'Firebrand' Trevison

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER XXIII

  FIRST PRINCIPLES

  Judge Lindman shivered, though a merciless, blighting sun beat down on thegreat stone ledge that spread in front of the opening, smothering him withheat waves that eddied in and out, and though the interior of thelow-ceilinged chamber pulsed with the fetid heat sucked in from the plainsgenerations before. The adobe walls, gray-black in the subdued light, weredry as powder and crumbling in spots, the stone floor was exposed in manyplaces; there was a strange, sickening odor, as though the naked,perspiring bodies of inhabitants in ages past had soaked the walls andfloor with the man-scent, and intervening years of disuse had mingledtheir musty breath with it. But for the presence of the serene-faced,steady-eyed young man who leaned carelessly against the wall outside,whose shoulder and profile he could see, the Judge might have yieldedcompletely to the overpowering conviction that he was dreaming, and thathis adventures of the past twelve hours were horrors of his imagination.But he knew from the young man's presence at the door that his experiencehad been real enough, and the knowledge kept his brain out of thethreatening chaos.

  Some time during the night he had awakened on his cot in the rear room ofthe courthouse to hear a cold, threatening voice warning him to silence.He had recognized the voice, as he had recognized it once before, undersimilar conditions. He had been gagged, his hands tied behind him. Then hehad been lifted, carried outside, placed on the back of a horse, in frontof his captor, and borne away in the darkness. They had ridden many milesbefore the horse came to a halt and he was lifted down. Then he had beenforced to ascend a sharp slope; he could hear the horse clattering upbehind them. But he had not been able to see anything in the darkness,though he felt he was walking along the edge of a cliff. The walk hadended abruptly, when his captor had forced him into his present quarterswith a gruff admonition to sleep. Sleep had come hard, and he had donelittle of it, napping merely, sitting on the stone floor, his back againstthe wall, most of the time watching his captor. He had talked some, askingquestions which his captor ignored. Then a period of oblivion had come,and he had awakened to the sunshine. For an hour he had sat where he was,looking out at his captor and blinking at the brilliant sunshine. But hehad asked no questions since awakening, for he had become convinced of themeaning of all this. But he was intensely curious, now.

  "Where have you brought me?" he demanded of his jailor.

  "You're awake, eh?" Trevison grinned as he wheeled and looked in at hisprisoner. "This," he waved a hand toward the ledge and its surroundings,"is an Indian pueblo, long deserted. It makes an admirable prison, Judge.It is also a sort of a fort. There is only one vulnerable point--the slopewe came up last night. I'll take you on a tour of examination, if youlike. And then you must return here, to stay until you disclose thewhereabouts of the original land record."

  The Judge paled, partly from anger, partly from a fear that gripped him.

  "This is an outrage, Trevison! This is America!"

  "Is it?" The young man smiled imperturbably. "There have been times duringthe past few weeks when I doubted it, very much. It _is_ America, though,but it is a part of America that the average American sees little of--thathe knows little of. As little, let us say, as he knows of the weirdapplication of its laws--as applied by _some_ judges." He smiled asLindman winced. "I have given up hoping to secure justice in the regularway, and so we are in the midst of a reversion to first principles--whichmay lead us to our goal."

  "What do you mean?"

  "That I _must_ have the original record, Judge, I mean to have it."

  "I deny--"

  "Yes--of course. Deny, if you like. We shan't argue. Do you want toexplore the place? There will be plenty of time for talk."

  He stepped aside as the Judge came out, and grinned broadly as he caughtthe Judge's shrinking look at a rifle he took up as he turned. It had beenpropped against the wall at his side. He swung it to the hollow of hisleft elbow. "Your knowledge of firearms convinces you that you can't runas fast as a rifle bullet, doesn't it, Judge?"

  The Judge's face indicated that he understood.

  "Ever make the acquaintance of an Indian pueblo, Judge?"

  "No. I came West only a year ago, and I have kept pretty close to mywork."

  "Well, you'll feel pretty intimate with this one by the time you leaveit--if you're obstinate," laughed Trevison. He stood still and watched theJudge. The latter was staring hard at his surroundings, perhaps withsomething of the awed reverence that overtakes the tourist when for thefirst time he views an ancient ruin.

  The pueblo seemed to be nothing more than a jumble of adobe boxes piled inan indiscriminate heap on a gigantic stone level surmounting the crest ofa hill. A sheer rock wall, perhaps a hundred feet in height, descended tothe surrounding slopes; the latter sweeping down to join the plains. Adust, light, dry, and feathery lay thickly on the adobe boxes on thesurrounding ledge on the slopes, like a gray ash sprinkled from a giantsifter. Cactus and yucca dotted the slopes, thorny, lancelike, repellent;lava, dull, hinting of volcanic fire, filled crevices and depressions, andhuge blocks of stone, detached in the progress of disintegration, werescattered about.

  "It has taken ages for this to happen!" the Judge heard himselfmurmuring.

  Trevison laughed lowly. "So it has, Judge. Makes you think of your schooldays, doesn't it? You hardly remember it, though. You have a hazy sort ofrecollection of a print of a pueblo in a geography, or in a geologicaltextbook, but at the time you were more interested in Greek roots, theAlps, Louis Quinze, the heroes of mythology, or something equally foreign,and you forgot that your own country might hold something of interest foryou. But the history of these pueblo towns must be pretty interesting, ifone could get at it. All that I have heard of it are some pretty weirdlegends. There can be no doubt, I suppose, that the people who inhabitedthese communal houses had laws to govern them--and judges to apply thelaws. And I presume that then, as now, the judges were swayed by powerfulinfluences in--"

  The Judge glared at his tormentor. The latter laughed.

  "It is reasonable to presume, too," he went on, "that in some cases thejudges rendered some pretty raw decisions. And carrying the suppositionfurther, we may believe that then, as now, the poor downtroddenproletariat got rather hot under the collar. There are always somehot-tempered fools among all classes and races that do, you know. Theysimply can't stand the feel of the iron heel of the oppressor. Can youpicture a hot-tempered fool of that tribe abducting a judge of the courtof his people and carrying him away to some uninhabited place, there tolet him starve until he decided to do the right thing?"

  "Starve!" gasped the Judge.

  "The chambers and tunnels connecting these communal houses--they look likemud boxes, don't they, Judge? And there isn't a soul in any of them--nor abite to eat! As I was about to remark, the chambers and tunnels and thepassages connecting these places are pretty bare and cheerless--if weexcept scorpions, horned toads, centipedes, tarantulas--and other equallyundesirable occupants. Not a pleasant place to sojourn in until--How longcan a man live without eating, Judge? You know, of course, that theIndians selected an elevated and isolated site, such as this, because ofits strategical advantages? This makes an ideal fort. Nobody can get intoit except by negotiating the slope we came up last night. And a rifle inthe hands of a man with a yearning to use it would make _that_ approachpretty unsafe, wouldn't it?"

  "My God!" moaned the Judge; "you talk like a man bereft of his senses!"

  "Or like a man who is determined not to be robbed of his rights," addedTrevison. "Well, come along. We won't dwell on such things if they depressyou."

  He took the Judge's arm and escorted him. They circled the broad stoneledge. It ran in wide, irregular sweeps in the general outline of a hugecircle, surrounded by the dust-covered slopes melting into the plains, sovast that the eye ached in an effort to comprehend them. Miles away theycould see smoke befouling the blue of the sky. The Judge knew the smokecame from Manti, and he wondered if Corrigan were wondering over hisdi
sappearance. He mentioned that to Trevison, and the latter grinnedfaintly at him.

  "I forgot to mention that to you. It was all arranged last night. ClayLevins went to Dry Bottom on a night train. He took with him a letter,which he was to mail at Dry Bottom, explaining your absence to Corrigan.Needless to say, your signature was forged. But I did so good a job thatCorrigan will not suspect. Corrigan will get the letter by tonight. Itsays that you are going to take a long rest."

  The Judge gasped and looked quickly at Trevison. The young man's face waswreathed in a significant grin.

  "In the first analysis, this looks like a rather strange proceeding," saidTrevison. "But if you get deeper into it you see its logic. You know wherethe original record is. I want it. I mean to have it. One life--a dozenlives--won't stop me. Oh, well, we won't talk about it if you're going toshudder that way."

  He led the Judge up a flimsy, rotted ladder to a flat roof, forcing him tolook into a chamber where vermin fled at their appearance. Then throughnumerous passages, low, narrow, reeking with a musty odor that nauseatedthe Judge; on narrow ledges where they had to hug the walls to keep fromfalling, and then into an open court with a stone floor, stained dark, inthe center a huge oblong block of stone, surmounting a pyramid, appallingin its somber suggestiveness.

  "The sacrificial altar," said Trevison, grimly. "These stains here,are--"

  He stopped, for the Judge had turned his back.

  Trevison led him away. He had to help him down the ladder each time theydescended, and when they reached the chamber from which they had startedthe Judge was white and shaking.

  Trevison pushed him inside and silently took a position at the door. TheJudge sank to the floor of the chamber, groaning.

  The hours dragged slowly. Trevison changed his position twice. Once hewent away, but returned in a few minutes with a canteen, from which hedrank, deeply. The Judge had been without food or water since the nightbefore, and thirst tortured him. The gurgle of the water as it came out ofthe canteen, maddened him.

  "I'd like a drink, Trevison."

  "Of course. Any man would."

  "May I have one?"

  "The minute you tell me where that record is."

  The Judge subsided. A moment later Trevison's voice floated into thechamber, cold and resonant:

  "I don't think you're in this thing for money, Judge. Corrigan has somesort of a hold on you. What is it?"

  The Judge did not answer.

  The sun climbed to the zenith. It grew intensely hot in the chamber. Twiceduring the afternoon the Judge asked for water, and each time he receivedthe answer he had received before. He did not ask for food, for he felt itwould not be given him. At sundown his captor entered the chamber and gavehim a meager draught from the canteen. Then he withdrew and stood on theledge in front of the door, looking out into the darkening plains, andwatching him, a conviction of the futility of resisting him seized theJudge. He stood framed in the opening of the chamber, the lines of hisbold, strong face prominent in the dusk, the rifle held loosely in thecrook of his left arm, the right hand caressing the stock, his shoulderssquared, his big, lithe, muscular figure suggesting magnificent physicalstrength, as the light in his eyes, the set of his head and the firm linesof his mouth, brought a conviction of rare courage and determination. Thesight of him thrilled the Judge; he made a picture that sent the Judge'sthoughts skittering back to things primitive and heroic. In an earlier daythe Judge had dreamed of being like him, and the knowledge that he hadfallen far short of realizing his ideal made him shiver withself-aversion. He stifled a moan--or tried to and did not succeed, for itreached Trevison's ears and he turned quickly.

  "Did you call, Judge?"

  "Yes, yes!" whispered the Judge, hoarsely. "I want--to tell youeverything! I have longed to tell you all along!"

  An hour later they were sitting on the edge of the ledge, their feetdangling, the abyss below them, the desert stars twinkling coldly abovethem; around them the indescribable solitude of a desert night filled withmystery, its vague, haunting, whispering voice burdened with its age-oldsecrets. Trevison had an arm around the Judge's shoulder. Their voicesmingled--the Judge's low, quavering; Trevison's full, deep, sympathetic.

  After a while a rider appeared out of the starlit haze of the plains belowthem. The Judge started. Trevison laughed.

  "It's Clay Levins, Judge. I've been watching him for half an hour. He'llstay here with you while I go after the record. Under the bottom drawer,eh?"

  Levins hallooed to them. Trevison answered, and he and the Judge walkedforward to meet Levins at the crest of the slope.

  "Slicker'n a whistle!" declared Levins, answering the question Trevisonput to him. "I mailed the damn letter an' come back on the train thatbrought it to him!" He grinned felinely at the Judge. "I reckon you're aheap dry an' hungry by this time?"

  "The Judge has feasted," said Trevison. "I'm going after the record.You're to stay here with the Judge until I return. Then the three of uswill ride to Las Vegas, where we will take a train to Santa Fe, to turnthe record over to the Circuit Court."

  "Sounds good!" gloated Levins. "But it's too long around. I'm forsomethin' more direct. Why not take the Judge with you to Manti, get therecord, takin' a bunch of your boys with you--an' salivate that damnedCorrigan an' his deputies!"

  Trevison laughed softly. "I don't want any violence if I can avoid it. Myland won't run away while we're in Santa Fe. And the Judge doesn't want tomeet Corrigan just now. I don't know that I blame him."

  "Where's the record?"

  Trevison told him, and Levins grumbled. "Corrigan'll have his deputiesguardin' the courthouse, most likely. If you run ag'in 'em, they'll boreyou, sure as hell!"

  "I'll take care of myself--I promise you that!" he laughed, and the Judgeshuddered at the sound. He vanished into the darkness of the ledge,returning presently with Nigger, led him down the slope, called a low"So-long" to the two watchers on the ledge, and rode away into the haze ofthe plains.

  Trevison rode fast, filled with a grim elation. He pitied the Judge. Anerror--a momentary weakening of moral courage--had plunged the jurist intothe clutches of Corrigan; he could hardly be held responsible for what hadtranspired--he was a puppet in the hands of an unscrupulous schemer, witha threat of exposure hanging over him. No wonder he feared Corrigan!Trevison's thoughts grew bitter as they dwelt upon the big man; the oldlonging to come into violent physical contact with the other seized him,raged within him, brought a harsh laugh to his lips as he rode. But agreater passion than he felt for the Judge or Corrigan tugged at him as heurged the big black over the plains toward the twinkling lights ofManti--a fierce exultation which centered around Rosalind Benham. She hadduped him, betrayed him to his enemy, had played with him--but she hadlost!

  Yet the thought of his coming victory over her was poignantlyunsatisfying. He tried to picture her--did picture her--receiving the newsof Corrigan's defeat, and somehow it left him with a feeling of regret.The vengeful delight that he should have felt was absent--he felt sorryfor her. He charged himself with being a fool for yielding to so strange asentiment, but it lingered persistently. It fed his rage against Corrigan,however, doubled it, for upon him lay the blame.

  It was late when he reached the outskirts of Manti. He halted Nigger inthe shadow of a shed a hundred yards or so down the track from thecourthouse, dismounted and made his way cautiously down the railroadtracks. He was beyond the radius of the lights from various windows thathe passed, but he moved stealthily, not knowing whether Corrigan hadstationed guards about the courthouse, as Levins had warned. An instantafter reaching a point opposite the courthouse he congratulated himself onhis discretion, for he caught a glimmer of light at the edge of a windowshade in the courthouse, saw several indistinct figures congregated at theside door, outside. He slipped behind a tool shed at the side of thetrack, and crouching there, watched and listened. A mumbling of voicesreached him, but he could distinguish no word. But it was evident that themen outside were awaiting the reappearance of
one of their number who hadgone into the building.

  Trevison watched, impatiently. Then presently the side door opened,letting out a flood of light, which bathed the figures of the waiting men.Trevison scowled, for he recognized them as Corrigan's deputies. But hewas not surprised, for he had half expected them to be hanging around thebuilding. Two figures stepped down from the door as he watched, and heknew them for Corrigan and Gieger. Corrigan's voice reached him.

  "The lock on this door is broken. I had to kick it in this morning. One ofyou stay inside, here. The rest of you scatter and keep your eyes peeled.There's trickery afoot. Judge Lindman didn't go to Dry Bottom--the agentsays he's sure of that because he saw every man that's got aboard a trainhere within the last twenty-four hours--and Judge Lindman wasn't amongthem! Levins was, though; he left on the one-thirty this morning and gotback on the six-o'clock, tonight." He vanished into the darkness beyondthe door, but called back: "I'll be within call. Don't be afraid to shootif you see anything suspicious!"

  Trevison saw a man enter the building, and the light was blotted out bythe closing of the door. When his eyes were again accustomed to thedarkness he observed that the men were standing close together--theyseemed to be holding a conference. Then the group split up, three goingtoward the front of the building; two remaining near the side door, andtwo others walking around to the rear.

  For an instant Trevison regretted that he had not taken Levins' adviceabout forming a posse of his own men to take the courthouse by storm, andhe debated the thought of postponing action. But there was no telling whatmight happen during an interval of delay. In his rage over the discoveryof the trick that had been played on him Corrigan might tear the interiorof the building to pieces. He would be sure to if he suspected thepresence of the original record. Trevison did not go for the help thatwould have been very welcome. Instead, he spent some time twirling thecylinder of his pistol.

  He grew tired of crouching after a time and lay flat on his stomach in theshadow of the tool shed, watching the men as they tramped back and forth,around the building. He knew that sooner or later there would be a minuteor two of relaxation, and of this he had determined to take advantage. Butit was not until sound in the town had perceptibly decreased in volumethat there was any sign of the men relaxing their vigil. And then he notedthem congregating at the front of the building.

  "Hell," he heard one of them say; "what's the use of hittin' that trail_all_ night! Bill's inside, an' we can see the door from here. I'm due fora smoke an' a palaver!" Matches flared up; the sounds of their voicesreached Trevison.

  Trevison disappointedly relaxed. Then, filled with a sudden decision, heslipped around the back of the tool shed and stole toward the rear of thecourthouse. It projected beyond the rear of the bank building, adjoiningit, forming an L, into the shadow of which Trevison slipped. He stoodthere for an instant, breathing rapidly, undecided. The darkness in theshadow was intense, and he was forced to feel his way along the wall forfear of stumbling. He was leaning heavily on his hands, trusting to themrather than to his footing, when the wall seemed to give way under themand he fell forward, striking on his hands and knees. Fortunately, he hadmade no sound in falling, and he remained in the kneeling position untilhe got an idea of what had happened. He had fallen across the threshold ofa doorway. The door had been unfastened and the pressure of his hands hadforced it inward. It was the rear door of the bank building. He lookedinward, wondering at Braman's carelessness--and stared fixedly straightinto a beam of light that shone through a wedge-shaped crevice between twoboards in the partition that separated the buildings.

  He got up silently, stepped stealthily into the room, closing the doorbehind him. He tried to fasten it and discovered that the lock was broken.For some time he stood, wondering, and then, giving it up, he made his waycautiously around the room, searching for Braman's cot. He found that,too, empty, and he decided that some one had broken into the buildingduring Braman's absence. Moving away from the cot, he stumbled againstsomething soft and yielding, and his pistol flashed into his hand insinister preparation, for he knew from the feel of the soft object that itwas a body, and he suspected that it was Braman, stalking him. He thoughtthat until he remembered the broken lock, on the door, and then thesignificance of it burst upon him. Whoever had broken the lock had fixedBraman. He knelt swiftly and ran his hands over the prone form, drawingback at last with the low ejaculation: "He's a goner!" He had no time orinclination to speculate over the manner of Braman's death, and madecatlike progress toward the crevice in the partition. Reaching it, hedropped on his hands and knees and peered through. A wooden box on theother side of the partition intervened, but above it he could see the formof the deputy. The man was stretched out in a chair, sideways to thecrevice in the wall, sleeping. A grin of huge satisfaction spread overTrevison's face.

  His movements were very deliberate and cautious. But in a quarter of anhour he had pulled the board out until an opening was made in thepartition, and then propping the board back with a chair he reachedthrough and slowly shoved the box on the other side back far enough toadmit his body. Crawling through, he rose on the other side, crossed thefloor carefully, kneeled at the drawer where Judge Lindman had concealedthe record, pulled it out and stuck it in the waistband of his trousers,in front, his eyes glittering with exultation. Then he began to backtoward the opening in the partition. At the instant he was preparing tostoop to crawl back into the bank building, the deputy in the chairyawned, stretched and opened his eyes, staring stupidly at him. There wasno mistaking the dancing glitter in Trevison's eyes, no possiblemisinterpretation of his tense, throaty whisper: "One chirp and you're adead one!" And the deputy stiffened in the chair, dumb with astonishmentand terror.

  The deputy had not seen the opening in the partition, for it was partlyhidden from his view by the box which Trevison had encountered inentering, and before the man had an opportunity to look toward the place,Trevison commanded him again, in a sharp, cold whisper:

  "Get up and turn your back to me--quick! Any noise and I'll plug you!Move!"

  The deputy obeyed. Then he received an order to walk to the door withoutlooking back. He readied the door--halted.

  "Now open it and get out!"

  The man did as bidden; diving headlong out into the darkness, swinging thedoor shut behind him. His yell to his companions mingled with the roar ofTrevison's pistol as he shattered the kerosene lamp. The bullet hit theneck of the glass bowl, a trifle below the burner, the latter describing aparabola in the air and falling into the ruin of the bowl. The chimneycrashed, the flame from the wick touched the oil and flared upbrilliantly.

  Trevison was half way through the wall by the time the oil ignited, and hegrinned coldly at the sight. Haste was important now. He slipped throughthe opening, pulled the chair from between the board and wall, letting theboard snap back, and placing the chair against it. He felt certain thatthe deputies would think that in some manner he had run their barricadeand entered the building through the door.

  He heard voices outside, a fusillade of shots, the tinkle of breakingglass; against the pine boards at his side came the wicked thud ofbullets, the splintering of wood as they tore through the partition andembedded themselves in the outside wall. He ducked low and ran to the reardoor, swinging it open. Braman's body bothered him; he could not leave itthere, knowing the building would soon be in flames. He dragged the bodyoutside, to a point several feet distant from the building, dropping it atlast and standing erect for the first time to fill his lungs and lookabout him. Looking back as he ran down the tracks toward the shed where hehad left Nigger, he saw shadowy forms of men running around thecourthouse, which was now dully illuminated, the light from within dancingfitfully through the window shades. Flaming streaks rent the night fromvarious points--thinking him still in the building the deputies wereshooting through the windows. Manti, rudely awakened, was pouring itspopulation through its doors in streams. Shouts, hoarse, inquisitive,drifted to Trevison's ears. Lights blazed up, flickeri
ng from windows likegiant fireflies. Doors slammed, dogs were barking, men were running.Trevison laughed vibrantly as he ran. But his lips closed tightly when hesaw two or three shadowy figures darting toward him, coming from variousdirections--one from across the street; another coming straight down therailroad track, still another advancing from his right. He bowed his headand essayed to pass the first figure. It reached out a hand and graspedhis shoulder, arresting his flight.

  "What's up?"

  "Let go, you damned fool!"

  The man still clung to him. Trevison wrenched himself free and struck,viciously. The man dropped with a startled cry. Another figure was uponTrevison. He wanted no more trouble at that minute.

  "Hell to pay!" he panted as the second man loomed close to him in thedarkness; "Trevison's in the courthouse!"

  He heard the other gasp; saw him lunge forward. He struck again, bitterly,and the man went to his knees. He was up again instantly, as Trevison fledinto the darkness, crying resonantly:

  "This way, boys--here he is!"

  "Corrigan!" breathed Trevison. He ducked as a flame-spurt split the night;reaching a corner of the shed where he had left his horse as a successionof reports rattled behind him. Corrigan was firing at him. He dared notuse his own pistol, lest its flash reveal his whereabouts, and he knew hewould have no chance against the odds that were against him. Nor was heintent on murder. He flung himself into the saddle, and for the first timesince he had come into Trevison's possession Nigger knew the bite of spursearnestly applied. He snorted, leaped, and plunged forward, the clatter ofhis hoofs bringing lancelike streaks of fire out of the surroundingblackness. Behind him Trevison heard Corrigan raging impotently,profanely. There came another scattering volley. Trevison reeled, caughthimself, and then hung hard to the saddle-horn, as Nigger fled into thenight, running as a coyote runs from the daylight.