The Coyote

by James Roberts

  CHAPTER XI

  FREEDOM BEHIND BARS

  In the early afternoon the little cavalcade rode into Dry Lake.Rathburn was nodding in his saddle, nearly asleep.

  "We'll keep him here to-night till I can get the facts straight," heheard Sheriff Neal say to Brown.

  They dismounted at a small square stone building with bars on thewindows. Then Rathburn was proudly led between a line of curiousspectators into jail.

  Three rooms comprised Dry Lake's jail. The front of the building, fora depth of a third of the distance from the front to the rear, wasdivided into two of these rooms; one, the larger, being the mainoffice, and the other, much smaller, being the constable's privateoffice. The balance of the building was one large room, divided intotwo old-fashioned cages with iron and steel bars. The doors to thesecages were on either side of the door into the front office and therewas an aisle between the cages and the wall separating them from theoffices.

  Rathburn was taken immediately to the cage on the left of the officedoor. Sheriff Neal hesitated as he stood in the cell with him, thoughtfor a minute, then removed the handcuffs.

  "That's right fine of you, sheriff," said Rathburn sleepily, butcheerfully, nevertheless.

  "Oh, you'll be watched well enough," said Neal as he closed the barreddoor behind him and locked Rathburn in. "You'll find somebody aroundif you try to tear the place down."

  "That wasn't just what I was getting at, sheriff," said the prisonerwith a glitter in his eyes. "I meant it was right fine of you to giveme freedom behind the bars."

  Rathburn's taunting laugh rang in the official's ears as the latterpushed the men with him into the outer office. Rathburn listened,yawning, to the sheriff giving instructions that the prisoner bewatched constantly.

  He looked about the cage which was separated from the other cell by awall of sheet iron. It contained nothing except a bench and a stool.He pushed the bench against the stone wall at the rear and reclinedupon it, using his coat for a pillow. Then he turned his face towardthe wall, shading his eyes from the light, which filtered through twowindows high in the wall beyond the bars on the left side by tippinghis hat over his face.

  Immediately he fell asleep.

  The news that The Coyote had been captured, spread rapidly through thetown and many came to the jail hoping they might be able to see theprisoner. All of these were denied admittance, but Sheriff Neal toldthe few who stated that they had been among the number the bandit hadlined up at the point of his guns, that they would be called toidentify The Coyote on the following day. He asked each if they weresure the bandit had two guns, and the reply in each case was in theaffirmative.

  "That's funny," Neal muttered. "He only had one gun on him."

  "More'n likely the other's on his horse with his saddle," Brownpointed out. "I believe he left his horse somewheres an' made thatfellow Lamy take him to the house thinking he could get something toeat there, and that they wouldn't be so likely to be seen in the openon foot. You got to remember that man's more or less clever."

  This explanation satisfied Neal, and in the minds of the men who hadbeen in the resort when it was held up, there was no question as tothe identity of the robber. Even if they had suspected otherwise it isdoubtful if they would have acknowledged it because they considered itless of an ignominy to be held up by the notorious Coyote than by abandit of lesser reputation.

  Thus did the bonds of evidence tighten about Rathburn while he sleptthrough the late afternoon and the twilight.

  When he awoke a faint yellow light dimly illuminated his surroundings.He lay thinking for several minutes. He knew night had fallen andsurmised that he had slept a full eight hours. He could tell thisbecause he was fully awake and alert. He turned noiselessly on hisbench and saw that the light came from a lamp burning near the door tothe outer office.

  Rathburn could hear the hum of voices, and by listening intently,ascertained that two men were talking, one of whom was the sheriff. Hecould not recognize the voice of the other speaker as a voice he hadever heard before, and he could not hear what they were saying.

  He listened dully to the voices until he heard a horse's hoofs infront of the jail. He turned back with his face to the wall, and hishat tipped over his eyes, as a man entered the jail office with astamp of boots and jingle of spurs.

  "Hello, constable," he heard the sheriff say. "What luck?"

  "Couldn't find the hoss," came a disgruntled voice. "Looked allafternoon an' till it got dark for him."

  "Confound it!" exclaimed Neal. "The horse must have been somewherearoun' close. He sure didn't walk down the valley."

  "That's probably right," said the other. "I left a couple of your menout there to keep up searching when daylight comes. That feller Lamyshowed us about where they left the hosses--his hoss an' TheCoyote's--but they wasn't there. He said there was a bunch of wildhosses in the valley an' that they'd probably got away an' gone with'em. We saw the wild hosses, but we couldn't get anywhere near'em--couldn't get near enough to see if any of 'em was wearin' saddlesor not. We had some chase while it lasted, I'll recite."

  "Did Lamy say how they came to leave their horses?" asked the sheriffin an annoyed tone.

  "It was The Coyote's orders. Thought they'd be safer in the middle ofthe posse or something like that. Made Lamy leave the hosses an' runfor the house an' made him get down in the cellar with him. Don't knowif he knew Lamy lived there or not, but reckon it wouldn't have madeany difference."

  The sheriff was pacing the floor of the office as his footfallsattested. "I've ordered that Lamy in to-morrow. I've a lot morequestions to ask him. Well, you might as well get a few winks,constable; Brown and the rest of 'em have hit the hay. Even theprisoner is tired out, and that's sayin' something for as tough a birdas he is. But I wish I had his horse. I've got to have his horse!"

  Rathburn was smiling at the wall. He heard Neal walk to the door andlook in. Receding footsteps told him that the constable was leaving.For a time there was silence in the outer office.

  Rathburn sat up quietly and began easing off his right boot. The bootcame slowly, very slowly, as Rathburn worked at it, careful not tomake any noise. Then, just as it came free, the sheriff again strodeto the door and looked in.

  He saw Rathburn yawning, as the boot dropped on the floor.

  Rathburn looked at the sheriff sleepily as the official strode intothe aisle and peered in between the bars. He tipped the bootless footback on its toes as he lifted his other foot and tugged at the boot.

  "That you, sheriff?" he asked with another yawn. "The lights are sobad I can't see good. Guess I'm a little groggy anyway. I was toodanged tired when I went to sleep to take off my boots."

  "You've got another ten hours to sleep," said Neal with a scowl. "An'you'll have plenty of time to get rid of your saddle soreness. You'llride in automobiles and trains for a while an' keep in out of the hotsun an' the wet."

  The sheriff laughed harshly at his own words.

  Rathburn let the other boot drop. "I expect I'll get something to eatnow an' then, too?"

  "Feel hungry?" asked Neal.

  "Might chaw on a biscuit before I take another nap," yawned theprisoner.

  "I'll see if I can scare you up a bite," said the sheriff, leaving.

  Rathburn heard him say something to some one in front. Then thesheriff went out of the building. The other man came in and looked atRathburn curiously.

  He was of medium build, with white hair and a face seamed and linedand red. Rathburn instantly recognized in his jailer a man of thedesert--possibly of the border country.

  "So you're The Coyote," said the jailer in a rather high-pitchedvoice.

  Rathburn winked at him. "That's what they say," he replied.

  "You size up to him, all right," observed the man of the desert. "An'I can tell quick enough when I get a good look at you an' inspect yourleft forearm. I've had your descriptions in front of my eyes on paperan' from a dozen persons that knowed you for three years!"

  "You been tr
ailing me?" asked Rathburn curiously.

  "I have; an' it ain't no credit to this bunch here that they got you,for I was headed in this direction myself an' arrived 'most as soon asyou did."

  "You from Arizona?" asked Rathburn, grasping his right foot in hisleft hand.

  "I'm from Arizony an' Mexico an' a few other places," was the answer."I've helped catch men like you before, Coyote."

  Rathburn frowned, still keeping his hand over his right foot. "I don'tlike that word, Coyote," he said softly, holding the other's gazebetween the bars. "A coyote is a cowardly breed of animal, isn't it?"

  "An' a tricky one," said the jailer. "I ain't sayin' you're a coward;but you're tricky, an' that's bad enough."

  "Maybe so," agreed Rathburn. "Ah--here's our friend, his nibs, thesheriff. He went out to rustle me some grub. He wants to keep me fatfor hanging!"

  His laugh rang through the jail, empty save for himself and the twoofficers. But the temporary jailer hesitated, looking at Rathburn'seyes, before he turned to the sheriff.

  "Open the door and I'll take it in to him," ordered the sheriff."Can't get this stuff through the bars. You might keep him covered."

  The jailer's hand flew to his hip for his gun as he also brought up alarge key on a ring. He unlocked the door to the cage and held it openwhile he kept his gun trained upon Rathburn.

  The sheriff entered and placed the food on the stool and a large bowlof coffee on the floor beside it. Then he backed out, watchingRathburn keenly as the latter sat on his bench with his right foot inhis hand.

  When the door clanged shut and the key rattled in the lock, Rathburnlet down his right foot, took two steps, and pulled the stool to thebench. He stepped back and secured the coffee. Then he began to eatand drink, keeping his right foot tipped on its toes, while the twoofficials watched him attentively.

  "Sheriff," said Rathburn suddenly, between bites on a huge meatsandwich, "could you let me have a stub of a lead pencil an' a sheetof paper to write a letter on?"

  "Easy enough," answered Neal. "Course, you know all mail that goes outof the jail is read by us before it's delivered--if it's delivered atall."

  "I'll chance it," snapped out Rathburn.

  As the sheriff left to get the writing materials, with the jailerfollowing him, doubtless for a whispered confab as to what Rathburnmight be wanting to write and its possible bearing on his capture, theprisoner hastily ran his left hand down into his right sock and withsome difficulty withdrew a peculiar-shaped leather case about teninches long and nearly the width of his foot. This he put within hisshirt.

  When the officials returned he had finished his repast and waswaiting for them near the bars with a smile of gratitude on his lips.

  "This may be a confession I'm going to write," he said, grinning atNeal. "It's going to take me a long time, I reckon, but you said I hadsomething like ten hours for sleep, so I guess I can spare two orthree for this effort at literary composition. I figure, sheriff, thatthis'll be my masterpiece."

  His look puzzled the sheriff as he took the pencil and paper throughthe bars and returned to his bunk. He drew up the stool and sat uponit. It was a little lower than the bench, so, putting his paper on thebench, he had a fairly good makeshift desk. He began to writesteadily, and after a few minutes the sheriff and jailer retired tothe office.

  It did not take Rathburn a quarter of an hour to write what he wishedon the first of the several pieces of paper. He tore off what he hadwritten, doubled it again and again into a small square, took out hissack of tobacco which he had been allowed to retain, and put ittherein with the loose tobacco.

  Then he wrote for a few minutes on the second sheet of paper.

  When the sheriff looked in later he evidently was slowly andlaboriously achieving a composition.

  Rathburn heard the sheriff go out of the front door a few minuteslater. Instantly he was alert. He drew on his boots. He surmised thatthe sheriff had gone out for something to eat and, though he wasn'tsure of this, it was true.

  "Oh, jailer!" he called amiably.

  The wrinkled face of the desert trailer appeared in the officedoorway.

  Rathburn looked about from his seat on the stool. "This job ain't nonetoo easy, as it is," he complained. "As a writer I'm a first-rate cowhand. Lemme take your knife to sharpen this pencil with. When I askedthe sheriff for a stub of a pencil he took me at my word."

  "Sure I'll let you have my knife," said the jailer sarcastically. "Howabout my gun--want that, too?"

  "Oh, come on, old-timer," pleaded Rathburn. "The lead in this pencil'sworn clean down into the wood."

  "Hand it over here an' I'll sharpen it," said the jailer, drawing hispocketknife.

  Rathburn walked to the bars and held out the pencil. An amiable smileplayed on his lips. "You'll have to excuse me," he said contritely. "Iforgot it wasn't jail etiquette to ask for a knife. But I ain't hadmuch experience in jail. Now according to his nibs, the sheriff, I'min to get pretty well acquainted with 'em, eh?"

  He watched the jailer as he began sharpening the pencil.

  "Speaking of knives, now," he continued in a confiding tone, "I got ina ruckus down near the border once an' some gents started after me.One of 'em got pretty close--close enough to take some skin off myshoulder with a bullet. He just sort of compelled me to shoot back."

  "I suppose you killed him," observed the jailer, pausing in his workof sharpening the pencil.

  "I ain't saying," replied Rathburn. "Anyways I had a hole-up downthere for a few days, an' as luck would have it, I had to put up witha Mexican. All that Mex would do was argue that a knife was betterthan a gun. He claimed it was sure and made no noise--those were hishardest talking points, an' I'll be danged if there isn't something init.

  "But what I was gettin' at is that I didn't have nothing to do, an'that Mexican got me to practicing knife throwing. You know how slickthose fellows are at throwing a blade. Well, in the couple of weeksthat I hung aroun' there he coached me along till I could throw aknife as good as he could. He thought it was great sport, teaching meto throw a knife so good, that a way.

  "Since I left down there I've sort of practiced that knife-throwingbusiness now and then, just for fun. Anyways I thought it was just forfun. But now I see, jailer, that it was my luck protecting me.Anything you learn is liable to prove handy some time. _Don't move aninch or I'll let you have it!_"

  Rathburn's hand snapped out of his shirt and up above his rightshoulder.

  The man from the desert shuddered involuntarily as he saw the yellowlight from the lamp play fitfully upon a keen, white blade.