The Rider of Golden Bar

by William Patterson White

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  OBSCURING THE ISSUE

  "Well," said Felix Craft, attempting a pleasantry, "how do I look?"

  "You look," said Billy, following a meticulous survey of hisquestioner's attire, "you look like Mr. Felix Craft, our genial gamblerand non-resident ranch owner."

  "Shucks, I was hoping I'd look like you. I'd sure enjoy making a goodappearance. Maybe the mask will make a difference."

  "Mask won't disguise your voice any."

  "I'll talk like I had a cold. Oh, I won't have any trouble makingfolks think it's you."

  Felix Craft spoke with tremendous confidence. More than the occasionwarranted, thought Billy Wingo.

  "Why don't you wear my star?" suggested Bill. "Then folks would surethink it was me."

  "Too raw, and you know it. Even you wouldn't do a fool thing likethat."

  "Thanks for the compliment," Billy said humbly. "Suppose now you getplugged, Felix?"

  "I won't get plugged. Not me," declared Craft, pulling the six-shooterwith the brass trigger guard and making sure that the hammer rested onan empty chamber.

  "What makes you think you won't be plugged?" persisted Billy.

  Craft darted a quick look at his questioner. "Because I know I won't.I'll have the drop on 'em, don't you see? Nobody will dare cut down onme."

  "How do you know they won't?"

  "I'm sure, that's all."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "Because I am, that's why!" was the snappish reply. Then in apleasanter tone Craft continued, "Because, Bill, I've figured out mychances carefully. Not once in a thousand times do stage passengersresist a road agent."

  "How about the Wells-Fargo guard?"

  "He ain't riding this trip."

  "How do you know he ain't?"

  "Now don't you worry how we know, Bill. We know, and you can bet onthat. It's like I told you, we've figured this thing out to the lastli'l detail. We----"

  "You bet we have," cut in Tip quickly. "For the last time, Bill,hadn't you better change your mind?"

  "I couldn't change it for the last time till I'd changed it at leasttwo other times, Tip," Billy drawled, one-half his brain busy trying tofathom why Tip should have interrupted Craft so brusquely. Tip neverdid anything without reason. Never. And why was Craft so unnaturallysure that he could hold up the stage without being shot? Unnaturally,exactly. Because Felix Craft was one not given to explaining anythinghe did. Yet in this instance he had taken the trouble to explain atsome length. Why?

  Billy tilted back on the rear legs of his chair, cocked his heels up onthe table and stared at the ceiling.

  "Well, how about it?" Tip demanded impatiently. "You going to besensible?"

  Billy waved a hand for silence and then sang in a whining bobtail bass:

  "Barney Bodkin broke his nose: Want of money makes us sad; Without feet we can't have toes; Crazy folks are always mad; A nickel candle's very small; Many fiddlers can't play jigs; One that's dumb can never bawl; Pickled pork is made of pigs.

  "Ain't that a nice song?" Billy broke off, glancing round him forpraise. "Lot of truth in that song, too. Especially that part aboutcrazy folks. They always are mad--like you and Felix, Tip, and our fatfriend, Mr. Samuel Larder. Why all the delay, Felix? If you reallyare gonna to be a bold bad man, go'n and be one. Don't dally roundhere any longer. Suppose you miss the stage? You'd be disappointed.So would I. Because I don't want anything to prevent you from having afair crack at it. I'd like you to have every chance--but I forgot, youain't taking any chances, are you? This is a sure thing."

  Billy, through half-shut eyes, was watching the men he was talking to.He was watching Sam Larder especially. For Sam was not a good pokerplayer. Never had been. His plump features were too expressive. Andnow the open-faced Sam was looking at Billy with a slightly worriedexpression. Furthermore, the worry was tinged with some astonishment.At least, so it seemed to Billy. Again why?

  Here were three men, each of whom within five minutes had done thatwhich was not wholly warranted by the apparent facts. He again hadcropped up and out those unnatural circumstances so ably dwelt upon byMr. William Noy. As has been said, the law abhors such things andseeks a remedy. There is always a remedy; and investigation, patientand thorough, will always find it. Billy rather prided himself onbeing a patient and thorough investigator.

  Nevertheless he did not fail to realize that he was in a tight hole.He felt the pinch already. So he smiled at the three men his sunniestsmile.

  "Looks like a wild night on the canal," he said calmly. "I expect themules are pinning back their ears. Yeah. Going, Crafty? Well, begood and--oh, say, Crafty, ain't Jerry Fern the stage driver this trip?"

  "I don't know," was the short reply.

  "But you knew everything else," complained Billy, making a mental noteof another unnatural circumstance. "Seems like you'd oughta know this,too."

  "Well, I don't," Craft tossed back over his shoulder, as he flung outof the house.

  The door slammed. Billy looked at Sam Larder and grinned. "If this isJerry Fern's trip, and I'm most sure it is, Felix will be out of luck.Jerry is one stage driver who will always give a bandit a battle."

  "Oh, I guess Crafty will get the drop on him all right," Sam Larderaverred easily,--too easily by half.

  "I can see," said Billy with strange placidity, "I can see that I'vegot to get out of here."

  Both Sam and Tip laughed,--Tip heartily, Sam with a false note.

  "Well, anyway," resumed Billy, "I've got my choice of hitting the trailor being arrested."

  Tip shook his head. "You haven't any choice--none."

  "Huh?" Surprisedly.

  "Yeah. You see, we talked it over again while you were asleep a whileback, and we decided if you couldn't see our way of it and be sensiblelike we want, that we'd better just put you where you won't be mislaid.Givin' you your choice of ridin' away or bein' arrested like I said atfirst would be a bad move. If you chose to hit the trail-- You're asport with ideas, Bill, and you might think up one to put the kybosh onus. But if you're in jail, your ideas won't help you much. See?"

  "I see I ain't gonna get a chance for my alley a-tall. Who'll arrestme--my own deputies?"

  "No, we'll do that. Here's the story: Your horse gave out and Samcaught you trying to rustle a pony out of his corral. Sam threw downon you, held you up and when we, Sam, Crafty and I, y'understandsearched you, we found on you a couple of pocketbooks and Jerry Fern'swatch. See?"

  "I see, all right. I see you haven't been quite open with our friendMr. Craft."

  "How do you make that out?"

  Billy hunched his shoulders. He was observing the marked unease thatspread upon the countenance of Sam Larder. Tip was forced to repeathis question.

  Billy gazed at him vacantly. "Huh? How--uh--oh, you want to know how,do you? Is that it? Yeah. Well, I'll tell you. Here you knew allatime that Jerry Fern was going to drive the stage this trip and yet youdidn't tell Crafty. He didn't know who was the driver when I askedhim, remember? You should have told him, Tip. Skin game not to."

  Tip laughed. Was the laughter forced? Billy thought it sounded as ifit were. But he couldn't be sure. Not with Tip O'Gorman. For Tip wasa good poker player. Still----

  Billy wagged a forefinger at Tip. "Why didn't you tell Crafty, youcareless child?"

  "Crafty knew, all right," Tip stated. "He was just joking with you, Iguess."

  "I guess so too," drawled Billy Wingo. "I guess so too."

  He stood up and started to walk casually toward the door.

  "That will be about far enough," said Tip.

  Billy's hands fell away from the latch. "If that gun goes off, it'llmake a fine mess on the floor."

  "You come back and sit on the bed again," directed Tip, the six-shootertrained unwaveringly on the captive's abdomen. "Of course," he added,"you might try the windows. But even if I didn't drill you three timeswhere you live w
hile you were doing it, you can't wiggle through thosewindows. Your shoulders are too broad and the sashes are too narrow.That's why we picked this room. Only one in the house with smallwindows."

  "I'd noticed that," said Billy, returning to the bed. "How about adrink, Tip? I'm thirsty."

  "Sam will get you a drink," said Tip.

  Billy smiled. "Why not you? Can't you trust me with Sam? Think I'llcorrupt his morals or something?"

  "There's no telling what you'll do, Bill, and as I may have told youonce or twice we can't afford to take any chances."

  "When am I going to be arrested for rustling one of Sam's horses?"

  "Soon after Crafty gets here."

  Billy's face assumed a peevish expression. "Say, look here, Tip, Idon't just cotton to the idea of havin' Sam the one to throw down on meand hold me up. I've got my pride, such as it is, and I'd hate forfolks to go round blatting that a slow-pulling sport like Sam Larderheld me up. Can't you make it yourself, Tip? You've got a reputation.I dunno that I'd feel so bad about it if it was you."

  "Shucks, Bill, you're too sensitive. I'm afraid we'll have to let thescheme go through as it lays. I don't believe in changing any part ofa plan once I've started to carry it out."

  "There's something in that," admitted Billy. "I'm a li'l superstitiousthat way myself. Ain't Sam taking a goshawful time to that drink?Maybe you better step out and look for him."

  Tip grinned. "I hear him comin' now."

  "Sam," said Billy, when the owner of the house appeared with the drink,"Sam, how about a li'l hot something to eat? I know it's only theshank of the afternoon, but I'm hungry and I probably have a long hardnight ahead of me."

  "You have, all right," concurred Sam. "All your own fault, too. But Iexpect you know what's best."

  Sam eased his fat self into a chair and began to construct a cigarette.

  Billy elevated his eyebrows. "Say. I thought I asked you forsomething to eat?"

  Sam ran his tongue along the side of the cigarette. "I heard you, butI don't cook a thing till supper. That's flat. I been in and out ofthat kitchen all day, and I've got enough, you bet you."

  "You don't have to cook anythin' yourself. Let your cook do it."

  "I let him go to town for the day."

  "I don't s'pose you could persuade one of your boys to throw a li'lbite together for me, now, could you?"

  Sam shook a decided head. "I couldn't, Bill. There ain't a boy on theplace. I sent them all down on the Wagonjack to fence off a quicksand."

  Billy closed his eyes to conceal the satisfaction in their depths. Nota man on the place! Which was just what he had been working to findout. But the odds were still two to one, and an armed two to aweaponless one at that. When Craft returned, they would be three toone, provided Billy still was a prisoner.

  He surveyed his captors through drop-lidded eyes. Sam Larder waslooking out of the window. But Tip was on the alert, even as he hadbeen from the beginning. And Billy knew well that Tip would nothesitate to shoot. Most decidedly the future did not look bright andshining. But Billy's was a confident nature.

  "What's that?" queried Tip.

  "What do--oh, that! Simon says 'thumbs up,' you mean? It doesn't meananythin' serious, Tip. Just another way of saying, 'Faint heart neverwon a bet in its life' and 'It's always darkest 'round midnight.'Don't mind if I take a snooze, do you, Tippy, old boy?"

  Billy rolled over on his stomach, rammed his head into the pillow andcompletely relaxed his body, but, although his breathing soon becamedeceptively regular, he was far from being asleep. He was thinking aspurposefully as ever he had in his life. He had to escape. _He hadto_! To permit his enemies to do this thing was intolerable. Therewas a way out. Every strait, no matter how close and awkward it maybe, has its way out.

  He built many plans while he lay there. But there was a flaw in eachand every one of them. His brain was still feverishly busy when FelixCraft returned about the middle of the afternoon.

  As the door opened and Craft entered, Billy sat up. "Have a nicetime?" he drawled.

  "Went through like clockwork," replied Craft, slumping into a chairbeside the table.

  "Not even a li'l teeny-weeny hole in you anywhere?" Billy demandedhopefully. "Hell, I shore had a better opinion of Jerry Fern thanthat."

  "Jerry didn't do any fightin' to-day," said Felix. "Handed over hiswatch like a major."

  "Yeah, Tip said you'd take his watch. Funny you didn't know Jerry Fernwas driving this trip when I asked you. Tip knew."

  "Oh, I knew all right," Craft said carelessly. "Lord A'mighty, I'mhungry. My stomach is sticking to my backbone closer than a postagestamp to a letter. I ain't had a thing to eat since breakfast. Gotany more eggs and ham, Sam?"

  "If you want anything to eat, you can cook it yourself," said Sam."It's like I told Bill here, I ain't goin' into that kitchen tillsuppertime."

  "That's always the way," grumbled Craft, kicking his chair back. "HereI ride from hell to breakfast and back--and I wanna say again thathaving that hold-up fifteen miles from here was too much of a goodthing. Just as well have had it two or three miles away. It wouldn'thave made a bit of difference, not a smidgin, by Gawd."

  "You know, Felix," defended Tip, "that we had it fifteen miles away sothe give-out horse of Bill's would look more natural."

  "Damn his give-out horse," snarled Craft, moving stiffly toward thehall leading to the kitchen. "I wish it had give out before I wasborn."

  "So you found out how rough-gaited the pinto was, did you, Felix?"Billy observed sweetly. "Do you know, I had an idea you would. Yeah.You don't ride enough, that's whatsa matter. Stick too close behindyour faro box, you do. Y'oughta try the open air and the range more.Tell you, Felix, I'll gamble you'll do more ridin' and less cardplayin' in the next sixty days than you ever did in any two months ofyour life before. In round numbers I'll bet you ride more than sixhundred miles in the next two months. Go you a hundred even. The betpayable in Golden Bar sixty days--say any time after the first day ofJune."

  "Humor him, Crafty," suggested Tip, glad of the diversion. "Sometimesthey turn real violent."

  "Make it five hundred even," said Craft, who was nothing if notcommercial.

  Billy smiled pityingly. "You poor feller! But you've asked for it.Five hundred she is. It'll have to be a finger bet, because I haven'ta cent with me."

  "Your word's good," said Craft and went on his way.

  "How about you fellers?" Billy pursued brightly. "Any chance of myturning a honest penny? I'll go you both the same as Crafty. Isuppose my word's good."

  "Better than gold," declared Tip, "but I don't see how you're going tocheck up on anybody's riding."

  Billy waved a complacent hand. "That's the least of my troubles. Howabout it? You fellers want to bet? No? Aw right, my loss is yourgain. Tippy, I wonder if you'd mind opening the door and hollering toFelix to fry me up a mess of eggs while he's at it? Tell him to let'em lay. That's the way I like 'em. I thank you. Tip, you've made amistake."

  "How?"

  "Having that hold-up fifteen miles away and then having me arrestedhere so close to Golden Bar. You poor flap, is it reasonable tosuppose I'd hold up the Hillsville stage and then come scamperin' righthome, especially when I knew my horse had been seen? You'll find thejudge and jury lookin' cross-eyed at that li'l bit. Yeah, flaw in yourtitle, Tippy. Y'oughta be more careful."

  "Bill's right," said Sam Larder unexpectedly. "I always thoughtfifteen miles away was too far, and I know the jury will think it'sfunny he came right back to Golden Bar. That don't look natural.Nawsir."

  "Blah!" snorted Tip. "You never thought anything about it till Billpointed it out to you, and at that, he's wrong. And anyway, he ain'tarrested yet. We can always rub out Bill if we feel like it. This isone county that has plenty of good places to leave a man--places wherehe won't be found for years and years, and not then, judging by the waythe coyotes scatter a feller's bones. Have you
thought of that, Bill?You'd better. So far I've been dead against making you hard to find,but if you keep on trying to show me where I'm wrong, maybe I'll acceptyour view of the case."

  This was plain speaking. Billy accepted it at its face value. Tip wasgood-hearted enough. He had proved it. But he was desperate. He hadproved that, too.

  Billy smiled engagingly at Tip. "Shucks, I was only talking to you foryour own good," he said in an injured tone. "And here you go and getall het up. You make me more tired than a day's work."

  "We may make you tireder," was the grim return.

  When Felix Craft brought the eggs, he drew up at one side of the tableand Billy at the other. The platter of eggs was between them. Tiplooked on from his seat near the fireplace. Sam lounged comfortably inhis chair.

  Billy looked with a dissatisfied air upon the eggs. "Ain't there anybread, Felix? One thing I like is to sort of smush a piece of breadround my eggs till it gets all gooey and good. A li'l butter on thebread wouldn't hurt neither."

  So Felix made another trip to the kitchen. When he returned with thebread and butter, Billy discovered that the pepper had been overlooked.

  "For Gawd's sake use salt on 'em!" implored Felix. "I never usepepper, I don't. Salt is just as good. Healthier, too."

  "But I don't like salt," protested Billy. "I've got no manner of usefor it. I want pepper, I do."

  "Use salt," mumbled Craft, stoking busily.

  Billy pushed right back from the table and refused to be comforted. "Iwant some pepper! Whatsa matter with you jiggers--tryin' to starve meto death? Sam, you lazy lump of slumgullion, get me some pepper, willyou?"

  "No, I won't. I'm too comfortable and you're too finicky."

  Bill glanced across at Tip. "You going to refuse me too, Tip, oldcitizen?"

  "No," said Tip with a weary air, "I suppose not."

  He arose and betook himself to the kitchen. Returning with a largeold-fashioned tin pepper pot he thumped it down upon the table in frontof the captive. "There y'are. Now, stop your squalling."

  "Thank you, Tippy, I will. Yeah."

  Billy scraped up to the table as Tip turned away. "What's the matterwith this pepper pot, anyway?"

  Tip turned to look. Billy picked up the pepper pot slowly and staredhard at it. Felix Craft craned his neck.

  "I don't see anything the matter with it," said Craft.

  "Don't you?" murmured Billy, his fingers busy with the removable top."Look here."

  Sam Larder did not move, but both Tip and Craft obeyed. In fact, theyobeyed with such good will that the handful of pepper that Billyinstantly swept into their faces dusted up their nostrils as well asinto their eyes.

  In throwing the pepper Billy had employed his left hand. This lefthand had not completed the motion before Billy was reaching for theplatter of eggs with his right hand.

  It was unfortunate for Sam Larder that he was a slow-going gentleman.The platter struck him edgewise over the eye when his six-shooter hadbarely cleared the holster. The six-shooter thudded to the floor. Samand his chair went over backward and lay together in a tangle amid thefragments of broken platter and the remains of several eggs. On theway down some of the eggs painted Sam's countenance and part of hisshirt a bright yellow. But Sam made no attempt to rise and scrapehimself off. He was unconscious.

  Billy, arriving in Sam's immediate neighborhood a split second afterSam struck the floor, scooped up the fallen six-shooter and wheeledback to face his other two enemies. But they were too occupied withtheir very real misery to be an immediate menace. Felix Craft wassitting on the floor, clawing at his eyes and swearing continuously.Tip, coughing and sneezing, was not swearing. Perhaps he had notsufficient breath. At any rate, he was on his feet, arms spread wide,feeling his way along the wall toward the door giving into the hall.

  Billy cat-footed up behind Tip and snatched away his six-shooter. Tipspun round at the touch, but Billy dodged away from the clutching hands.

  Bang! a revolver bullet cut a button from his vest and tucked into thewall at his elbow. Billy's sudden movement had saved his life. Heleaped back another two yards to get out of the smoke and crouched,balancing his tense body on the balls of his feet.

  He saw beyond the table Felix Craft with a gun in each hand. Thegambler's face, despite the tears that overflowed his eyes and ran downhis cheeks, was fairly murderous.

  "Tip! Where are you? Don't you move, Bill," Craft was saying, thebarrels of his two guns weaving to and fro uncertainly. "Get away fromthat door, Bill. Don't you try and get away. I can see you."

  Billy leaned forward, picked up a fork from his set-out on the tableand flung it across the room. It fell with a clatter. Craft fired atthe sound. The next instant Billy kicked him under the chin andflattened him out.

  "First time I ever saw a feller shoot by ear," observed Billy, calmlydivesting Craft of his gun belt and exchanging Sam's six-shooter forhis own gun with the brass-trigger guard. "He did pretty good,considering. Tip, don't you try to bluff me, like Crafty, that you cansee. Hey! do you want to be the third senseless man in this room?"

  Tip answered the question by halting his groping way toward thespeaker. He stood still, his body swaying, his muscular fingers lockedin the palms of his hands. Billy stooped over the senseless Craft andwhipped off his neckerchief.

  "Put your hands behind you, Tip," he directed.

  "Damfi will!" Tip declared.

  "I don't want to whang you over the head, Tip, but I'll have to if youwon't be good. Stick 'em behind you."

  Tip hesitated, then suddenly he thrust his hands behind him. Billyslipped around him, laid his six-shooter on a chair seat and drew thehandkerchief beneath Tip's crossed wrists. The next instant Tip hadwhirled about, Tip's knees were between his legs and Tip's long armswere wrapped round him in an under-hold.

  Tip was essaying the wrestling chip Cumberland men call the swinginghype. It is a crack chip and when well done is disastrous to anopponent. But it must be well done--the right arm under, hyping withthe right leg and striking outside with the left. Fortunately forBill, Tip, although his right arm was under in a strong hold, had madethe mistake of sticking his left knee between Bill's legs. He struckoutside with his right leg and missed. With the right arm under, hehad not the leverage he should have had.

  Billy, fighting for his life, dropped his arms--back-heeled Tip and ranover him. Thump! The wrestlers, Tip underneath, landed full upon thesenseless back of Felix Craft. Tip freed a hand, writhed his bodysidewise and struck viciously at Billy's unprotected stomach. Hestruck too low and the blow glanced off Billy's hipbone. Billy,striking in turn, drove a smashing right against the point of Tip'schin. Tip merely grunted and struck again at Billy's stomach. Billyparried the blow with his left and brought up his knee with thelaudable intention of kicking Tip in the abdomen.

  Blinded though he was, Tip apparently sensed what was impending, for hecrowded his body against Billy and struck outside with all his might.In an instant Tip was on top and Billy underneath. The older manjammed both thumbs into Billy's windpipe and wrenched himself astrideBilly's body. The strangling Billy spread wide his legs, hunched uphis knees, planted both feet against Tip's ribs and straightened hislegs with a jerk. Tip's hands were torn loose from Billy's throat andTip himself crashed backward against the wall.

  Billy scrambled to his feet and without the slightest hesitationclipped Tip over the head with the barrel of his six-shooter. Tipremained where he was. Billy stood over him, pistol poised, till hemade sure he was senseless. Then he took pains to make fast the trio'srespective arms and legs with strips torn from a nightgown belonging toSam. He likewise removed his spurs from Craft's heels to his own.

  This being done, he stripped Tip and Sam of their gun belts, gatheredup all the guns and ran out into the kitchen. Here, on the floor,Craft had thrown his saddle, bridle and saddle blanket. Bill added thelot to his burden and sped out to the corral. The pinto was there,looking very ti
red. Bill hastily unstrapped his rope and dropped theloop over a rangy-bodied chestnut with good legs and a mule stripe.This animal he bridled and saddled, left it standing and ran back toSam's storeroom for another set of horse equipment. It was hislaudable intention to pack the unconscious Felix into town and jail himfor the stage-coach robbery. It was a bold plan, but Billy alwaysrather favored the bold plan. The plan had not occurred to him tillalmost the instant of throwing the pepper so he had had no time tothoroughly mature it, but it seemed to contain more elements of successthan any other because it would forestall his enemies' scheme soneatly. With Craft in jail and wearing the clothing worn by therobber, to which clothing the complaisant Jerry Fern and his passengerswould undoubtedly be prepared to swear, it would be hard indeed, ifBill could not fasten the robbery on him, Craft.

  He swore bitterly as he pulled taut the cinch strap of the secondhorse. Fastening the robbery on Craft was one thing, obtaining hisindictment and conviction were decidedly two others. What though JudgeDonelson would do his best to see justice done, the doing of saidjustice would rest in the laps of twelve men, each and every one ofthem the opposite of good and true. But at least he, Billy Wingo,would not be the victim of an outrageous conspiracy. There was thatmuch gained.

  He led the two horses to the kitchen door and went within to fetch outFelix Craft.

  It must have been his good angel who caused him to look through thefront window. He looked and saw a cloud of horsemen scouring towardthe ranch house. Sam's field glasses were on the shelf above thewindow. He opened the window, snatched up the glasses and focussedthem on the approaching riders. He immediately recognized, to hisgreat disgust, half a dozen of Sam Larder's punchers. Obviously theyhad completed the fencing-off of the quicksand sooner than expected.

  "This," said Billy, dropping the glasses and leaving the room at speed,"is no place for me."

  At the first sight of the riders he had abandoned the plan of takingFelix Craft to town. He would be hard put to escape himself. Aburdened led horse was an impossibility, even if he had had time tocarry out Craft and tie him to the saddle. The punchers would be atthe ranch house in another sixty seconds, and if they should discoverhim with their bound and unconscious employer and two of his friends,they would shoot first and ask questions later. Any one would,--underthe circumstances.

  Billy topped his mount, struck in the spurs and fled. The other horsehe perforce left standing.

  As he flashed past the corner of the building, one of Larder's punchersraised a yell. Some well-meaning fool fired. Zung-g! the bulletbuzzed overhead. Smack! Zung-g! Smack! Several bits of lead eitherripped past his ears or tucked into the posts of the corral he wasskirting. It was borne in upon him that the Larder employees weremistaking him for a horse thief, or some one worse.

  He leaned over his saddle horn and began to ride. From the Lardercorral to a clump of trees on the edge of a draw was a long hundredyards. As Billy galloped in among the trees he glanced over hisshoulder. The corral concealed the horsemen. He pulled up at the edgeof the draw, slid down the bank in a shower of stones and dirt, turnedsharp to the left at the bottom and tore ahead. A mile farther on helooked back. No one was in sight yet.

  "Ropin' themselves fresh horses," was his muttered verdict. "Damitall,running away was about the worst thing I could have done, after all!But what else was there to do, I'd like to know? If I'd stayed I'dhave been plugged for a holdup and now I'm a heap likely to be lynchedfor a horse thief and a hold-up both."

  He knew what he might expect from the brisk Larder outfit after Sam hadgiven it his careful version of the stage robbery.

  "And that goes double for the rest of the county," he said to himself,staring ahead over the flattened ears of his racing horse. "It lookslike a cold day for Billy Wingo. I'll have to do some almighty tallhustling, that's a cinch."

  Two miles and a half from the clump of trees at the back of Larder'scorral he turned his horse and scuffled up the right-hand bank of thedraw. At the top he looked back. He could see the clump of treesquite plainly and below it, in the bottom of the draw, were severalblack beads. He counted four beads. No doubt the remaining beads werespreading out to right and left to head him off.

  "Thank Gawd for the mule stripe," he muttered piously, trotting onward."We'll diddle 'em yet, old-timer."

  Old-timer cocked an ear. His muscles were moving rhythmically, hislong free stride was steady and collected. His breathing, whileaudible, showed no catchiness or other sign of distress. He was goodfor many miles yet, this chestnut with the mule stripe.

  "Alla same, I've got to have another horse," Billy decided. "Thequicker this feller gets back on the Larder range the better."

  He didn't quite know how to get another horse. When he came in town toassume the duties of his office he brought with him from his ranch twohorses besides the red-and-white pinto. His remaining horses he hadturned out into the hills, upon whose tops, when the snow flew, theycould grub up a living without too much difficulty. These hills laysixty miles away beyond the Tuckleton range, and every horse on themwould be carrying a grass belly.

  "Not one of 'em fit for hard riding right off the reel," he toldhimself, and cursed a little. "Looks like Sam Prescott was my one bestbet."

  He came to a stream and rode in it till almost sunset when he left it,dismounted beside a tall cottonwood and shinned to the top. To hisearnest satisfaction he saw, hopelessly distant and following utterlywrong lines, the tiny black beads that were his pursuers.

  "And that's that," said Billy Wingo, rustling groundward rapidly.