The Coyote
Page 1
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
THE COYOTE
THE COYOTE
A Western Story
By JAMES ROBERTS
CHELSEA HOUSE
79 SEVENTH AVENUE--NEW YORK CITY
The Coyote
Copyright, 1925, by CHELSEA HOUSE
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreignlanguages, including the Scandinavian.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. Rewards Offered 11 II. A Boy and a Girl 17 III. The Law 24 IV. "I Knew He Lied!" 32 V. A Capture 38 VI. The Real Low-Down 45 VII. Where to Hide 52 VIII. Two Queer Moves 57 IX. Leave It to Me 65 X. Caught in the Cellar 71 XI. Freedom Behind Bars 77 XII. Against His Ethics 87 XIII. A Man and His Horse 93 XIV. The Witness 98 XV. The Welcome 106 XVI. The Dixie's Boss 114 XVII. A Commission 121 XVIII. In the Night 129 XIX. Quick Turns 136 XX. Appeal to the Law 145 XXI. A Capture 151 XXII. A Second Capture 160 XXIII. Quick Facts 165 XXIV. The Show-down 170 XXV. Filed! 175 XXVI. The Prodigal 179 XXVII. The Desert Code 185 XXVIII. A Night Summons 194 XXIX. Gunmen 201 XXX. The Sheriff's Plight 207 XXXI. A New Count 215 XXXII. The Compass Fails 220 XXXIII. Fast Work 224 XXXIV. The Compass Wavers 230 XXXV. Guns in the Night 235 XXXVI. The Loot 242 XXXVII. The Test of a Man 245 XXXVIII. Ten Miles' Start 250
THE COYOTE
CHAPTER I
REWARDS OFFERED
The sign on the tree attracted the man's attention while he was stillfar down the slope. He could see the tall pine on the crest of theridge above a veritable landmark in that country of stunted timber,and the square of paper, tacked to its trunk under the lowestbranches, gleamed white against the background of vivid green.
The air was clear, and every detail of the landscape--the red rocks,the saffron-colored slopes, the green pines and firs and buck brush,the white cliffs--everything within sight for miles stood out,clean-cut in the brilliant sunshine which flooded the empty land undera cloudless sky.
When the man, mounted on a lean, dun-colored horse, first looked up ata turn of the narrow trail and saw the sign, he grunted. Then hefrowned and looked back along the way he had come with a glowing lightof reflection in his gray eyes. He was a tall man, slim and muscular,clean-shaven, his face and hands bronzed by sun and wind, and his faceopen and good-natured. A shock of blond hair showed where his gray,wide-brimmed, high-crowned hat was pushed back from his highforehead.
His dress, though typical of the country which he traversed, wasdistinctive, or it might have been a certain natural grace that madeit seem so. He wore a light-gray, soft shirt made of French flannel, adark-blue silk scarf, leather chaps over olive-drab khaki trousers,black, hand-sewed riding boots which displayed their polish despite acoating of fine dust, silver spurs, and, strapped to his right thigh,was a worn leather holster, natural color, from which protruded theblack butt of a six-gun.
On the back of his saddle was tied a black slicker, the raincoat ofthe open country, which bulged with a medium-sized pack done up withinit.
One would have taken him to be thirty, perhaps a year or two more whenhis face was serious; but when he smiled, that is, when he smilednaturally, he looked little more in years than a youth who has justattained his majority.
When he smiled the other smile--the smile he now expressed as helooked up the slope toward the tall pine with the white square ofpaper on its trunk--one would have forgotten the smile because of thesinister, steel-blue look in his eyes, and the direct, piercingquality of his gaze.
He walked his horse up the winding trail. His right foot was clear ofthe stirrup, and he swung it idly. His left hand, in which he held thereins, rested lightly on the horn of his saddle, and his right grippedthe cantle at his back. He hummed a ditty of the desert, but his gaze,keen and alert, continually sought the open stretches of trail abovehim, and at regular intervals flashed back along the way he had come.
In time he reached the top of the ridge and pulled up his horse nearthe tree bearing the poster. He dismounted and walked slowly up alittle grade to where he could the better read the legend on thepaper.
It was printed in large letters, but recent rain had somewhat fadedit.
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD This will be paid for THE COYOTE dead or alive, by San Jacinto County. JUDSON BROWN, J. P., Dry Lake.
This man is tall and light in complexion, gray or blue eyes, goodteeth, his horse said branded CC2, keeps himself neat, dangerous withgun, squints when mad. Bring him in and get the money.
The man swore softly as he read the last sentence. "Bring him in an'get the money," he said snortingly. "You'd think they was talkin'about a locoed steer that just had to be roped an' drug, or shot an'hauled. Bring him in an' get the money!"
There was genuine indignation in his tone as he repeated the offensivesentence.
"Well, it can't be me," he said facetiously, aloud. "My name'sRathburn--a right good name." His eyes clouded. "A right good nametill they began to tamper with it," he muttered with a frown as he lita cigarette he had built while perusing the placard.
He took the stub of a lead pencil from the pocket of his shirt. Forsome moments he reflected, staring at the sign on the tree trunk. Thenhe laboriously printed on its lower edge:
Five thousand dollars more from the State of Arizona if you can getit.
Rathburn surveyed his work with a grin, replacing the pencil in hisshirt pocket. Then he stepped back and drew his gun. He seemed on thepoint of sending a half dozen bullets through the paper when hesuddenly shook his head, glanced hurriedly about him, and shoved theweapon back into its sheath.
He walked quickly to his horse, swung into the saddle, and starteddown the trail on the western side of the ridge.
Below him he saw a far-flung vista of rounded, yellow hills, spottedwith the green of small pines and firs. The ground was hard, dry, andgravelly. There were boulders a-plenty, and long, sharp-edgedoutcroppings of hard rock of a reddish hue. There was no sign ofhabitation to be glimps
ed from the trail leading down from the highridge which he had crossed. He continually looked about him with theinterested air of a man who is venturing into a new locality withwhich he is not familiar.
"Dry Lake!" he exclaimed, while his horse pricked up its ears at thefamiliar voice. "Good name for it, if it's anywhere in _this_ country.Hoss, I don't know when we're goin' to drink again. I didn't figure onhittin' a desert up here."
He rode on at a brisk jog, down and down the winding trail. Then itled across a number of the round, low hills, ever westward.
As the afternoon wore on, more green brightened the landscape andpatches of grass appeared. Then they came upon a small streamtrickling down from the higher slopes to northward where horse andrider drank their fill and rested in a quiet, secluded meadow off thetrail.
The man's face was a study as he lay back upon the grass in the coolshade of a clump of pines. Whimsical and wistful, it was occasionallylit by a peculiar smile which carried a hint of sadness. His eyeshalf closed, dreamily. The smoke from his cigarette curled upward in athin spiral in the still air of the altitudes. His horse, with reinsdangling and saddle cinch loosened, cropped the grass which carpetedthe meadow.
Finally the man arose, tightened the cinch in an absent manner,mounted, and rode back to the trail to continue on his way. At the topof the next ridge he halted, looking at a little ranch which lay in awide valley a mile or two north of the thread of trail which he couldsee winding westward. The place looked poor, poverty-stricken, despitethe small field of living green south of the house and the few head ofcattle grazing along the banks of a little stream which wound throughthe valley.
For some time the rider sat his horse motionless, frowning inindecision. Then he touched the dun lightly with his spurs, left thetrail, and struck off to the north, following the ridge. He kept hisgaze focused on the little ranch. The only sign of life which he sawwas a heavily-burdened clothesline flapping in the idle breeze whichat this point was wafted down from the mountains.
When he was almost directly above the small house he turned his mountdown the slope and gaining the floor of the valley, rode at a gallopfor the house. His right hand now rested on his thigh near theholstered gun.
As he brought his horse to a stop near the front of the house a girlappeared in the doorway. He looked at her in pleased surprise. Thenhis hat swept low in a gesture of courtesy.
"Ma'am, I've found this to be a country of scattered habitations," hesaid in a musical bass. "So when I glimpsed your abode from yonderhills I said to myself, 'Rathburn, you're most powerful hungry; maybeyou better pay a call.'"
His eyes were glowing with an amused light, and a pleasant smileplayed upon his lips.
The girl, who had listened curiously, now laughed in welcome. "Therearen't many places between here and Dry Lake," she said; "and I guessit would be a pretty hot ride to-day. You can water your horse--andfeed him at the barn, if you wish--and I'll get you something to eat,if you're not particular." Her eyes danced merrily.
"Ma'am!" he exclaimed, with mock severity, "I quit bein' particularwhen I was--when I was as young as that youngster."
A boy of ten or twelve had appeared beside the girl.
"Young man, what're those dirt-looking spots on your face?" asked thestranger, frowning with his eyes but smiling with his lips.
"They _ain't_ dirt spots!" returned the boy with spirit, advancing astep.
"No?" said the man, feigning intense astonishment. "What _are_ they?"
"They're freckles," answered the boy stoutly.
"Oh--oh, _that's_ what they are," said the stranger with a delightedlaugh. "Won't they wash off?"
"Naw. You can't fool me. You knew what they were!"
"Well, now, maybe so," observed the man as the girl laughingly turnedinside.
"Grub'll be ready by time you are," she called back to him.
"I'll show you where to put your horse," said the boy as the manlooked searchingly up and down the valley.