Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West

by William MacLeod Raine

  CHAPTER VII

  BOB HART TAKES A HAND

  Bob Hart waited till his friend had disappeared into the house before hemoved.

  "Thought he'd run it over me, so I'd roost here on the roof, did he?Well, I'm after the ol' horn-toad full jump," the puncher murmured,a gay grin on his good-looking face.

  He, too, examined his gun before he followed Dave through the dormerwindow and passed into the frowsy bedchamber. None of the details of itescaped his cool, keen gaze, least of all the sawed-off shotgun in thecorner.

  "That scatter gun might come handy. Reckon I'll move it so's I'll knowjust where it's at when I need it," he said to himself, and carried thegun to the bed, where he covered it with a quilt.

  At the top of the stairs Bob also hesitated before passing down. Why notbe sure of his line of communications with the roof before going too far?He did not want to be in such a hurry that his retreat would be cut off.

  With as little noise as possible Bob explored the upper story. The firstroom in which he found himself was empty of all furniture except a pairof broken-backed chairs. One casual glance was enough here.

  He was about to try a second door when some one spoke. He recognized thevoice. It belonged to the man who wrote his pay checks, and it came froman adjoining room.

  "Always knew you was crooked as a dog's hind laigs Doble. Never liked youa lick in the road. I'll say this. Some day I'll certainly hang yore hideup to dry for yore treachery."

  "No use to get on the peck, Em. It don't do you no good to make me sore.Maybe you'll need a friend before you're shet of Brad."

  "It relieves my mind some to tell you what a yellow coyote you are,"explained the cattleman. "You got about as much sand as a brush rabbitand I'd trust you as far as I would a rattler, you damned sidewinder."

  Bob tried the door. The knob turned in his hand and the door slowlyopened inward.

  The rattle of the latch brought George Doble's sly, shifty eye round.He was expecting to see one of his friends from below. A stare of blankastonishment gave way to a leaping flicker of fear. The crook jumped tohis feet, tugging at his gun. Before he could fire, the range-rider hadclosed with him.

  The plunging attack drove Doble back against the table, a flimsy,round-topped affair which gave way beneath this assault upon it. The twomen went down in the wreck. Doble squirmed away like a cat, but before hecould turn to use his revolver Bob was on him again. The puncher caughthis right arm, in time and in no more than time. The deflected bulletpinged through a looking-glass on a dresser near the foot of the bed.

  "Go to it, son! Grab the gun and bust his haid wide open!" an excitedvoice encouraged Hart.

  But Doble clung to his weapon as a lost cow does to a 'dobe water-hole inthe desert. Bob got a grip on his arm and twisted till he screamed withpain. He did a head spin and escaped. One hundred and sixty pounds ofsteel-muscled cowpuncher landed on his midriff and the six-shooter wentclattering away to a far corner of the room.

  Bob dived for the revolver, Doble for the door. A moment, and Hart hadthe gun. But whereas there had been three in the room there were now buttwo.

  A voice from the bed spoke in curt command. "Cut me loose." Bob had heardthat voice on more than one round-up. It was that of Emerson Crawford.

  The range-rider's sharp knife cut the ropes that tied the hands and feetof his employer. He worked in the dark and it took time.

  "Who are you? Howcome you here?" demanded the cattleman.

  "I'm Bob Hart. It's quite a story. Miss Joyce sent me and Dave Sanders,"answered the young man, still busy with the ropes.

  From below came the sound of a shot, the shuffling of many feet.

  "Must be him downstairs."

  "I reckon. They's a muley gun in the hall."

  Crawford stretched his cramped muscles, flexing and reflexing his armsand legs. "Get it, son. We'll drift down and sit in."

  When Bob returned he found the big cattleman examining Doble's revolver.He broke the shotgun to make sure it was loaded.

  Then, "We'll travel," he said coolly.

  The battle sounds below had died away. From the landing they looked downinto the hall and saw a bar of light that came through a partly opendoor. Voices were lifted in excitement.

  "One of Em Crawford's riders," some one was saying. "A whole passel of'em must be round the place."

  Came the thud of a boot on something soft. "Put the damn spy outabusiness, I say," broke in another angrily.

  Hart's gorge rose. "Tha's Miller," he whispered to his chief. "He'skickin' Dave now he's down 'cause Dave whaled him good."

  Softly the two men padded down the stair treads and moved along thepassage.

  "Who's that?" demanded Shorty, thrusting his head into the hall. "Stayright there or I'll shoot."

  "Oh, no, you won't," answered the cattleman evenly. "I'm comin' into thatroom to have a settlement. There'll be no shootin'--unless I do it."

  His step did not falter. He moved forward, brushed Shorty aside, andstrode into the midst of his enemies.

  Dave lay on the floor. His hair was clotted with blood and a thin streamof it dripped from his head. The men grouped round his body had theireyes focused on the man who had just pushed his way in. All of them werearmed, but not one of them made a move to attack.

  For there is something about a strong man unafraid more potent than acompany of troopers. Such a man was Emerson Crawford now. His life mightbe hanging in the balance of his enemies' fears, but he gave no signof uncertainty. His steady gray eyes swept the circle, rested on eachworried face, and fastened on Brad Steelman.

  The two had been enemies for years, rivals for control of the range andfor leadership in the community. Before that, as young men, they had beencandidates for the hand of the girl that the better one had won. Thesheepman was shrewd and cunning, but he had no such force of character asCrawford. At the bottom of his heart, though he seethed with hatred, hequailed before that level gaze. Did his foe have the house surroundedwith his range-riders? Did he mean to make him pay with his life for thething he had done?

  Steelman laughed uneasily. An option lay before him. He could fight or hecould throw up the hand he had dealt himself from a stacked deck. If helet his enemy walk away scot free, some day he would probably have to payCrawford with interest. His choice was a characteristic one.

  "Well, I reckon you've kinda upset my plans, Em. 'Course I was a-coddin'you. I didn't aim to hurt you none, though I'd 'a' liked to have talkedyou outa the water-holes."

  The big cattleman ignored this absolutely. "Have a team hitched rightaway. Shorty will 'tend to that. Bob, tie up yore friend's haid with ahandkerchief."

  Without an instant's hesitation Hart thrust his revolver back into itsholster. He was willing to trust Crawford to dominate this group oflawless foes, every one of whom held some deep grudge against him. Onehe had sent to the penitentiary. Another he had actually kicked out ofhis employ. A third was in his debt for many injuries received. Almostany of them would have shot him in the back on a dark night, but nonehad the cold nerve to meet him in the open. For even in a land whichbred men there were few to match Emerson Crawford.

  Shorty looked at Steelman. "I'm waitin', Brad," he said.

  The sheepman nodded sullenly. "You done heard your orders, Shorty."

  The ex-convict reached for his steeple hat, thrust his revolver back intoits holster, and went jingling from the room. He looked insolently atCrawford as he passed.

  "Different here. If it was my say-so I'd go through."

  Hart administered first aid to his friend. "I'm servin' notice, Miller,that some day I'll bust you wide and handsome for this," he said, lookingstraight at the fat gambler. "You have give Dave a raw deal, and you'llnot get away with it."

  "I pack a gun. Come a-shootin' when you're ready," retorted Miller.

  "Tha's liable to be right soon, you damn horsethief. We've rid 'most ahundred miles to have a li'l' talk with you and yore pardner there."

  "Shoutin' about that race yet, are y
ou? If I wasn't a better loser thanyou--"

  "Don't bluff, Miller. You know why we trailed you."

  Doble edged into the talk. He was still short of wind, but to his thickwits a denial seemed necessary. "We ain't got yore broncs."

  "Who mentioned our broncs?" Hart demanded, swiftly.

  "Called Ad a horsethief, didn't you?"

  "So he is. You, too. You've got our ponies. Not in yore vest pockets, buthid out in the brush somewheres. I'm servin' notice right now that Daveand me have come to collect."

  Dave opened his eyes upon a world which danced hazily before him. He hada splitting headache.

  "Wha's the matter?" he asked.

  "You had a run-in with a bunch of sheep wranglers," Bob told him."They're going to be plumb sorry they got gay."

  Presently Shorty returned. "That team's hooked up," he told the world atlarge.

  "You'll drive us, Steelman," announced Crawford.

  "Me!" screamed the leader of the other faction. "You got the most nerveI ever did see."

  "Sure. Drive him home, Brad," advised Shorty with bitter sarcasm. "Blackhis boots. Wait on him good. Step lively when yore new boss whistles." Hecackled with splenetic laughter.

  "I dunno as I need to drive you home," Steelman said slowly, feeling hisway to a decision. "You know the way better'n I do."

  The eyes of the two leaders met.

  "You'll drive," the cattleman repeated steadily.

  The weak spot in Steelman's leadership was that he was personally notgame. Crawford had a pungent personality. He was dynamic, strong, masterof himself in any emergency. The sheepman's will melted before hisinsistence. He dared not face a showdown.

  "Oh, well, what's it matter? We can talk things over on the way. Me, I'mnot lookin' for trouble none," he said, his small black eyes movingrestlessly to watch the effect of this on his men.

  Bob helped his partner out of the house and into the surrey. Thecattleman took the seat beside Steelman, across his knees the sawed-offshotgun. He had brought his enemy along for two reasons. One was toweaken his prestige with his own men. The other was to prevent themfrom shooting at the rig as they drove away.

  Steelman drove in silence. His heart was filled with surging hatred.During that ride was born a determination to have nothing less than thelife of his enemy when the time should be ripe.

  At the door of his house Crawford dismissed him contemptuously. "Getout."

  The man with the reins spoke softly, venomously, from a dry throat. "Oneo' these days you'll crawl on your hands and knees to me for this."

  He whipped up the team and rattled away furiously into the night.