CHAPTER XII
AGAINST HIS ETHICS
Rathburn's eyes held the other's as completely as would have been thecase if he were invested with a power to charm in some occult way.Moreover, every trace of his amiable, confiding smile was gone. Hisgaze was hard and cold and gleaming. His face was drawn into grimlines. When he spoke he talked smoothly, rapidly, and with an edge tohis words which convinced his listener that he was in deadly earnest.
"I'm not used to jails, my friend, an' I don't aim to stay here.You're not very far away an' these bars are wide enough for me to miss'em; but I don't think I could miss you."
The jailer looked in horror at the gleaming knife which Rathburn heldby its hilt with the blade pointing backward. The jailer was from theborder; he knew the awful possibilities of a quick motion of the wristin that position, a half turn of the knife as it streaked toward itstarget. He shuddered again.
"Now just edge this way about two steps so your holster will beagainst the bars," Rathburn instructed. "I can drop you where youstand, reach through the bars an' drag you close if need be; but I'mbanking on you having some good sense."
The jailer, without moving the hands which held the pencil and hispocketknife, sidled up against the bars.
Rathburn leaned forward. Keeping his right hand high and tipped back,ready for the throw, he reached out with his left, just through thebars, and secured the jailer's gun.
"Now it's all off," he said quietly. "If the sheriff or anybody elsecomes before I get out of here I'm just naturally going to have tolive up to the reputation for shooting that they've fastened on me.Unlock the door."
The jailer wet his lips with his tongue. The pencil and pocketknifefell to the floor. Covered by his own gun, now in Rathburn's hand, hemoved to the door, brought out his key, and opened it. Still keepinghim covered, Rathburn backed to the bench, snatched up his coat, andwalked out of the cage, motioning to the jailer to precede him intothe office.
There he slipped the gun in his holster and put on his coat. Thejailer reckoned better than to try to leap upon him while he was thusengaged; the prisoner's speed with a six-gun was well known.
Rathburn drew a peculiar leather case from within his shirt, put theknife in it, and stowed it away in a pocket. Then he turned on thejailer.
"Maybe you think that was a mean trick--resorting to a knife," he saidpleasantly; "but all is fair in love and war and when a man's in jail.You better sort of stand in one place while I look around a bit."
He backed behind the desk in the big office, opened two or threedrawers, and brought out a pair of handcuffs. He moved around in frontof the jailer again.
"Hold out your hands," he commanded. "That's it." He snapped thehandcuffs on with one hand while he kept the other on the butt of hisgun.
"You don't seem to have much to say," he commented.
"What's the use?" said the jailer. "I know when a man's got me dead torights. But I'll be on your trail again, an' if I ever get withinshootin' distance of you an' see you first, you'll never get anotherchance to pull a knife."
"Well said," Rathburn admitted. "Now we understand each other. But Idon't intend for you to ever get within shooting distance of me."
Rathburn glanced casually about. "Now it seems to me," he resumed,"that most of these fellows who gum up their jail breaks make amistake by hurrying. Suppose you just walk natural-like through thatdoor and into the cage I just had the foresight to leave. That'sit--right on in."
He turned the key which the jailer had left in the lock. "Now you'reall right unless you start hollering," said Rathburn.
He stood quietly in the doorway between the office and the cages. Theman from the desert studied him. He saw a variety of expressions flitover Rathburn's face--anger, determination, scorn, resolve. He wasdeliberately ignoring his opportunity to make his escape whileconditions were propitious; he was waiting!
Although the jailer felt the urge to cry out in an endeavor to makehimself heard outside the jail and thus bring help, something in thebearing of the man standing in the doorway made him keenly curious towatch the drama which he knew must be enacted sooner or later beforehis eyes, for The Coyote was certainly waiting for the sheriff.
Rathburn now drew the jailer's gun from his own holster and toyed withit to get its "feel" and balance. He dropped it back into the holsterand in a wink of an eyelid it was back in his hand. The man from thedesert gasped at the lightning rapidity of the draw. Time and againthe gun virtually leaped from the holster into The Coyote's hand athis hip, ready to spit forth leaden death. The jailer drew a longbreath. The man was accustoming himself to the weapon which had comeinto his possession, making sure of it. Now he again stood motionlessin the doorway, waiting--waiting----
Boots stamped upon the steps outside, and Rathburn drew back from thedoorway in the aisle before the cages.
The front door opened and a man entered.
Both the man in the cage and the man in the aisle recognized thesheriff's step as Neal closed the door, paused for a look about theoffice, and then walked toward the door leading into the jail proper.
The jailer opened his mouth to sound a warning, but something inRathburn's gaze and posture held him silent. Rathburn's body wastense; his gaze was glued to the doorway; his right hand with itsslim, brown, tapered fingers, hung above the gun at his side.
The sheriff loomed in the doorway. Without a flicker of surprise inhis eyes he took in the situation. His lids half closed as his lipstightened to a thin, white line. He met Rathburn's gaze and knew thathe now faced The Coyote in the role which had won him his sinisterreputation.
"Did I mention to you that I wasn't used to jails, sheriff?" saidRathburn evenly, his words carrying crisp and clear. "I don't fancy'em. But I needed the sleep and the meal. Now I'm going. Do yourecollect I said no one ever took my gun from me but what I got itback? I had to borrow this one from the gent in the cage. I'll take mygun, sheriff--_now!_"
Neal had watched him closely. He saw that while he was speaking TheCoyote did not for an instant relax his vigilance. The merestresemblance of a move would precipitate gun play.
He turned abruptly, and with Rathburn following him closely, wentinto the private room off the jail office. He pointed to the other'sgun which lay upon the flat desk where many had curiously inspectedit.
Rathburn took it in his left hand and ascertained at a glance that itwasn't loaded. Therefore he elected to carry it in his left hand.
"I won't take a chance on feeding it right now, sheriff," he said."Under the circumstances it would be right awkward. If you make upyour mind to draw I'll have to depend on a strange gun."
Sheriff Neal's eyes glittered; his lips parted just a little.
"Now if you'll walk back toward the cage, sheriff," Rathburn prompted."Correct--don't stumble."
Neal backed slowly out of the door, through the second door into theaisle before the cages, watching Rathburn like a cat.
Rathburn slipped his own weapon into his left hip pocket and with hisleft hand dug into his trousers pocket for the key to the cage. Hedidn't take his eyes from Neal's as he brought it out and inserted itin the lock. His right hand continued to hang above the gun he hadtaken from the jailer.
"Sheriff," he said with a cold ring in his voice, "this may seem likean insult, but I'm goin' to ask you to unlock that cage and go in. Youcan take your time if you want, but I warn you fair that if any oneshould start coming up the steps outside I'll try to smoke you up."
For answer Neal, with the glitter still in his eyes, stepped to thecage door, unlocked it, and swung it open.
He took a step, whirled like a flash--and the deafening report of gunscrashed and reverberated within the jail's walls.
Neal staggered back within the cage, his gun clattering to the floor,his right hand dropping to his side.
"If I hadn't been up against a strange gun I wouldn't have hit yourfinger, sheriff," said Rathburn mockingly. "I was shootin' at yourgun."
He shut the cage door quickly, locked
it, and stuck the key in hispocket. Then he threw the jailer's gun in through the bars and thrusthis own weapon in its holster.
"I want you gentlemen inside, an' armed," he said laughingly. "If thejailer will be so good as to read what's written on the paper on thebench, he'll learn something to his advantage. Sheriff, you an' Brownwere wrong in this, but the devil of it is you'll never know why."
He left Neal pondering this cryptic sally, ran to the front door,opened it, and disappeared.
Neal clutched his injured fingers and swore freely, although there wasamazement in his eyes. He could have been killed like a rat in a trapif The Coyote had felt the whim.
The man from the desert stepped to the bench and read on the sheet ofpaper:
If anybody ever gets to read this they will know that what I saidabout learning to throw a knife is true. I can do it. I've carriedthat knife in a special case that would fit in my sock and boot forjust such an emergency as came up to-night. But I never would havethrowed it. It would be against my ethics.
The man from the desert swore softly. Then he hurriedly picked up hisgun and fired five shots to attract attention.
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