CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE GUNFIGHTERS
Crack! Crack! Crack! the voices of the Winchesters drifted faintlydown wind to the ears of Billy and Dawson. Billy, fearful that someone else had seen their quarry first, swore frankly.
"Cheer up," said Dawson. "It may be just the chance we're lookin' for.They've stopped shootin'."
Billy remained pessimistic. He had been disappointed so often. But itwas the chance they were looking for, after all.
Five minutes later from the edge of a flat-topped hill, they werelooking down upon a scene that has had many counterparts in the historyof the West.
Below the flat-topped hill a wide stretch of rolling ground reachedaway to a semi-circle of low hills. A quarter-mile out from the baseof the hills a tiny fire smoked fitfully. Beyond the fire lay ahog-tied calf. Beyond the calf, a man sprawled behind the body of apony. He was aiming a rifle at another man ensconced below a cutbankbordering a small creek that meandered with many windings across therolling country. This second man was not blatantly visible. Even withthe glasses it was difficult to make him out. For cottonwoods grewabove the cutbank and the man lay in deep shadow.
Between this man and the man behind the pony were three hundred yardsof ground as flat as a floor. Billy swept the background of thecutbank man with his glasses. "There are two horses tied behind awindfall alongside those rocks. Where's the other man?"
"There's the other man," said Dawson, pointing toward a gap in thecottonwoods alongside the creek fifty yards down stream from thecutbank. "What's he doing--drinking?"
Billy turned his glasses on the spot indicated. "He ain't drinking,"he said soberly. "His head's under water."
"I'm sure hoping he ain't Dan Slike," Dawson said matter-of-factly.
"Me too. What----"
For the man behind the cutbank was climbing up among thecottonwoods--climbing up and walking out into plain sight of the manbehind the pony. Not only that, but, the rifle across the crook of hiselbow, nursing the butt with his right hand, he began to walk directlytoward him. Still the man behind the pony did not fire.
"He's cashed all right," Billy remarked suddenly. "He looked sonatural he fooled me for a minute. Let's go down across the creek.We're in luck to-day."
They ran down the reverse slope of the flat-topped hill, cut across thecreek and approached the horses tied behind the windfall.
"I'm afraid we'll just naturally have to kill Dan, after all," grievedBilly. "He won't ever surrender. I----"
"Tell you," said Dawson, "loosen the cinches; then no matter whichhorse he tops he'll jerk himself down. Then maybe while he's alltangled up with himself and the saddle----"
"Catchem-alivoes ourselves," said Billy, with a hard grin, and tossedup the near fender of one of the saddles.
When both saddles had been carefully doctored, Billy and his friendretired modestly behind some red willows.
Soon they heard a scramble and a splash in the creek. Dan Slike wascoming back. Through the screen of leaves they watched him comingtoward them. They heard his voice. He was swearing a great string ofoaths. Billy crouched a trifle lower. His six-shooter was out, butnot cocked. Dawson had followed his example.
Slike jammed his Winchester into one of the empty scabbards and untiedthe bridle reins of the horses. Holding the reins in one hand, hegripped a saddle horn and simultaneously stuck toe in stirrup. Ensuedthen a mighty creak of saddle leather, a snort, a plunge, and Slikefound himself on his back on the ground with one foot higher than hishead. A gun barrel appeared from nowhere and smote him smartly overthe ear. Oh, ye sun, moon and stars! Total darkness.
Billy sprang to the heads of the capering horses. "Take his hat off,Johnny!" he cried. "See what you find under the sweatband!"
When Slike emerged into the full possession of his senses, he was themost disgusted man in the territory.
"You gave us quite a run," Billy observed smilelessly.
Slike damned everybody. "You needn't have tied my hands too," he added.
"We can't afford to take chances. Do you feel like admitting that thedistrict attorney helped you break jail?"
Slike glared defiantly. "Nothin' to say," declared Dan Slike, theunrepentant.
"That's your privilege. Suppose now we heave him up on his horse andgo see what happened."
They freed his feet, mounted him on the horse that was not packing therifle and proceeded. Behind the gap in the cottonwoods, fifty yardsbelow the spot under the cutbank where Slike had lain, they found thebody of the man with his face in the water. Billy dragged out the bodyand turned it on its back.
"What you cussin' for?" inquired Dawson.
"This feller ain't Jack Murray," cried the perplexed Mr. Wingo. "It'sSkinny Shindle."
"Looks like we must have missed a bet somewhere," said Dawson."Plugged him plumb center, didn't he?" he added, alluding to thered-and-blue bullet hole squarely between the staring eyes.
"I got the other sport," snarled Slike.
"Where's Jack Murray?" demanded Billy.
"What difference does that make?" flung back Dan Slike.
It was evident that Slike was not in a confiding mood.
Nobody said anything further. They left Skinny Shindle lying besidethe little creek and went on to where the other dead man lay beside theembers of the branding fire.
"That's a TU horse," said Dawson, glancing at the brand on the pony'ship.
Billy turned the dead man face upward. He whistled. "Here's an oddnumber, Johnny. This feller is Simon Reelfoot's foreman. You've heardme speak of that low-lived persimmon, Simon Reelfoot. This boy isnamed Conley. Been with Reelfoot for years. I'd sure like to know whyhe's riding for the T.U."
Came then a puncher riding on his occasions. At sight of the three menand the calf and the fire, he spurred toward them. A hundred yardsaway he suddenly pulled up and slipped to the far side of his horse.
"I know him," said Dawson. "Used to ride for Tasker once. C'mon,Tommy, what you scared of? It's me, Johnny Dawson."
Tommy at once remounted and rode in to them. "'Lo, Johnny," he said,with a straight mouth. "Did that man with his arms tied kill Daley?"
"Is that his name?" asked Billy, flicking his thumb toward the dead man.
"Jim Daley," said Tommy. "Did he?"
"Sure, I killed him," Slike truculently answered the question. "Whatabout it?"
At that instant Billy demonstrated that the hand is sometimes quickerthan the eye.
"He'll die anyway," he said mildly. "You better let us do it."
"I pass," surrendered Tommy, removing his hand from the butt of hissix-shooter.
"Daley got one before he went," said Billy, returning his six-shooterwhence it came. "He's back there on the bank of the creek if you wantto look."
"This is sure hard on Daley," observed Tommy, dismounting to turn loosethe calf. "He told me he came north for his health."
"North?"
"Yeah, couldn't stand the climate in Arizona, he said," amplifiedTommy, loosening the knot. "Git up, feller, pull your freight. Life'ssure funny. I'll bet that calf's the first Daley ran our iron on. Heonly joined the outfit last week. Let's go see if I know the otherfeller."
Since the place where the dead man lay was on their back trail, theywent with Tommy, the TU boy.
"Sure, I know him," declared Tommy, after one look at the dead face."He's named Brindley--been with the Horseshoe since February."
Which simple statement explained the presence of Skinny Shindle, butleft Jack Murray completely to the imagination. After all, decidedBilly, Jack Murray did not matter, and promptly forgot him. Had heknown how important a place the slippery Mr. Murray actually held inthe scheme of things, he, Billy Wingo, would not have been so casual.
"We gotta make a heap of trail," said Dawson to Billy, when Tommy haddeparted in suspicious haste. "That damn Tommy is going to the ranchfor the rest of his bunch. First thing we know we'll lose ourprisoner."
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"Don't hurry on my account," said the sardonic Slike. "If I gotta behung, lemme be hung and no fuss about it. I don't want to ride all theway north again."
"We need you, Dan," said Billy briefly. "No hanging goes yet a while."
Forthwith they began to "make a heap of trail." It may as well be saidat once that they saw no further signs of Tommy or any other of the TUboys.
Toward dawn next day the horses showed signs of tiring. "Mine won'tlast another five miles," said Johnny Dawson.
"This is as good a place as any," said Billy briefly. "We'll stophere."
They dismounted Slike and stripped and hobbled the horses. Slike hadnot enjoyed the long night ride. He was disposed to be peevish. "Iwant a smoke," he demanded.
Billy ceased pounding coffee and fixed him with a hard eye. "You won'tget it," he said shortly.
"Helluva way to treat a prisoner," snarled Slike. "You done better byme when I was in jail."
"Lots of things have happened since. But don't you fret. I'll giveyou what you deserve in about five minutes. I missed out on ityesterday, but I'll try to see you don't lose anything by the delay."
"Huh?" puzzled Slike.
"You remember going to Miss Walton's ranch," elaborated Billy in acold, monotonous tone. "You beat her."
"Hell, nothin' to that. I only pulled her hair a few times and slammedher once or twice."
"You kicked her, too."
"Not hard, though. Besides, I had to. She was stubborn. My Gawd, youwouldn't begin to believe how stubborn that girl was!"
Billy laid aside the rock with which he had been pounding coffee. "Iguess the coffee can wait better than I can."
He stood up limberly and unbuckled his cartridge belt and dropped itbeside Johnny Dawson, who was slicing bacon. Then he crossed to Slikeand untied the knots of the rope that bound him. Slike stretched hisarms and legs but made no offer to rise. Billy nudged him in the ribswith the toe of his boot.
"What's that for?" roared Slike, scrambling to his feet.
"I'm going to give you the best licking you ever got. You've had itcoming a long time, and now you're going to get it."
"Is that so?" sneered Slike. "Is that so? You expecting to do allthis without help?"
Fists doubled, Billy started for Slike. The latter side-stepped andfeinted Billy into a position between himself and Dawson. Slikecrouched. His right hand flashed downward. The fingers fumbled at hisbootleg. Billy ran in, expecting to beat Slike flat.
"Look out!" cried Dawson, as Slike's hand shot up and out, accompaniedby the vicious twinkle of steel.
But Billy, coming in with the speed of a springing wildcat, slipped abootsole on a rock and fell. Slike's thrust sped past his head soclose that Slike's knuckles brushed his ear.
Billy got one foot under himself and threw up an arm in time to catchon the turn the wrist of Slike's knife hand. Slike promptly changedhands. But Billy caught the other wrist, not, however, before theknife had narrowly missed slicing the flesh on his floating ribs.Slike's head dipped forward and he sank his teeth in Billy's shoulder.Billy drove a knee into Slike's stomach and Slike unclamped his teethwith a gasp. Over he went. Billy stayed with him.
Dawson, who had dropped bacon and frying-pan at the first blow, saw hisopportunity and lunged down to wrench away Slike's knife. Which wasnot at all to Billy's mind.
"Let it alone!" gasped the warrior. "He ain't giving me a bit o'trouble."
The reluctant Dawson obeyed.
Slike, his body writhing like that of a scotched snake, could not budgehis pinned-down knife hand. Inch by inch Billy dragged his own bodyforward and upward until he was resting on his knees with Slike betweenhis legs.
"Leggo that knife!" he directed.
Slike's reaction was humanly natural. At least, there were no hobbleson his tongue.
"Well, all right, if you say so," Billy told him, and rejoiced toperceive the top of a small rock not six inches from Slike's knife hand.
He forced the knife hand inward toward the rock. Then he proceeded,with all his might, to batter the back of Slike's hand against thepointed top of the rock. Slike's face changed at the first blow; atthe second he involuntarily groaned; at the third his fingers unclosed.The knife tinkled on the rock.
Billy pounced on the knife, threw it yards away and scrambled to hisfeet. "Get up, Slike! Stand on your feet! Come and get it!"
Whatever other thing Slike was, he was certainly no coward. Instead hewas a glutton for punishment. He jerked himself to his feet and ranheadlong into a straight-arm blow that made his nose bleed and his neckache. As has been said, Slike had no science. Neither had Billy. Inwhich respect the fight was equal. But Slike was only fighting forhimself. Billy was fighting not only for himself but to revengeSlike's treatment of the girl he loved.
When he flattened Slike's nose, pleasure ensued--for Billy. It was joyto his heart when the next blow landed on Slike's right eye and laidhim all along the grass. Three times Billy knocked Slike down, andthree times the killer hopped to his feet and came back for more. Butafter the third knockdown it was noticeable that Slike was appreciablyslower and considerably more cautious. His face was a sight. One eyewas completely closed. His nose was broken, his lips cut and two teethwere missing.
Slike came to a halt in front of Billy, blew a bubble of blood from hislips and wiped his good eye with the back of his hand. He swayed onhis legs. But this display of weakness was more apparent than genuine.Billy, watching Slike's one good eye, was not misled thereby. Therewas no hint of weakness in Slike's eye. Indeed, there was strength andhatred a-plenty.
Accordingly, when Slike suddenly lowered his head and dodged in underBilly's guard with the evident intention of starting another "snatchand wrastle," Billy was ready, very ready. His uplifted knee met Slikefull in the face. Slike straightened instantly, and Billy hooked hisright to the point of the chin. Slike didn't need that last blow. Theknee blow had already given him a clean knockout.
He took the ground limply and lay motionless. Billy stood and lookedat him and blew upon his skinned knuckles and suddenly realized that itwas a good old world, after all. There might be some mean citizensscattered here and there. But they always got their come-uppances inthe end.
Dawson joined him. "Sure looked like a mule had kicked in hisdashboard. I dunno when I ever saw a more complete job. That facedon't look genuine a-tall."
"I'm sure ashamed of myself," muttered Billy.
"Whyfor? You did just right. I'd have done the same in your place.You got no call to be ashamed."
"Not for licking him. That was all right. But I searched him and lethim hide out a butcher knife on me in his bootleg--_in his bootleg_."
"That handle was down inside the leather. You couldn't see it. Ididn't."
"I should have found it alla same," fretted Billy. "There's no excusefor such carelessness--none."
He went across to where he had thrown the knife and picked it up. Hecaught his breath. On the handle of the butcher knife the letters TWwere cut deep into the wood.
When, for the second time that day, Slike recovered consciousness,Billy showed him the butcher knife.
"How many butcher knives did you take from Walton's?" he demanded.
"One," replied Slike.
"And is this the one?"
"Sure it is. Why not?"
"Why, hells bells!" exclaimed Billy, "then you didn't kill RafeTuckleton."
"First I knew he was dead," Slike said thoughtfully. "As a rule, Idon't kill my customers," he added, with a grin rendered more horribleby his battered and bloody features. "I can't afford to. Maybe youkilled him yourself. How about it? Aw, right! Go to hell then! AndI want to say right here you tied my arms and legs too tight! Thereain't no feelin' in any of 'em!"
Billy paid Slike no further attention. His brain seemed to find itdifficult to function. "She said he only took one knife," he toldhimself stupidly and sat down to think it over.
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br /> He had caught Slike. But he was no nearer the solution of theTuckleton murder than he was in the beginning. His theory that Slikehad killed Tuckleton was smashed to smithereens by the discovery of theWalton butcher knife in Slike's bootleg. Unless Slike had taken twoknives. But Slike had not taken two knives. According to Hazel'stestimony, he had taken only one.
It was then that Billy suddenly realized that he should have knownbetter in the first place than to connect Slike with the murder ofTuckleton. Dan Slike was too experienced a longhorn to leaveincriminating evidence behind him if he could help it. And if he hadkilled Tuckleton, he would at least have taken away the handle of theknife. But the handle had been left beside the body for any one topick up. Manifestly, then, it had been left there with the design tothrow suspicion upon a person other than the murderer,--for instance, aperson intimately connected with the Walton ranch.
Obviously the Tuckleton murder and the O'Gorman murder were parallelcases. In both, clues had been left to manufacture circumstantialevidence against the wrong person. While it did not necessarily followthat the same brain and hands had planned and carried out both murders,yet the point was worth considering. For it was absolutely necessaryto lay at least Tuckleton's murderer by the heels. There were no twoways about that. Because if he were not caught, it would only be amatter of time before Rale, by reason of his peculiar temperament,would recover from his fright, decide to risk the wrath to come, andonce more turn the cold light of suspicion upon Hazel Walton. And thatwould entail her arrest sooner or later. Indeed, to Billy Wingo thefuture bore the appearance of a mighty boggy ford.
Mechanically he began to play mumbletypeg with the butcher knife--palmof hand, back of hand, right fist, left fist, and had progressed as faras his left pinky in the movement known as off fingers of each handwhen he sat back and stared at the knife quivering in the turf. Hethought he saw a gleam of light. The very fact of the two knives, eacha match of the other, was as obvious a contrariety as any that everdelighted the soul of Mr. William Noy. Attaching to the demise of RafeTuckleton was another contrariety, several others in fact. Billychecked off the various contrarieties on his fingers. The gleam oflight became a ray, the ray broadened to the bright light of completeunderstanding.
He hugged his knees and smiled the pleasant self-satisfied smile of theproverbial cat that has just received the canary into its midst. "Igot him! I got him where the hair is short. It's one complete cinch."
Early one morning several days later the sheriff _pro tem._ of CrockerCounty was roused by rappings on the office door. Being an experiencedman, Shotgun Shillman did not open the front door. He went round theback way with his gun in his hand. But his caution was needless. For,on circling the house, he found no one at the front door but DanSlike--a hatless Dan Slike flat on his back in the dust, tied hand andfoot, and with a gag in his mouth. Looped around Dan's ankles was oneend of a lariat. At the other end of the lariat stood Hazel Walton'sriding horse.
Later in the day Guerilla Melody called on Nate Samson, asked thestorekeeper several apparently aimless questions and leafed through thecutlery pages of Nate's hardware catalogue. Still later in the dayJohnny Dawson rode out of Golden Bar. Only two people besides himselfknew that he was bound for the railroad and a telegraph line.
The Rider of Golden Bar Page 23
