The pudgy man, looking on, grinned, showing a row of white teeth through the deep tan. "Playin' with fire, Cleve?" he chuckled.
"Keep out of this, Jake, damn you, before I poke you on the nose!"
Ignoring the two, Dixie stepped to the door and called, "John! Breakfast's set!" Then turning back to the others she said, "Pitch in."
She always felt depressed when these men were about, and as soon as opportunity afforded she always retreated into some secluded glen until they had gone. Her favorite retreat was an old miner's cabin up Rilda's Canyon a mile. Rilda's Canyon was a small tributary to the main canyon. She often went there alone, and it had become a sort of sanctuary to her. For that reason she had carried a few things from the shebang to make the place more habitable.
Her rendezvous was accessible from two trails, one along the cliff back of the corrals, and the other through the dense timber on the other side of the little canyon. This morning she took the timber trail. It had been used so little that the underbrush completely covered it, and one with less knowledge of the country would have been completely lost.
Except for the constant murmur of the song in the tops of the tall pines, there was solitude. This morning she felt it more than usual. There was something in the voice of Cleveland when he asked if Plummer had come that disturbed her. She instinctively knew that some devilment was afoot when the two owners of the shebang were to meet just at this time, for it was only a few days ago that Plummer was to have started for Florence, and he couldn't possibly have made the trip so soon.
It wasn't alone the roughness of these men that made her suspicious of them. In the past two months, three men at different times had been killed within a stone's throw of the house. It was getting on her nerves. Her father, she feared, knew or suspected what it was all about but he refused to enlighten her. He had promised that soon he would take her away and they would stake out a placer claim some place where they could live in peace. But for some unknown reason he had kept putting her off. She feared they had some hold on him. She wished he would leave before something happened to separate them. She shuddered at the thought. If he were to be killed she would be left at the mercy of Cleveland and Plummer. Death would be preferable.
Coming out on a rocky projection on the point of the mountain, she sat down to gaze on the little clearing carpeted with bright spring green. The colors always seemed more riotous and beautiful here than any other place. The little brown log hut was almost grown over with underbrush. In the clearing two does and a fawn, unsuspecting danger, gamboled about. One of them lifted her wet nose and sniffed the air.
There was a strange restlessness in Dixie Lee's heart this morning. She arose and started down the hill. The deer, hearing her, scampered for cover. She crossed the green to the cabin and went in. The bunk in the corner looked inviting, and her stack of dry wood by the old fireplace was still undisturbed. She had chinked up the place at odd times to keep the pack rats out. In one corner stood an old rickety table upon which she had placed a cover of calico, with a design of bright colored roses over it. Hanging over the bed was a tintype of her mother, the one prize she cherished.
As she gazed at the lovely face, her memory reverted to the time when she was a tiny tot back in the South. She fancied she could hear the baby songs her mother used to sing to her. She took the picture down and sat on the bed, holding it in her hands. The tears were very close to the surface this morning.
At last, replacing the picture, she picked up her birch fishing pole. There was good fishing on the little creek up a half mile farther. She had fished there many times. She walked slowly along the path, then stopped uncertainly. She was in an unsettled state of mind. Some foreboding of evil seemed to grip her. "I'm going back. I'm afraid John will get mixed up in some trouble." She replaced the fish basket and pole where she had found them, and took the corral trail back to the house.
Her room adjoined the big kitchen where the men were gathered. She could easily hear them talk without being discovered She felt that she must know what was going on. She saw Plummer's big black horse in the corral. It was still blowing, so she knew its rider had just arrived. Cautiously she edged around the wild raspberry bushes back of the house and entered her room by the back door. She could hear Cleveland's excited voice above the rest. She stood still to listen.
"Unless we do something," Cleveland was saying, "we'll be wiped out! That damned Yankee who calls himself Pokerface Bob is a bad Injun, and quick as greased lightnin' on the draw. He's teamed with Pat Ford, and there's hell to pay!"
"That Vigilante business again?" inquired the deep voice of a man she knew was Plummer.
"You guessed it, Cap. And when they organize the Vigilante it's our time to fight or move--and you know that!"
"I'm interested in this Yankee, Pokerface Bob. Tell me again just what happened," Plummer demanded.
"Well, after Hildebrandt was done for, Pat Ford raised a hell of a row and called all the good citizens together to organize against us. The meetin' didn't amount to much, but when I spoke my piece, Pokerface challenged me, and before I could get a bead on him he shoots my gun square out of my hand. And you know when a man beats Cleveland to the draw he ain't human, that's all."
"What then?"
"I knew something was due to happen quick, for Three Finger was charged with killing a kid called Patterson. I knew Three Finger was down at the shebang on Patoha Creek, so I sent Maxwell to warn him and the other boys. I thought the six of them would blow the Vigilantes to kingdom come, for I knew there couldn't be more than one or two who'd back Pokerface and Ford's play. I gave them orders to ambush and kill the skunks, but instead of that--well, there must've been a dozen men against them."
"Instead of that?"
"Instead of that only Three Finger and Badger got away. We lost something when Maxwell was cut down."
"Where's Three Finger now?"
"Goin' like hell. With his tail between his legs for safety, I guess."
"Cleveland, that's one guess you've missed on. Ten to one, Three Finger is closer to Pokerface Bob than his shadow. I know men, and Three Finger is not only one of the best shots that ever hit this territory, but he's foxy. They don't fool that boy!"
"Maybe yore right, Cap, but he sure did bungle that job!"
Dixie sank into a chair, almost overcome from the shock of realizing that they were mixed up with a band of outlaws; for sooner or later she knew that the law of retribution would overtake them. Cleveland was still speaking.
"What I propose, Cap, is that we gather our forces, go down there in the open, and take Ford and that damned Yankee Pokerface out and hang them to the nearest tree, and call ourselves the Vigilantes; for I tell you that as long as they stand on their pegs they'll raise particular hell!"
For a moment there was silence. Dixie knew that upon Plummer's word depended whether there was to be a guerrilla war with the forces in favor of law and order. She held her breath, with a prayer in her heart, awaiting his decision. Presently he spoke.
"Cleveland, you've got a peanut brain if you think I'm going to mix in an open public fight. I'm a gambler and I take chances, but I'm playing for higher stakes. Law and order are coming into this country one of these days, and when it does, Mister Plummer is going to be one of Lincoln's officers. Meantime, you fellows will do the active work in cleaning up all you can here, and the same cut will hold for all of us."
Cleveland exploded. "So you aim to cut the bunch? Is that what you're drivin' at? If it is, one of us'll be wiped out right now!"
"Oh!" Dixie gasped in terror. Then she heard Plummer's voice again.
"Don't be a fool, Cleveland! Think what you could do, with me in some high position. Of course I wouldn't cut the bunch. Go ahead and start the fight on the lines that you suggest, only, for all of our sakes, don't bring me personally into it."
So this was what her father had got mixed up in. It was no wonder he kept putting her off about going away. And yet she could not believe it. John
wasn't that kind of man. He would never stoop to murder and robbery. But John feared Plummer and Cleveland and hated them, even as she hated them. It must be true then. He had become so involved that he could not tear himself away.
There was a dull pain in her heart, and the more she thought the more bitter her hatred for Plummer became. He was a coward at heart, but he was the brains of the band. He would always play safe while such men as John Lee and the rest would take all the chances and do all the dirty work. If anyone was to hang it would be John Lee, Ebb Cleveland, or some other of Plummer's tools. Plummer would occupy some high position in the territory when it was finally formed, and what was to keep him from using his power to blot out all the band and take the profits of their wicked deeds?
Anger overcame her fear, indignation her natural weakness. John Lee could not take a stand with these murderers! She'd see that he didn't! Without thought of what she would do, she flung the door violently open and rushed into the room. The look of fiery anger in her face enhanced its natural beauty.
"So!" she challenged, "you are a bunch of thieves and murderers, are you? I might have known it!" she hissed at Plummer.
If Plummer was surprised at her sudden fury his calm cynical face didn't show it. Nor did he uncross his legs as he sat curling his black mustache. For a moment he observed her, then suddenly broke into a deep guttural laugh that started at the very pit of his stomach.
"Why, hello, Dixie! Why, doggone, if your tail feathers ain't blowing the wrong way!"
"I hate you!" she retorted. Then, ignoring him, she turned to the cowering John Lee, who was as much surprised at her sudden outbreak as the rest.
Cleveland sat motionless, toying with the button on his vest.
"John!" she said sharply, "this is where you are going to quit this gang! We've been duped--deceived into thinking this was a respectable roadhouse where we were to make honest money from the honest travelers who pass this way. Well, it's a death trap, and these fiends are murderers!"
John shook his head vaguely for a moment, trying to recover from the shock. A look of pain came into his face. "Ah didn't know, gal; honest Ah didn't have no idea."
Impulsively she threw her arms about him, crying, "Oh, John, I'm so glad! You must take me away at once!"
"Oh, I guess not, filly!" growled Plummer dangerously. "Old John Lee won't leave here until I give the word, and he can take his choice whether he goes to hell or whether I let him tag along with the rest of us. Then you can forget what has happened; I'll make you my wife and we'll settle down and no one will say we're not respectable."
"You brute! You fiend!" she stormed. "I hate you worse than a rattlesnake! I'd kill you--kill myself, before I would submit to that!" She was facing him defiantly, every muscle tense.
He observed her coolly. Finally he spoke. "I have never killed a woman, gal, but I scalped one in Portland once for making eyes at the captain of the boat we came from 'Frisco on. I shot the captain!"
His terrible confession, so coolly told, made her tremble. She felt as though her feet would give way under her.
In an instant John Lee roused; with a wild yell he sprang at Plummer. "I'll kill you foah that!" he yelled, flashing a knife.
Plummer, quick as a cat, caught his wrist. They overturned the table, tripped over the wood box and went to the floor. They were up again, Plummer still holding Lee's wrist. Bringing it down sharply over his knee, he broke the hold, and the knife fell to the floor. Lee staggered backward and rushed again. Plummer whipped out a gun and met him fairly with a blow on the head that dropped him like a beef. Dixie screamed and threw herself on the floor beside him.
"Sorry I had to do it, gal. But I'm boss of this gang. He'll come around all right. What the hell you fellows standing around here for? Get on those nags and ride! And you, gal, remember, neither of you leave this shebang until Plummer gives the word!" Turning, he followed Cleveland and the pudgy man from the room.
As soon as they rode away she got a basin of cold water and began dressing her father's wound, crying as she worked. Presently he groaned and opened his eyes.
"Oh, John!" she cried, "I was afraid you were dead! We'll go away from here, won't we?" She helped him to rise and take the chair beside the stove.
Sadly he shook lids head. "Foah yoah sake, child, we can't go now. He would kill me suah, and then yuh would be on his mercy."
"Oh, Daddy John!" she sobbed, as he put his clumsy arms about her. "What shall we do?"
5
BOB BAINBRIDGE GROANED AND TURNED OVER on the bed. He was vaguely conscious of a disturbance somewhere, but it seemed strangely half dream and half reality. Then suddenly the metallic knocking on his door brought him out of his bed with a bound. The noise had become a commotion in the hallway. The pounding, accompanied now by angry voices, gave Bob an awakening sense of alarm. He made no answer but hastened to pull on his boots and buckle on his guns.
"Open this door, Bainbridge, er we'll bust 'er in!"
Bainbridge was taking no chances. He stepped into a corner, both guns drawn. "Come on, you renegades! Come and get me!" he coolly invited. His words were followed by a momentary lull in the confusion. Then he recognized the voice of his friend, Pat Ford.
"Hold on, men! Wait a minute there. Let's find out what's happened! Bob, this is Ford! Better open the door. I think you can explain this."
"All right, if you say so, Pat," Bainbridge answered, slipping his left gun in its holster. With his left hand he turned the key in the lock.
The door flew open from the weight behind it. Pat was standing in the door, and on the floor at his feet was a dead man. Back of him peered angry faces.
"Git 'im!" someone growled. A rumble ran over the crowd.
Pat put an arm across the door, barring their entrance.
"Stand where you are! There's been too much killing already. Hell's fire! Can't you give a man a chance to explain?"
"Go on!" bleated the nearest man. "You've done throwed in with him! Yore as bad as he is! Badger here ain't never harmed no one; jest a honest miner."
Ford knew his men. He spoke again, this time in a more conciliatory tone. "Men, I'm standing with the honest citizens of this town. I promise you that if it can be proved that Bob Bainbridge killed Badger here without sufficient provocation, I'll help take him. But first give him a chance to explain." Turning to Bob, "Have you got anything to say about this killing?" he demanded.
"No. I never saw the man before. Why should I want to kill him?"
"But he was found here in front of your door, murdered, and these men say you killed him."
"Shore he kilt 'im!" the hotel keeper cut in. He was still wearing his red flannel night shirt. "I heard the shot, an' when I comes up here I finds 'im so, shot right through the heart!"
Pat turned on him sharply. "Did Bob register here last night?"
"No-o, course not! I didn't know he was here till--"
"Till what?"
The little shriveled-up man caught himself and attempted to sidestep the issue. "Wal, I didn't know he was here till Buck here told me."
"How did you know, Buck?" Pat demanded. "Did you see him come in?"
"No, but a friend o' mine spied 'im. Aw, he done it all right. What we waitin' fer anyway?"
"Who told you?" Pat demanded angrily, flipping out a gun. "Come on--speak up before I blow you to kingdom come!"
The man's face turned a shade paler. He hesitated, but the size of the muzzle of Pat's gun overcame his hesitancy.
"It was Three Finger!"
"Where is he?" Bob yelled. "Tell me where he is, that's all!"
"Stop!" Pat commanded. "Bob, you're a fool! You couldn't get through this mob, and you can bet Three Finger isn't here!"
For a moment Bob glared dangerously at his friend until the heat of passion began to subside. His reason told him that Pat was right, and he knew too that he was fighting for his life.
"Pat, this is a put-up job. You and I know it! Drag that body inside and if I can't prove my
innocence I'll give myself up. Wait! Before you move him notice that he is lying on his back with his head toward my door. He was shot from in front."
"Aw, that don't mean nothin'!" interrupted Buck. "He coulda' turned before he fell."
"I'm coming to that," Bob continued. "If I had shot him from the open door wouldn't he have fallen backward or slumped forward on his face? If he was standing, say five or six feet down the hallway, and I shot him in such a way, from that side, that his body would lie this way on his back, wouldn't you find a bullet hole in the door?"
Pat and Buck began examining the door.
"No bullet holes in the door," announced Buck disappointedly. "But maybe the bullet lodged in his back. That could easy be."
"Now, drag him in here where we'll have more light and let's see. That's it. Buck, you undo his shirt in front and examine where the bullet entered."
Hesitatingly, Buck obeyed as the curious men crowded about. "Shot right through the heart, all right!" he announced.
Bainbridge's eyes widened. "Notice the shape of the wound!"
Buck stared in amazement. "Wal, I never saw nothin' like that before! It's kinda oblong with sharp edges!"
"Turn him over and see if the bullet came out," Pat commanded.
Buck obeyed, and pulling up the shirt he gasped in confused surprise. "Look! An arrowhead is stickin' through!"
In silent amazement the men stared at each other.
"Well, men, that settles that!" Pat said calmly. "I knew my friend Bob here didn't do it. Now, maybe you're satisfied. Buck, you fellows bury Badger." Turning to Bob, "Come over to the saloon with me, Bob. I want you to meet a friend of mine."
"After I get some breakfast I'll be over, Pat. If you see Shorty any place tell him to come over to the hotel. I want to see him. I've got to take care of my horse, too."
"I watered and fed Star Face, so you won't need to bother about that." They left the hotel together, Bainbridge promising to be right over.
He wanted to be alone to figure things out. He knew that this affair was much deeper than it appeared on the surface. The purpose of this man Badger in front of his door was to murder him. He doubted the word of the men who claimed that he was only a miner. There was one definite point to begin with; the gang would benefit, or thought they would, by his own death. Badger, he therefore concluded, was a member or hireling of the gang.
The Bitterroot Trail Page 5
