to an illegal arrest. Furthermore,there was something about the way he acted that convinced them of hisintention and ability. There were only three of them, and he seemedquite confident that he could get them all before they could killhim.

  The officer who had been his guardian thought of a way out.

  "There's a justice of the peace a mile ahead," he said. "We'll justlinger with you until we reach him and get a warrant."

  "Suit yourselves," said De Launay, indifferently. "But don't crowd metoo closely. Those things make my horse nervous."

  They started the car, but he galloped easily on ahead, turning in hissaddle to watch them. They proceeded slowly, allowing him to gainabout forty yards. The officer thought of shooting at him when he wasnot looking, but desisted when he discovered that De Launay seemed tobe always looking.

  They had proceeded only a short distance when De Launay, withoutwarning, spurred his horse into a run, swinging him at the same timefrom side to side of the road. Turned in his saddle, he raised hishand and the staccato rattle of his automatic sounded like the rollof a drum. The startled officers fired and missed his elusive form.They had their aim disarranged by the sudden jolt and stoppage of thecar. De Launay had shot the two front tires and a rear one to pieces.

  The discomfited policemen saw him disappearing down the road in acloud of dust from which echoed his mocking laugh and a chanted,jubilant verse that had not been heard in that region for nineteenyears:

  "My Louisiana! Louisiana Lou!"