The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XXXII

  EL PASO

  As the tail-lights of the train disappeared, Pete and Brevoort rose andwalked down the track several hundred yards. Pete was certain thatthey had retraced too far, but Brevoort assured him that he knew aboutwhere to look for the saddle-bags. "I noticed that we passed a pile ofnew ties, jest after you dropped 'em," said the Texan.

  Pete insisted that they had come too far until they almost walked intothe ties. They searched about in the darkness, feeling along theground with their feet, until finally Brevoort stumbled over thesaddle-bags at the bottom of the ditch along the right-of-way. Hepicked them up. Pete was still rummaging around as Brevoortstraightened. For an instant the Texan was tempted to keep up thepretense of searching and so drift farther from Pete, until under coverof darkness he could decamp with the money--across the border and makea fresh start with it--as he told himself, "something to start on."

  But suddenly, and most absurdly alien to his present mood, came thevivid recollection of Pete's face when he had smelled thoseunforgettable eggs in the box-stall of the Ortez stables. Why thisshould have changed Brevoort's hasty inclination is explainable,perhaps, through that strange transition from the serious to thehumorous; that quick relief from nervous tension that allows a man toreadjust himself toward the universe. Brevoort cursed softly tohimself as he strode to Pete. "Here they are. Found them back there apiece. Now we got to foot it acrost this end of the town and driftwide of the white-lights. Down to the south end we kin get somethin'to eat, and some new clothes. Them Jew stores is open late."

  Following the river road they skirted the town until opposite theMexican quarter, where, Brevoort explained, they would be comparativelysafe, so long as they attended to their own business.

  Pete was amazed by the lights and the clamor--a stringed orchestraplaying in this open front, and a hot-dog vender declaiming in thisopen front; a moving-picture entrance brilliantly illuminated, and aconstant movement of folk up and down the streets in free-and-easyfashion, and he almost forgot the cumulative hazards of theircompanionship in experiencing his first plunge into city life.Brevoort, who knew the town, made for a Mexican lodging-house, wherethey took a room above the noisy saloon, washed, and after downing adrink of vile whiskey, crossed the street to a dingy restaurant. Laterthey purchased some inconspicuous "town-clothes" which they carriedback to their room.

  Pete was for staying right where they were until morning, but Brevoort,naturally restless, suggested that they go to a moving-picture theater.They changed their clothes. Pete felt decidedly uncomfortable in thecoat, and was only persuaded to wear it when Brevoort pointed out thatit was a case of either leave their guns in the room or wear somethingto cover them. Then came the question of what they were to do with themoney. Pete was for taking it along with them, but Brevoort vetoed thesuggestion. "It's as safe here as in a bank," he said, and taking thetwo sacks from the saddle-pockets he lowered each one gently into thebig water-pitcher. "Nothin' in there but water, which don't interest aChola nohow. But I'll cinch it." Which he did downstairs, as he drewa handful of gold pieces from his pocket, counted them carefully, andleft something like fifty dollars with the proprietor, asking him totake care of the money for them, as they did not want to get "plumbbroke" the first night in town. The Mexican grinned understandingly.He was familiar with the ways of cowboys. Their money would be safewith him.

  Outside Pete asked Brevoort if he had not "jest about made a present offifty to that Mex."

  "Not any. He figures he'll get his share of it when we git to hittin'the high-spots--which we don't aim to hit, this journey. That Mexicansure thinks he's got all the money we own except what's on us rightnow. So he won't ever think of goin' through our stuff upstairs. Thatfifty was insurance on the big money. Let's go where we kin git a realdrink--and then we'll have a look at a show."

  The "real drink" was followed by another. When Brevoort suggested athird, Pete shook his head. "It's all right, if you want to hit it,Ed--but it's takin' a big chanct. Somethin' might slip. 'T ain't thedrinkin'--but it's the drinkin' right now."

  "Reckon you 're right," concurred Brevoort. "But I ain't had a drinkfor so long--let's go see that show."

  They crowded into a cheap and odoriferous nickel theater, andstraightway Pete forgot where he was and all about who he was inwatching the amazing offerings of the screen. The comedy featurepuzzled him. He thought that he was expected to laugh--folks all roundhim were laughing--but the unreality of the performance left himstaring curiously at the final tangle of a comedy which struggled to befunny to the bitter end. His attention was keen for the next picture,a Western drama, entitled "The Battle of the Border," which ran swiftlyto lurid climax after climax, until even Pete's unsophisticated minddoubted that any hero could have the astounding ability to get out oftight places as did the cowboy hero of this picture. This sprightlyadventurer had just killed a carload of Mexicans, leaped from the roofof an adobe to his horse, and made off into the hills--they were realhills of the desert country, sure enough--as buoyantly as though he hadjust received his pay-check and was in great haste to spend it, neveronce glancing back, and putting his horse up grades at a pace thatwould have made an old-timer ashamed of himself had he to ride sixtymiles to the next ranch before sundown--as the lead on the picturestated. Still, Pete liked that picture. He knew that kind ofcountry--when suddenly he became aware of the tightly packed room, thefoul air laden with the fumes of humanity, stale whiskey, and tobacco,the shuffling of feet as people rose and stumbled through the darknesstoward the street. Pete thought that was the end of the show, but asBrevoort made no move to go, he fixed his attention on the screenagain. Immediately another scene jumped into the flickering square.Pete stiffened. Before him spread a wide canon. A tiny rider wascoming down the trail from the rim. At the bottom was a Mexican 'dobe,a ramshackle stable and corral. And there hung the Olla beneath anacacia. A saddle lay near the corral bars. Several horses moved aboutlazily . . . The hero of the recent gun-fight was riding into the yard. . . Some one was coming from the 'dobe. Pete almost gasped as aMexican girl, young, lithe, and smiling, stepped into the foregroundand held out her hands as the hero swung from his horse. The girl wastaller and more slender than Boca--yet in the close-up which followed,while her lover told her of the tribulations he had recentlyexperienced, the girl's face was the face of Boca--the same sweetlycurved and smiling mouth, the large dark eyes, even the manner in whichher hair was arranged . . .

  Pete nudged Brevoort. "I reckon we better drift," he whispered.

  "How's that, Pete?"

  "The girl there in the picture. Mebby you think I'm loco, but there'ssomethin' always happens every time I see her."

  "You got a hunch, eh?"

  "I sure got one."

  "Then we play it." And Brevoort rose. They blinked their way to theentrance, pushed through the crowd at the doorway, and started towardtheir room. "I didn't want to say anything in there," Brevoortexplained. "You can't tell who's sittin' behind you. But what was yougettin' at, anyhow?"

  "You recollect my tellin' you about that trouble at Showdown? And thegirl was my friend? Well, I never said nothin' to you about it, but Igit to thinkin' of her and I can kind of see her face like she wastryin' to tell me somethin', every doggone time somethin's goin' to gowrong. First off, I said to myself I was loco and it only happenedthat way. But the second time--which was when we rode to the Ortezranch--I seen her again. Then when we was driftin' along by thatcactus over to Sanborn I come right clost to tellin' you that I seenher--not like I kin see you, but kind of inside--and I knowed thatsomethin' was a-comin' wrong. Then, first thing I know--and I surewasn't thinkin' of her nohow--there is her face in that picture. Itell you, Ed, figuring out your trail is all right, and sure wise--butI'm gettin' so I feel like playin' a hunch every time."

  "Well, a drink will fix you up. Then we'll mosey over to the room.Our stuff'll be there all right."

  "'T ain't th
e money I'm thinkin' about. It's you and me."

  "Forget it!" Brevoort slapped Pete on the shoulder. "Come on in hereand have something."

  "I'll go you one more--and then I quit," said Pete. For Pete began torealize that Brevoort's manner was slowly changing. Outwardly he wasthe same slow-speaking Texan, but his voice had taken on a curiousinflection of recklessness which Pete attributed to the few butgenerous drinks of whiskey the Texan had taken. And Pete knew whatwhiskey could do to a man. He had learned enough about that when withthe horse-trader. Moreover, Pete considered it a sort of weakness--toindulge in liquor when either in danger or about to face it. He had nomoral scruples whatever. He simply viewed it from a utilitarian angle.A man with the fine edge of his wits benumbed by whiskey was apt toblunder. And Pete knew only to well that they would have need for allof their wits and caution to get safely out of El Paso. And to blundernow meant perhaps a fight with the police--for Pete knew that Brevoortwould never suffer arrest without making a fight--imprisonment, andperhaps hanging. He knew little of Brevoort's past record, but he knewthat his own would bulk big against him. Brevoort had taken anotherdrink after they had tacitly agreed to quit. Brevoort was the olderman, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt thatBrevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to theirsafety.

  "Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of thesaloon.

  "Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet."

  "I'm goin' back," declared Pete.

  "Got another hunch?"--and Brevoort laughed.

  "Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink whenbe's playin'. And we're sure gamblin'--big."

  "Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets.Come on."

  The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return sosoon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gaveit back to him.

  "Which calls for a round before we hit the hay," said Brevoort.

  The room upstairs was hot and stuffy. Brevoort raised the window,rolled a cigarette and smoked, gazing down on the street, which hadbecome noisier toward midnight. Pete emptied the pitcher and stowedthe wet sacks of gold in his saddle-pockets.

  "Told you everything was all right," said Brevoort, turning to watchPete as he placed the saddlebags at the head of the bed.

  "All right, so far," concurred Pete.

  "Say, pardner, you losin' your nerve? You act so dam' serious. Hell,we ain't dead yet!"

  "No, I ain't losin' my nerve. But I'm tellin' you I been plumb scaredever since I seen that picture. I don't feel right, Ed."

  "I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning towardthe window.

  Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face wastense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out ofthe window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he beganslowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing wekin do is to get out of this town quick. We got to split--no way roundthat. We're all right so far, but by to-morrow they'll be watchin'every train and every hotel, and doggin' every stranger to see whathe's doin'. What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap 'em up inpaper, put ole E. H. Hodges's name on it--he's president of theStockmen's Security Bank here, and a ole pal of The Spider's--and packit over to the express company and git a receipt. _They'll_ sure gitthat money to the bank. And then you want to fan it. If you jest wasto walk out of town, no'th, you could catch a train for Alamogordo,mebby, and then git a hoss and work over toward the Organ Range, whichis sure open country--and cattle. You can't go back the way wecome--and they'll be watchin' the border south."

  "Where is that express outfit, anyhow?"

  "You know that street where we seen the show? Well, if you keep righton you'll come to the Square and the express company is right on thecorner."

  "All right, Ed. But what you goin' to do?"

  "I'm goin' to git a soogun to-morrow mornin', roll my stuff and headfor the border, afoot. I'm a ranch-hand lookin' for work. I knowwhere I kin get acrost the river. Then I aim to hit for the dry spot,bush out, and cross the line where they won't be lookin' for a manafoot, nohow."

  "Why don't you git to movin' right now?" Brevoort smiled curiously."They's two reasons, pardner; one is that I don't want to git stood upby a somebody wantin' to know where I'm goin' at night with mywar-bag--and I sure aim to take my chaps and boots and spurs and stuffalong, for I'm like to need 'em. Then you ain't out of town yet."

  "Which is why you're stickin' around."

  "If we only had a couple of hosses, Pete. It's sure hell bein' afoot,ain't it?"

  "It sure is. Say, Ed, we got to split, anyhow. Why don't you git togoin'? It ain't like you was quittin' me cold."

  "You're a mighty white kid, Pete. And I'm goin' to tell you right nowthat you got a heap more sense and nerve than me, at any turn of thegame. You been goin' round to-night on cold nerve and I been travelin'on whiskey. And I come so clost to gittin' drunk that I ain't sure Iain't yet. It was liquor first started me ridin' the high trail."

  Brevoort had seated himself on the bed beside Pete. As the big Texanrolled a cigarette, Pete saw that his hands trembled. For the firsttime that evening Pete noticed that his companion was under a hightension. He could hardly believe that Brevoort's nerve was reallyshaken.

  The street below had grown quieter. From below came the sound of adoor being closed. Brevoort started, cursed, and glanced at Pete."Closin' up for the night," he said. Pete quickly shifted his gaze tothe open window. He did not want Brevoort to know that he had noticedthe start, or those hands that trembled.

  They rose early, had breakfast at the restaurant across the street, andreturned to the room, Brevoort with a sogun in which he rolled andcorded his effects and Pete with some brown paper in which he wrappedthe sacks of gold. Brevoort borrowed a pencil from the proprietor andaddressed the package.

  "But how's the bank goin' to know who it's from?" queried Pete,

  "That's right. I'll put The Spider's name here in the corner. Say, doyou know we're takin' a whole lot of trouble for a man that wouldn'tlift a hand to keep us from bein' sent up?" And Brevoort weighed thepackage thoughtfully. "By rights we ought to hang onto this dough. Weearned it."

  "I sure don't want any of it, Ed. I'm through with this game."

  "I reckon you're right. Well, next off, you git it to that expressoffice. I'll wait till you git back."

  "What's the use of my comin' back, anyhow?" queried Pete. "We paid forour room last night."

  "Ain't you goin' to take your stuff along? You can pack it same asmine. Then when you git to a ranch you are hooked up to ride."

  "Guess you're right, Ed. Well, so-long."

  "See you later."

  Brevoort, who seemed to have recovered his nerve, added, "I aim tolight out jest as quick as you git back."

  Pete was so intent on his errand that he did not see Conductor Stokes,who stood in the doorway of the El Paso House, talking to a man who hada rowdy rolled under his arm, wore overalls, and carried a dinner-pail.The conductor glanced sharply at Pete as he passed, then turnedabruptly, and stepped to a man who stood talking to the clerk at thedesk.

  "I jest saw one of 'em," said the conductor. "I never forget a face.He was rigged out in town-clothes--but it was him--all right."

  "You sure, Len?"

  "Pretty darned sure."

  "Well, we can find out. You set down over there in the window and bereading a paper. I'll go out and follow him. If he comes back thisway, you take a good look at him and give me the high sign if it's oneof 'em. And if it is, he'll be connectin' up with the other one,sooner or later. I'll jest keep my eye on him, anyway. You say he hadon a dark suit and is dark-complexioned and young?"

  "Yes--that one. The other was bigger and taller and had light hair andgray eyes. Both of 'em were in their range clothes on number three."

  "All righ
t." And the plain-clothes man hastened out and up the streetuntil he had "spotted" Pete, just entering the doorway of the expressoffice.

  Pete came out presently, glanced about casually, and started back forthe room. Half a block behind him followed the plain-clothes man, whoglanced in as he passed the hotel. The conductor nodded. Theplain-clothes man hastened on down the street. He saw Pete turn acorner several blocks south. When the detective arrived at the cornerPete was just entering the door of the little clothing-store next tothe restaurant. Presently Pete came out and crossed to the saloon.The detective sauntered down the opposite walk and entering therestaurant telephoned to headquarters. Then he called for coffee andsat watching the saloon across the way.

  Brevoort, who had been sitting on the bed gazing down at the street,saw Pete turn the corner and enter the store. He also saw theplain-clothes man enter the restaurant and thought nothing of it untilpresently he saw another man enter the place. These two were talkingtogether at the table near the front window. Brevoort grew suspicious.The latest arrival had not ordered anything to eat, nor had he greetedthe other as men do when they meet. And they did not seem quite thetype of men to dine in such a place. Pete, cording his belongings inthe new sogun, heard Brevoort muttering something, and turned his head.

  "I'm watchin' a couple of fellas acrost the street," explainedBrevoort. "Keep back out of sight a minute."

  Pete, on his knees, watched Brevoort's face. "Anything wrong, Ed?" hequeried presently.

  "I dunno. Jest step round behind me. Kin you see that eatin'-place?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you see either of them guys when you was out on the street?"

  "Why, no. Hold on a minute! That one with the gray clothes wasstandin' on the corner by the express office when I come out. Irecollec' now. He was smokin' a cigar."

  "Yes. And he thrun it away when he went in there. I seen him at thetelephone there on the desk--and pretty soon along comes his friend.Looks kind of queer that he was up at the Square when you was, and thentrails down here where we be."

  "You think mebby--"

  "I dunno. If it is we better drift out at the back afore any of 'emgits round there."

  "And leave our stuff, eh?"

  "Yes. We got to move quick. They 're sizin' up this buildin' rightnow. Don't show yourself. Wait! One of 'em is comin' out and he'sheaded over here."

  Brevoort drew back, and stepping to the door opened it and strodeswiftly down the dim hall to a window at its farther end. Below thewindow was a shed, and beyond the farther edge of the shed-roof was analley. He hastened back to the room and closed and locked the door."You loco?" he growled. Pete had drawn a chair to the window and wassitting there, looking out as casually as though there was no dangerwhatever.

  "I thought you made your get-away," said Pete, turning. "I was jestkeepin' that hombre interested in watchin' me. Thought if he seensomebody here he wouldn't make no quick move to follow you."

  "So you figured I quit you, eh? And you go and set in that winda sothey'd think we was in the room here? And you done it to give me achanct? Well, you got me wrong. I stick."

  "Then I reckon somebody's goin' to git hurt," said Pete, "for I'm goin'to stick too."

  Brevoort shook his head. "The first guy most like come over to ask theboss who's up here in this room. The boss tells him about us. Now,them coyotes sure would like it a heap better to git us out on thestreet--from behind--than to run up against us holed up here, for theyfigure somebody'll git hurt. Now you slip down that hall, easy, anddrop onto the shed under the winda and fan it down the alley backthere. You got a chanct. I sized up the layout."

  "Nothin' doin'. Why don't you try it yourself?"

  "'Cause they'll git one of us, anyhow, and it'll be the fella thatstays."

  "Then I'll flip a dollar to see which stays," said Pete.

  Before Brevoort could speak, Pete drew a dollar from his pocket andflipped it toward his companion. It fell between them. "I say heads,"said Pete. And he glanced at the coin, which showed tails. "Thedollar says you go, Ed. You want to git a-movin'!"

  Brevoort hesitated; Pete rose and urged him toward the door. "So-long,Ed. If you'd 'a' stayed we'd both got shot up. I'll set in the windaso they'll think we 're both here."

  "I'll try her," said Brevoort. "But I'd 'a' stayed--only I knowed youwouldn't go. So-long, pardner." He pulled his gun and softly unlockedthe door. There was no one in the hall--and no one on the narrowstairway to the right. He tiptoed to the window, climbed out, and lethimself down to the shed-roof. From the roof he dropped to the alley,glanced round, and then ran.

  Pete locked the door and went back to his chair in front of the window.He watched the man in the restaurant, who had risen and waved his hand,evidently acknowledging a signal from some one. It was the man Petehad seen near the express office--there was no doubt about that. Petenoticed that he was broad of shoulder, stocky, and wore a heavy goldwatch-chain. He disappeared within the doorway below. Presently Peteheard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway--some one who walkedwith the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A briefinterval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some oneelse ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Someone rapped on the door.

  "I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he beenapprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not havemade a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth thisway--trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and noslightest chance to get away . . . He surmised that these men knewthat the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidentlythey did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them thatBrevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keepsilent?

  He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" hecalled.

  "We want to talk to your partner," said a voice.

  "He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night."

  "Well, we'll talk with you then."

  "Go ahead. I'm listenin'."

  "Suppose you open the door."

  "And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly ifhe's woke up sudden."

  Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then,"All right. We'll come back later."

  "Who'll I say wants to see him?" asked Pete.

  "He'll know when he sees us. Old friends of his."

  Meanwhile Pete had risen and moved softly toward the door. Standing toone side he listened. He heard footsteps along the hall--and the soundof some one descending the stairs. "One of 'em has gone down. Theother is in the hall waitin'," he thought. "And both of 'em scared tobust in that door."

  He tiptoed back to the window and glanced down. The heavy-shoulderedman had crossed the street and was again in the restaurant. Pete sawhim step to the telephone. Surmising that the other was telephoningfor reinforcements, Pete knew that he would have to act quickly, orsurrender. He was not afraid to risk being killed in a running fight.He was willing to take that chance. But the thought of imprisonmentappalled him. To be shut from the sun and the space of therange--perhaps for life--or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless tomake any kind of a fight, without friends or money . . . He thought ofThe Spider, of Boca, of Montoya, and of Pop Annersley; of Andy Whiteand Bailey. He wondered if Ed Brevoort had got clear of El Paso. Heknew that there was some one in the hall, waiting. To make a break forliberty in that direction meant a killing, especially as Brevoort wassupposed to be in the room. "I'll keep 'em guessin'," he told himself,and went back to his chair by the window. And if there was supposed tobe another man in the room, why not carry on the play--for the benefitof the watcher across the street? Every minute would count for oragainst Brevoort's escape.

  Thrusting aside all thought of his own precarious situation, Pete begana brisk conversation with his supposed companion. "How does your headfeel?" he queried, lea
ning forward and addressing the empty bed. Henodded as if concurring in the answer.

  Then, "Uh-huh! Well, you look it, all right!"

  "You don't want no breakfast? Well, I done had mine."

  ....................

  "What's the time? 'Bout ten. Goin' to git up?"

  ....................

  Pete gestured as he described an imaginative incident relative to hissupposed companion's behavior the preceding night. "Some folks beenhere askin' for you." Pete shook his head as though he had been askedwho the callers were. He had turned sideways to the open window tocarry on this pantomimic dialogue. He glanced at the restaurant acrossthe street. The heavy-shouldered man had disappeared. Pete heard afaint shuffling sound in the hall outside. Before he could turn thedoor crashed inward. He leapt to his feet. With the leap his handflashed to his side. Unaccustomed to a coat, his thumb caught in thepocket just as the man who had shouldered the flimsy door down, reeledand sprawled on the floor. Pete jerked his hand free, but in that lostinstant a gun roared in the doorway. He crumpled to the floor. Theheavy-shouldered man, followed by two officers, stepped into the roomand glanced about.

  "Thought there was two? Where's the other guy?" queried the policeman.

  The man on the floor rose and picked up his gun.

  "Well, we got one, anyhow. Bill, 'phone the chief that one of 'em gotaway. Have 'em send the wagon. This kid here is done for, I guess."

  "He went for his gun," said the heavy-shouldered man. "It's a dam'good thing you went down with that door. Gave me a chance to get him."

  "Here's their stuff," said an officer, kicking Pete's pack that laycorded on the floor.

  "Well, Tim," said the man who had shouldered the door down, "you stayhere till the wagon comes. Bill and I will look around when he getsback. Guess the other one made for the line. Don't know how he workedit. Keep the crowd out."

  "Is he all in?" queried the officer.

  "No; he's breathin' yet. But he ain't got long. He's a young bird tobe a killer."

  Late that afternoon Pete was taken from the Emergency to the GeneralHospital. Lights were just being turned on in the surgical ward andthe newsboys were shouting an extra, headlining a border raid by theMexicans and the shooting of a notorious bandit in El Paso.

  The president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank bought apaper as he stepped into his car that evening and was driven towardhome. He read the account of the police raid, of the escape of one ofthe so-called outlaws, the finding of the murdered man near Sanborn,and a highly colored account of what was designated as the invasion ofthe United States territory by armed troops of Mexico.

  Four thousand dollars in gold had been delivered to him personally thatday by the express company--a local delivery from a local source."Jim's man," he said to himself as the car passed through the Plaza andturned toward the eastern side of the town. Upon reaching home thepresident told his chauffeur to wait. Slitting an envelope he wrappedthe paper and addressed it to James Ewell, Showdown, Arizona.

  "Mail it at the first box," he said. "Then you can put the car up. Iwon't need it to-night."

  The surgeon at the General Hospital was bending over Pete. The surgeonshook his head, then turning he gave the attendant nurse a few briefdirections, and passed on to another cot. As the nurse sponged Pete'sarm, an interne poised a little glittering needle. "There's just achance," the surgeon had said.

  At the quick stab of the needle, Pete's heavy eyes opened. The littlegray-eyed nurse smiled. The interne rubbed Pete's arm and steppedback. Pete's lips moved. The nurse bent her head. "Did--Ed"--Pete'sface twitched--"make it?"

  "You mustn't talk," said the nurse gently. And wishing with all herheart to still the question that struggled in those dark, anxious eyes,she smiled again. "Yes, he made it," she said, wondering if Ed werethe other outlaw that the papers had said had escaped. She walkedbriskly to the end of the room and returned with a dampened towel andwiped the dank sweat from Pete's forehead. He stared up at her, hisface white and expressionless. "It was the coat--my hand caught," hemurmured.

  She nodded brightly, as though she understood. She did not know whathis name was. There had been nothing by which to identify him. Andshe could hardly believe that this youth, lying there under that blackshadow that she thought never would lift again, could be the desperatecharacter the interne made him out to be, retailing the newspaperaccount of his capture to her.

  It was understood, even before the doctor had examined Pete, that hecould not live long. The police surgeon had done what he could. Petehad been removed to the General Hospital, as the Emergency was crowded.

  The little nurse was wondering if he had any relatives, any one forwhom he wished to send. Surely he must realize that he was dying! Shewas gazing at Pete when his eyes slowly opened and the faintest traceof a smile touched his lips. His eyes begged so piteously that shestepped close to the cot and stooped. She saw that he wanted to askher something, or tell her something that was worrying him. "What didit matter?" she thought. At any moment he might drift intounconsciousness . . .

  "Would you--write--to The Spider--and say I delivered the--goods?"

  "But who is he--where--"

  "Jim Ewell, Showdown--over in--Arizona."

  "Jim Ewell, Showdown, Arizona." she repeated. "And what name shall Isign?"

  "Jest Pete," he whispered, and his eyes closed.

  Pete's case puzzled Andover, the head-surgeon at, the General. It wasthe third day since Pete's arrival and he was alive--but just alive andthat was all. One peculiar feature of the case was the fact that thebullet--a thirty-eight--which had pierced the right lung, had not goneentirely through the body. Andover, experienced in gun-shot wounds,knew that bullets fired at close range often did freakish things.There had been a man recently discharged from the General asconvalescent, who had been shot in the shoulder, and the bullet,striking the collar-bone, had taken a curious tangent, following up themuscle of the neck and lodging just beneath the ear. In that casethere had been the external evidence of the bullet's location. In thiscase there was no such evidence to go by.

  The afternoon of the third day, Pete was taken to the operating roomand another examination made. The X-ray showed a curious blur near theright side of the spine. To extract the bullet would be a difficultand savage operation, an operation which the surgeon thought hispatient in his present weakened condition could not stand. Pete lay ina heavy stupor, his left arm and the left side of his face partiallyparalyzed.

  The day after his arrival at the General two plain-clothes men came toquestion him. He was conscious and could talk a little. But they hadlearned nothing of his companion, the killing of Brent, nor howBrevoort managed to evade them. They gathered little of Pete's historysave that he told them his name, his age, and that he had no relativesnor friends. On all other subjects he was silent. Incidentally theofficials gave his name to the papers, and the papers dug into theirback files for reference to an article they had clipped from the"Arizona Sentinel," which gave them a brief account of the Annersleyraid and the shooting of Gary. They made the most of all this, writinga considerable "story," which the president of the Stockmen's Securityread and straightway mailed to his old acquaintance, The Spider.

  The officers from the police station had told Pete bluntly that hecould not live, hoping to get him to confess to or give evidence as tothe killing of Brent. Pete at once knew the heavy-shouldered man--theman who had shot him down and who was now keen on getting evidence inthe case.

  "So I'm goin' to cross over?" Pete had said, eying the other curiously."Well, all I wish is that I could git on my feet long enough--to--get acrack at you--on an even break. I wouldn't wear no coat, neither."

  The fact that Pete had bungled seemed to worry him much more than hiscondition. He felt that it was a reflection on his craftmanship. Theplain-clothes man naturally thought that Pete was incorrigible, failingto appreciate that it was the pride of yout
h that spoke rather than thepersonal hatred of an enemy.