"I'd begun to think something had happened to you, Bob," said Ford anxiously. "We crossed the river one at a time, swimming our horses. Didn't want to be detected and have our plans spoiled this early in the game. Shorty Windless was the last to come in. I was about to go back after you. We didn't see a soul. I'm positive no one saw us."
"Like hell they didn't!" Bob cut in. "They came darned near plugging me just as I got on my horse. Took a pot shot at me, and from right under my nose. I tell you, Pat, they know just exactly what we're doing, or I'm a Flathead Injun! I tell you, things don't look so good to me."
There was a serious pause.
"What do you say, fellows?" Ford addressed the men. "You heard what Bainbridge said. If anyone wants to quit, now is the time. As for me, I'm with Bainbridge!"
The little man called Shorty spoke up, "Say, boss, what do yuh think I done swum the ol, Snake fer--tuh go tuh a tea party? Jim, air yuh an' Drake throwin' in with us?"
"We shore be!" they chorused.
"Good!" agreed Ford. "Now, men, from here on, Bob Bainbridge will take command."
"All right," Bainbridge agreed, "we'll take the wagon trail. It'll be easier going."
Bainbridge with Ford took the lead.
"Hear anyone pass, Pat?" Bainbridge inquired.
"No. We might not have heard anyone unless they were going faster than a walk. Why?"
"I saw two horsemen back up there a piece at that Indian camp. Could have been someone peddling firewater, and again it might have been something else. If they succeeded in getting the Indians to take sides against us we'll have a tough time."
Ford was thoughtful. "You can't tell about Indians. But they've been peaceful enough since I came here. The old Spalding Mission at Thunder Mountain has had a mighty effect on them. I can't help but feel, though, it's a good thing we're striking tonight. Maybe we'll catch them off guard."
For some time they rode swiftly. Bainbridge, meanwhile, was formulating a plan of attack. He wanted, most of all, to protect the lives of his followers. If there were chances to take, he'd take them. They covered the miles quickly until Patoha Creek loomed just ahead. He reined in his horse.
"What's the matter?" Ford asked anxiously.
"The shebang is just over the rise yonder. Now, I'll tell you what we'll do. Shorty, you and Jim Dale circle back around the corrals, then come up to the house from behind. Get to a window if there is one there. Whatever you do, cover their retreat to the corrals where they'll likely have their horses. Pat, you and Burkley cross over here to the left and come in so you can cover the front of the house."
"What are you going to do?" Pat queried.
"I m going to tie my horse to the hitching post and walk right up to the front door."
"I shore wouldn't!" Shorty cut in. "Them blamed skunks might be layin' fer yuh, an' kill yuh too daid to stink!"
"If they are going to shoot, they'll start the fireworks before I get off my horse. By that time Pat and Burkley will be close enough to cover me. Anyway, I might do a little arguing myself. I'll wait to give you plenty of time to get set. Make sure your holsters are loose, and if you have to shoot don't aim at their feet. Just one warning--Three Finger Smith is my bacon."
The men separated as directed, and Bob sat his horse to wait. A deathlike calm fell over the landscape. Scarcely a breath stirred the leaves of the sage. Somewhere a lone coyote howled a sinister warning. Bob's muscles were taut with expectancy, his ears sharp and alert. He could expect anything. Long minutes passed. His horse shook his head restlessly, then pricked up his ears. Both rider and horse froze. Bob peered ahead, trying to penetrate the darkness for some sign of a moving object. He knew horses well enough to appreciate their instinct and regard it.
It was the zero hour. Bob Bainbridge was ready to strike his first blow of revenge. At the same time it would start a stubborn fight for the building of an empire. Peace and safety could not come to this vast territory until this marauding band was wiped out.
The time had come at last. He touched his horse with his heels and began climbing the gradual incline to the summit of the hill, whence he would ride down to the very door of the den of Three Finger Smith.
As soon as he reached the summit of the rise overlooking the shebang there would be no chance for further concealment. With eyes alert and ready for instant action he rode down the incline at a pacing trot. He wanted them to think that he was only a straggling traveler.
He was nearing the hitching rack in front of the dark building. His horse suddenly pricked up his ears and jerked his head toward the hillside on his left. Not waiting for what he was sure would follow he threw himself from the saddle on the opposite side of the horse. He had intended lighting on his feet, but at the instant he jumped a shot punctured the night with its red flame; he caught his toe on a rock. The bolting horse knocked him to the ground flat on his stomach. It was a lucky fall and probably saved his life.
With both guns in his hands he wriggled to the safety of the dark brush. The staccato shots of the enemy were coming in quick succession. Only their uncertainty as to his exact location prevented his being riddled with bullets. As it was, the hot lead fanned too close for comfort. They were sweeping the territory near him as he finally rolled into a shallow depression that looked like it might have been an old prospect hole. He breathed with relief as he realized that he was comparatively safe for the moment.
Then he went into action again, rising quickly to the top of the brush, firing at the spurts of flame, and ducking again. Unexpectedly, shots flanked him from the window of the shebang on the right. Whining bullets cut through the air over the top of his head; they dug up the earth near his feet. Unfortunately he was not so well protected from this direction. He expected any moment to be killed, or feel the sting of one of those biting pellets. The thought struck him to cease firing. They might think he'd been hit. He was sure if he held his fire long enough they would venture from their places of hiding and he might have the advantage. His plan was frustrated by the echo of shots farther back. That would be Pat and Burkley flanking him. Still he held his fire.
The surprise attack routed the snipers. Three dark shadows broke from cover and started running for the corral. Bob jumped up, his guns barking. The frantic fugitives went into a panic. One man toppled over and lay still. A bullet hit the bank in front of Bob, throwing gravel in his face and eyes. For a moment he was blinded. That momentary blindness was the only thing that saved the enemy from summary death. Ford and Burkley dashed madly by, shooting at the fugitives as they ran. Bob dared not come from cover for fear his own men might mistake him for one of the enemy.
At this moment several men dashed from the cabin and ran down the ravine. Bob ran toward the corrals where the fighting was the hottest. The fugitives were contesting their right to their horses. Before he reached the scene of action the firing ceased. He knew the fight was over.
"Anyone hurt?" Bob asked anxiously, as he joined Shorty and Jim.
"Nary a one, podner!" Shorty answered jubilantly. "Gee, but that was a grand spree while it lasted! The worst of it was they wasn't no winder in the back side of that danged shanty, so's we couldn't git in on the start, but I reckon we nailed some of 'em."
Just then Pat and Burkley came riding up. "You all right, Bob?" Pat called.
"Yes," answered Bob.
"Good! That's our answer to lawlessness. How many'd we get?"
"Don't know," Bob answered. "I made a poor showing. Got sand in my eyes from one of their slugs when it hit in front of me. Several of them got away down the ravine. They were out of range after the first two running shots."
"Come on!" Ford snapped sharply. "Let's get them!"
"Wait!" Bob objected. "It would be foolish to try it now. They'd spot you sure on those horses, if they're not burning the trail a mile from here. I've an idea they had mounts hidden away down there. Let's take a look around and see. I'd like to know if Three Finger Smith's here."
There had been possibly six or
eight of them in all. While Shorty touched a torch to the shebang, the others located two bodies and dragged them close enough for inspection. By this time the flames were shooting sharp tongues in the air, hissing and sputtering from the pitch logs.
Bob was inspecting the casualties. "Come here, Pat!" he called. "Here's Maxwell, dead as a mackerel.... This other fellow I saw at the Indian camp. They circled us and beat us in. If they could have persuaded those Indians to take a hand, this would have been a different story." He turned away from the sight and gazed at the leaping flames.
"We didn't get Three Finger, Bob," Pat sympathized. "Too damned bad!"
Bob shook his head. "He was too slick for us. But I'll get him yet!" Then, after a pause, "Any horses in the corral? I've got to have one. Mine bolted when I hit the ground."
"Sure. There must be three or four with saddles on.."
"I'll take my pick then, and we'll get out of here. We'll let the dead lay as a lesson to the gang. We must get into town before daylight if possible."
Presently Bainbridge returned riding a big star-faced gelding with two white front feet. As they took the trail toward town he turned to Pat Ford. There was a trace of elation in his voice.
"I got him, Pat! The kid's horse! If I'm any judge of horseflesh, he's the finest horse on four legs. I hope we find the one I was riding, though. I'll pay you for him, anyway."
"Oh, no, you won't," Ford objected. "I'm satisfied with tonight's work. Do you realize that this was our first stand against lawlessness? This night will always be remembered as the first fight for the establishment of a great empire!"
"And do you know, Pat," answered Bob, "this is only the beginning of the fight. Now that we've started we'll have to carry it through every foot of this vast Bannock Territory before we win."
"Maybe," Pat agreed. "But before spring next year I look for Lincoln to officially create the Bannock Territory and give us territorial law. But of course it may be a long time before real law is thoroughly established. I heard from a friend in Washington that they are already considering this Territory."
Pat's mind seemed always to be on the subject of the great empire-to-be. But just now Bob was thinking of things closer at hand.
"Ford," he advised, "we've got to lay low for awhile and let this sink in. Let every member of the Innocents Gang hear about it. Then, when the right time comes--strike again. It's my opinion a few picked men can do more, under present conditions, than an army."
"Good. That will give us time to attend to some of my own matters. Tomorrow I have four girls coming from Portland. I've got to take them up to my saloon at Oro Fino. That will be a good chance for you to come along and see some of the country. I'll pay you good wages. Besides, I want you to look my business over up there."
"That's not such a bad idea, Pat. Go along as though nothing had happened; but we'll have to be on guard every minute. Suppose we pass one of those shebangs, as you call them? They'll all know about this, and we might run right into a necktie party, or be wiped out with hot lead."
"Maybe," Ford agreed, "but I've got other plans. We'll take a tent along with the pack for the gals, and we'll circle the shebangs."
Bob was quietly considering the possibilities, when Shorty interrupted.
"Say, what about it, Bob? We ain't all of us tuh go gallivantin' into town tuhgether, be we? I ain't hankerin' tuh climb that gold ladder tuhnight."
"That's right. We'd better go in the way we came out. But what'll I do with Star Face?"
"Shorty!" Ford called. "After you get across the river, wait for Bainbridge. Circle the bluff west and drop down to my stable. Once Star Face is padlocked in there he'll stay till you come after him, Bob."
Again the first Vigilance Committee of Bannock Territory separated and crossed back over the Snake River, one at a time, and a half hour apart. The crossing of the river was accomplished without mishap. Bob met Shorty as per arrangement, and Star Face was safely locked in the log stable.
"Now, Shorty, I think it's best if we act none too friendly in public. Our dish will be cooked if they ever learn definitely who pulled that deal tonight. They'll suspect Ford and me, but they'll know that the two of us didn't do it alone. As long as they don't know anything for sure it will be in our favor. It's my guess they'll think there were a dozen or so in our company, men who are right under their noses."
"Nairy a yeep, Bob. Yuh know, pard, I got a sneakin' ideer we orta team. With my brains an' yore generalship we could whip the whole menagerie o' Innocents."
"That's not a bad idea, Shorty. Shake on that."
"Yore's till the lion an' the hornswoggled sheep licks each other's tails."
"Shorty, what in Sam Hill is this tied on your saddle? A bow and arrow, or I'm a Flathead Injun!"
"Shore. I thought as how we might git short o' lead. Yuh know I used to be a medicine man fer the Nez Perce Injuns durin' my vacation. Goodbye, pard--yuh danged ol' lion tamer!"
Bob decided it would be folly to go back to the saloon to bed, for he suspected that everyone would know by now from the hotel keeper that he had thrown in with Ford. So he circled about until he found the outside stairway back of the hotel and tiptoed to the landing. He stopped and looked toward the east. A tiny rim of silver, presaging the coming day, was tinting the distant peaks. The heavens would soon be a riot of gold.
As he turned to enter he caught a flitting movement in the brush almost at the foot of the old stairway. He dodged inside. After a moment he cautiously peered out again. There was nothing in sight. He hurried along the hallway to his old room. Finding it empty he entered, locked the door, threw himself on the bed, and was soon fast asleep.
* * * *
Ebb Cleveland had just gone to bed when he was awakened by an impatient voice outside. "It's me--Buck. They's hell tuh pay! Pokerface Bainbridge an' a dozen men burned the shebang an' Maxwell an' Gopher was wiped out."
"Hell's fire!" Cleveland exploded, jumping out of bed and grabbing up his boots. "I didn't expect they'd try anything tonight! Maxwell thought they might, so I sent him to warn you fellows!" He buckled on his gun. "Where's Three Finger?"
"He's back by the stables. He's leavin' town. Says he ain't stayin' around hyar where the boss don't give 'im no protection."
"Let him go, then! You stay around town. I'm heading out to find Plummer. Don't let this Pokerface Bob out of your sight night or day till I show up. And we'll consider it a special favor if you wipe him out meantime."
"I ain't hankerin' tuh meet up with that hell cat!" Buck whined, "But I'll shore keep my eye on 'im."
4
BACK IN A LITTLE GLADE BORDERING THE Bitterroot Trail to the interior squatted a long low log cabin. There were two rooms in each end, separated by a shed between. The same dirt roof covered the whole building. Trickling down the glade ran a clear cold stream of spring water. Back of the cabin in the dense timber were horse corrals, and rising abruptly behind these was a sheer wall of rock, possibly fifty feet high. Below the cabin, toward Lewiston, two mountains came close together, forming a rocky gap through which the Bitterroot Trail passed, affording the cabin, or shebang, perfect protection against encroachment from the outside.
In the kitchen this early morning a flaxen haired girl of eighteen was preparing breakfast, singing as she worked. Her father, John Lee, was sitting by the door smoking his pipe. His beard had the appearance of having been frosted at the ends, shading to a muddy brown at the roots. His nose, rising abruptly at the bridge, was long, prominent, and rosy. His eyes, a deep blue, resembled those of his daughter.
"Stop it, Ah say, Dixie, will yuh? Ah'm so blasted pestered with yoah yappin' that Ah'm 'near crazy!"
"What's the matter, John?" She always called him John. "I feel like singing this morning--everything is so beautiful."
"Funny to me," he grunted. "Most always yeah mopin'. What's got into yuh this mawnin'? Hish, they's someone comin' up the trail. Most likely it's Cleveland."
Dixie slammed the oven door and nervously w
iped her hands on her apron. If she ever hated anyone, it was Cleveland and Plummer. What would either of them be doing here this morning? She heard the horses' hooves scraping across the rocks in the brook below, and she knew without looking that there was more than one.
"No tantrums!" John warned.
Knocking the ashes from his pipe, he unwound his lanky form and ambled out to meet the horsemen. Their greetings were curt and to the point.
"Mawnin', Cleveland!" John hailed from the yard.
"Hello, Lee! Plummer got here yet?" Cleveland got down from his horse. He brushed the grime from his corduroy trousers that were tucked in his boot tops.
Dixie watching from the window, could see from Cleveland's manner that he was unusually ill-tempered and ugly this morning. She dreaded his visits, and not without cause, for he was always trying to make love to her. He was old enough to be her father. She shuddered. She also noticed the squat little man riding with Cleveland as he dismounted. His rough unshaven face and sandy hair gave him the appearance of a very able counterpart of Cleveland in skullduggery. Her father relieved them of their horses as he spoke.
"Bettah go in an' wash up foah breakfast."
How she hated to have to face these uncouth men. Yet she was forced to do so on account of her father.
"Why, hello, Dixie!" Cleveland greeted as he came inside. "Fresh an' plump as a peach this morning."
"Hello, Cleveland," she answered civilly, but with an effort.
"Come on now, gal, is that any way to treat an old friend?"
"That's the way I'm going to treat you--if you don't mind."
"But I am mindin', you little wisp. You're gettin' kittenish." He sidled up to her just as she picked up the coffee pot. Confidently he slipped an arm around her waist.
The act was as repulsive as the feel of a snake. She wriggled loose, and in doing so pressed the boiling coffee pot against his hand. It brought instant action.
"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" he exploded vehemently. "You little devil! You hell-cat! I believe you done that on purpose!"
The Bitterroot Trail Page 4
