The Santa Fe trail was far too exposed to be safely travelled aloneand in broad daylight, but Keith considered it better to put sufficientspace between himself and those whom he felt confident were stillwatching his movements from across the river. How much they mightalready suspicion his discoveries he possessed no means of knowing, yet,conscious of their own guilt, they might easily feel safer if he werealso put out of the way. He had no anticipation of open attack, but mustguard against treachery. As he rode, his eyes never left those far-awaysand dunes, although he perceived no movement, no black dot even whichhe could conceive to be a possible enemy. Now that he possessed ampletime for thought, the situation became more puzzling. This tragedy whichhe had accidentally stumbled upon must have had a cause other than blindchance. It was the culmination of a plot, with some reason behind moreimportant than ordinary robbery. Apparently the wagons contained nothingof value, merely the clothing, provisions, and ordinary utensils of anemigrant party. Nor had the victims' pockets been carefully searched.Only the mules had been taken by the raiders, and they would be smallbooty for such a crime.
The trail, continually skirting the high bluff and bearing fartheraway from the river, turned sharply into a narrow ravine. There was aconsiderable break in the rocky barrier here, leading back for perhaps ahundred yards, and the plainsman turned his horse that way, dismountingwhen out of sight among the bowlders. He could rest here until nightwith little danger of discovery. He lay down on the rocks, pillowinghis head on the saddle, but his brain was too active to permit sleeping.Finally he drew the letters from out his pocket, and began examiningthem. They yielded very little information, those taken from the olderman having no envelopes to show to whom they had been addressed. Thesingle document found in the pocket of the other was a memorandum ofaccount at the Pioneer Store at Topeka, charged to John Sibley, andmarked paid. This then must have been the younger man's name, as theletters to the other began occasionally "Dear Will." They were missivessuch as a wife might write to a husband long absent, yet upon a missionof deep interest to both. Keith could not fully determine what thismission might be, as the persons evidently understood each other sothoroughly that mere allusion took the place of detail. Twice the namePhyllis was mentioned, and once a "Fred" was also referred to, but inneither instance clearly enough to reveal the relationship, although thelatter appeared to be pleaded for. Certain references caused the beliefthat these letters had been mailed from some small Missouri town, but noname was mentioned. They were invariably signed "Mary." The only otherpaper Keith discovered was a brief itinerary of the Santa Fe trailextending as far west as the Raton Mountains, giving the usual campingspots and places where water was accessible. He slipped the papers backinto his pocket with a distinct feeling of disappointment, and lay backstaring up at the little strip of blue sky. The silence was profound,even his horse standing motionless, and finally he fell asleep.
The sun had disappeared, and even the gray of twilight was fading outof the sky, when Keith returned again to consciousness, aroused by hishorse rolling on the soft turf. He awoke thoroughly refreshed, and eagerto get away on his long night's ride. A cold lunch, hastily eaten, for afire would have been dangerous, and he saddled up and was off, trottingout of the narrow ravine and into the broad trail, which could befollowed without difficulty under the dull gleam of the stars. Horseand rider were soon at their best, the animal swinging unurged into thelong, easy lope of prairie travel, the fresh air fanning the man's faceas he leaned forward. Once they halted to drink from a narrow stream,and then pushed on, hour after hour, through the deserted night. Keithhad little fear of Indian raiders in that darkness, and every stride ofhis horse brought him closer to the settlements and further removed fromdanger. Yet eyes and ears were alert to every shadow and sound. Once, itmust have been after midnight, he drew his pony sharply back into a rockshadow at the noise of something approaching from the east. The stageto Santa Fe rattled past, the four mules trotting swiftly, a squad oftroopers riding hard behind. It was merely a lumping shadow sweepingswiftly past; he could perceive the dim outlines of driver and guard,the soldiers swaying in their saddles, heard the pounding of hoofs, thecreak of axles, and then the apparition disappeared into the black void.He had not called out--what was the use? Those people would never pauseto hunt down prairie outlaws, and their guard was sufficient to preventattack. They acknowledged but one duty--to get the mail through on time.
The dust of their passing still in the air, Keith rode on, the noisedying away in his rear. As the hours passed, his horse wearied and hadto be spurred into the swifter stride, but the man seemed tireless. Thesun was an hour high when they climbed the long hill, and loped intoCarson City. The cantonment was to the right, but Keith, having noreport to make, rode directly ahead down the one long street to a liverycorral, leaving his horse there, and sought the nearest restaurant.
Exhausted by a night of high play and deep drinking the border town wassleeping off its debauch, saloons and gambling dens silent, the streetsalmost deserted. To Keith, whose former acquaintance with the placehad been entirely after nightfall, the view of it now was almost ashock--the miserable shacks, the gaudy saloon fronts, the litteredstreets, the dingy, unpainted hotel, the dirty flap of canvas, theunoccupied road, the dull prairie sweeping away to the horizon, allcomposed a hideous picture beneath the sun glare. He could scarcely finda man to attend his horse, and at the restaurant a drowsy Chinaman hadto be shaken awake, and frightened into serving him. He sat down to themiserable meal oppressed with disgust--never before had his life seemedso mean, useless, utterly without excuse.
He possessed the appetite of the open, of the normal man in perfectphysical health, and he ate heartily his eyes wandering out of the openwindow down the long, dismal street. A drunken man lay in front of the"Red Light" Saloon sleeping undisturbed; two cur dogs were snarling ateach other just beyond over a bone; a movers' wagon was slowly coming inacross the open through a cloud of yellow dust. That was all within theradius of vision. For the first time in years the East called him--theold life of cleanliness and respectability. He swore to himself ashe tossed the Chinaman pay for his breakfast, and strode out onto thesteps. Two men were coming up the street together from the oppositedirection--one lean, dark-skinned, with black goatee, the other heavilyset with closely trimmed gray beard. Keith knew the latter, and waited,leaning against the door, one hand on his hip.
"Hullo, Bob," he said genially; "they must have routed you out prettyearly to-day."
"They shore did, Jack," was the response. He came up the steps somewhatheavily, his companion stopping below. "The boys raise hell all night,an' then come ter me ter straighten it out in the mawnin'. When did yegit in?"
"An hour ago; had to wake the 'chink' up to get any chuck. Town looksdead."
"Tain't over lively at this time o' day," permitting his blue eyes towander up the silent street, but instantly bringing them back to Keith'sface, "but I reckon it'll wake up later on."
He stood squarely on both feet, and one hand rested on the butt of arevolver. Keith noticed this, wondering vaguely.
"I reckon yer know, Jack, as how I ginerally git what I goes after,"said the slow, drawling voice, "an' that I draw 'bout as quick as any o'the boys. They tell me yo're a gun-fighter, but it won't do ye no goodter make a play yere, fer one o' us is sure to git yer--do yer sabe?"
"Get me?" Keith's voice and face expressed astonishment, but not amuscle of his body moved. "What do you mean, Bob--are you fellows afterme?"
"Sure thing; got the warrant here," and he tapped the breast of hisshirt with his left hand.
The color mounted into the cheeks of the other, his lips grew set andwhite, and his gray eyes darkened.
"Let it all out, Marshal," he said sternly, "you've got me roped andtied. Now what's the charge?"
Neither man moved, but the one below swung about so as to face them, onehand thrust out of sight beneath the tail of his long coat.
"Make him throw up his hands, Bob," he said sharply.
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"Oh, I reckon thar ain't goin' ter be no trouble," returned the marshalgenially, yet with no relaxation of attention. "Keith knows me, an'expects a fair deal. Still, maybe I better ask yer to unhitch yer belt,Jack."
A moment Keith seemed to hesitate, plainly puzzled by the situationand endeavoring to see some way of escape; then his lips smiled, and hesilently unhooked the belt, handing it over.
"Sure, I know you're square, Hicks," he said, coolly. "And now I'veunlimbered, kindly inform me what this is all about."
"I reckon yer don't know."
"No more than an unborn babe. I have been here but an hour."
"That's it: if yer had been longer thar wouldn't be no trouble. Yo'rewanted for killin' a couple o' men out at Cimmaron Crossin' earlyyesterday mornin'."
Keith stared at him too completely astounded for the instant to evenspeak. Then he gasped.
"For God's sake, Hicks, do you believe that?"
"I'm damned if I know," returned the marshal, doubtfully. "Don't seemlike ye'd do it, but the evidence is straight 'nough, an' thar ain'tnothin' fer me ter do but take ye in. I ain't no jedge an' jury."
"No, but you ought to have ordinary sense, an' you've known me for threeyears."
"Sure I have, Jack, but if yer've gone wrong, you won't be the firstgood man I've seen do it. Anyhow, the evidence is dead agin you, an' I'darrest my own grand-dad if they give me a warrant agin him."
"What evidence is there?"
"Five men swear they saw ye haulin' the bodies about, and lootin' thepockets."
Then Keith understood, his heart beating rapidly, his teeth clenched tokeep back an outburst of passion. So that was their game, was it?--someact of his had awakened the cowardly suspicions of those watching himacross the river. They were afraid that he knew them as white men. Andthey had found a way to safely muzzle him. They must have ridden hardover those sand dunes to have reached Carson City and sworn out thiswarrant. It was a good trick, likely enough to hang him, if the fellowsonly stuck to their story. All this flashed through his brain, yetsomehow he could not clearly comprehend the full meaning, his mindconfused and dazed by this sudden realization of danger. His eyeswandered from the steady gaze of the marshal, who had half drawn his gunfearing resistance, to the man at the bottom of the steps. Suddenly itdawned upon him where he had seen that dark-skinned face, with the blackgoatee, before--at the faro table of the "Red Light." He gripped hishands together, instantly connecting that sneering, sinister face withthe plot.
"Who swore out that warrant?"
"I did, if you need to know," a sarcastic smile revealing a gleam ofwhite teeth, "on the affidavit of others, friends of mine."
"Who are you?"
"I'm mostly called 'Black Bart.'"
That was it; he had the name now--"Black Bart." He straightened up soquickly, his eyes blazing, that the marshal jerked his gun clear.
"See here, Jack," shortly, "are yer goin' to raise a row, or come alongquiet?"
As though the words had aroused him from a bad dream, Keith turned tofront the stern, bearded face.
"There'll be no row, Bob," he said, quietly. "I'll go with you."
Chapter IV. An Old Acquaintance
Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains Page 3
