"Oh, Gawdamighty! I'm goin' tuh be bound up in a she-woman's petticoat! Why wasn't I wiped out tuh begin with? Shoot me, Bob, fer hell's sake! I would you--honest I would!"
To Bob's astonishment and delight he saw that Strawberry Daisy went at the work like a surgeon, and for once he had to admit that, after all, gals weren't so bad.
Pat drew Bob aside. "What shall we do, Bob? Don't you think we'd better pull off the trail and pitch camp and leave some of the outfit with Shorty until he is able to ride or until we can get help from Oro Fino?"
Bob was in a quandary. He simply wouldn't leave Shorty here unless he stayed with him. "Tell you what, Pat. Leave the tent and I'll stay with Shorty. I wouldn't leave him here with anyone else for all the gold in the northwest."
"I don't knew," Pat demurred. "Let's call Daisy and see what she thinks. That girl is a brick. Daisy!" he called.
"That'll fix you up, dearie," she said, rising. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Don't hurry!" bellowed Shorty after her.
The disagreeableness of the operation left no trace on her countenance. For the first time Bob got a good look at her. She was good looking, if not actually pretty, and he felt half apologetic over the way he had spoken of her. It was a surprise to him to discover that dancehall girls were human and sympathetic.
"Gal," Pat addressed her, "what do you think about leaving the tent and outfit and let Bob stay with Shorty to look after him. I'm afraid he can't make it in."
"I think it's a dishpan idea, Mr. Ford. Do you think I'd leave that boy alone here with anyone else but me to look after him? If he stays, I stay, and that's all!"
"You don't think I'd leave him here with you, do you?" Bob interrupted. "He's my partner and he don't like you, anyway."
"Oh, he's getting so he doesn't take it so bad. He'll get used to it and like it before long. He would now if it wasn't because there are so many men around to chaff him."
"I've got an idea, Pat," Bob remarked. "Maybe it don't amount to much. Let's make him a thingamajig like the Indians use. Fasten those saplings to his saddle, make a bed on it, and let the ends of the poles drag. That won't shake him up so much."
"Hurrah, bright eyes!" Daisy exulted. "Only don't let the ends drag. We'll take turns carrying the back ends and he'll ride like he was in his mother's cradle."
"Daisy, you're a real peach!" Pat's eyes beamed. "It's a good idea, and it relieves me What do you say, Bob; I didn't like the idea of leaving him in the first place."
"Since it was my idea, I like it. But there's enough men here to carry the saplings without Daisy taking a turn." But in spite of his sarcasm he had to admit to himself that he was glad for the first time that Strawberry Roan was along.
They got a late start, owing to the accident and arrangement for the care of their injured man. It was unfortunate perhaps, since it was necessary that they make every effort at speed to beat the Plummer Gang to Oro Fino. Bob was sure when the enemy learned they had been outwitted at Lewiston they would strike for Oro Fino.
The trip, while comparatively easy, was hard on Shorty, but it proved as Daisy had predicted; he soon got to tolerating her crooning, then liking it, for at every stop she was on the ground beside him.
Owing to their retarded speed they were compelled to camp another night. Strict vigilance was kept on the remuda, but nothing happened. That day was to be the last on the road, and all were nervous and annoyed at having to stop at intervals. All morning they had climbed over a sparsely timbered table-land, and when they at last dipped into the canyon down which roared the Clearwater, upon whose banks a few miles away they descried Oro Fino, their spirits revived. So far they had not been overtaken by any of the gang. The sun was just dipping behind the western horizon when they finally rode into town.
The little mining town was composed of hastily constructed log cabins built in a small clearing near the river. These crude dwellings were mostly one room affairs, with a lean-to, or shed, while oiled paper served for windows. There were also numerous tents, similar to those in Lewiston, the difference being that there was evidence of more constructive activity in Oro Fino. There were several houses in the course of construction, and about these were bearded men hewing and cutting logs and fitting them into place. There was a trading post, or store, where miners, home from the sluice boxes and diggings, were lounging on the porch. The appearance of the train caused considerable excitement. It was one of the largest individual trains they had seen come into the interior.
Ford's place was the largest in town, a two-story log structure, almost a replica of the one in Lewiston. His barkeeper, Jack Darling, was a thin-faced man with a happy-go-lucky manner.
A stairway ascended to the upstairs from the barroom and dance hall. A balcony was built on three sides, from which opened doors to the upstairs rooms.
Shorty was the first to receive attention. The trip had told on him, and he had to be carried upstairs to bed. The first thing Bob did was to take him a hot toddy to build him up, while Ford had the cook at the counter prepare him some venison broth. The women, except Daisy, who was bent on seeing that Shorty was taken care of, went to their rooms and to bed.
While Bob was busy making Shorty comfortable, Pat and his men were unpacking the mules. The new arrival had attracted people like flies, and the supply of bacon and flour Ford could spare was snapped up at three hundred per cent profit without question. Candles were as much in demand, selling at fifty cents each.
Among other things he had brought along was a bundle of newspapers two weeks old that quickly sold at one dollar a throw. These miners were all interested in the Civil War and were in sympathy with one side or the other. The arguments that the papers caused over secession issues resulted in several fistic bouts before the mules were fully unpacked. To restore order, Ford invited them all in to have a drink on the house. Inside of an hour the fiddles were screeching and the evening hilarity had begun.
* * * *
The first part of the night Shorty was restless and in considerable pain, but finally he grew quiet and slept. All through the night Daisy sat on the side of the bed, attentive to every whim and wish of the sick man. Bob knew the plucky girl was dead tired, but she kept up that encouraging smile, and he couldn't help murmuring over and again to himself, "What a girl!" He begged her to go to bed. She reluctantly agreed, if Bob would wake her if Shorty showed signs of restlessness again.
This had been a new experience to Bob. There had been ugly killings; he had barely escaped being murdered himself, and now the man to whom he owed his life was near death's door. He was also surprised that he had found a genuine girl with a real heart in an outfit like this--a dancehall girl at that. He had seen something more than mere professional interest in her tender caresses for Shorty. Perhaps it was because they had a friend in common that he liked her. His sister would have been like her if she had been forced into the same business and circumstances. Whenever he thought of his sister's fate, he boiled with hatred for every man who lifted his hand against decency.
Somehow, tonight, with Shorty like this, his avowed purpose looked hopeless. He would have to get a job so he could be near Shorty. He felt that he owed it to him. When he was better they would start out together again and take their place with the Vigilantes.
He lay down on the bed beside Shorty. He didn't mean to sleep, but before he realized it he fell into a deep slumber. He was awakened by Shorty calling him. Half startled, he raised himself on an elbow.
"What? What's the matter, Shorty?"
It was broad daylight and the warm sun was shining through the window. Shorty's face was pale, but he was smiling.
"We done made it, podner--by a hair. Stir yore stumps, Injun; I'm hungry."
"That's the best thing I've heard for ten years, Shorty," Bob exclaimed excitedly. "What do you want?"
"Ham an' aigs," he answered, looking expectantly, about the room.
"Like thunder you do! Who you looking for?"
"No one, yuh polecat
!" He reddened, realizing that Bob understood.
"Well, I reckon she'll be around soon. She stayed right at your bedside till two o'clock this morning, in spite of my swearing and saying everything I could to induce her to get out. Ford was in several times. I don't believe he's been to bed at all. I sent the other men to bed early."
"What about yuh, podner?" Shorty queried.
"Who? Me? Hell, I'd have gone to bed at dark if I could have got the others out of here. I knew it would take more than one slug to kill a tough maverick like you."
"Aw, git out o' here! I'm hungry enough to eat a iron kettle!"
Bob hurried dawn the stairs. He met Ford in the barroom.
"How's Shorty? I tiptoed up there two or three times, but you were both sawing logs."
"He's feeling fine and hungry as hell. He wants ham and eggs. Go on up, Pat. I'll get the cook to fix some toast and eggs for him."
When Bob got back Pat and Daisy were both there.
"I think you can excuse Pat and me now," Bob volunteered, as he placed the tray on the edge of the bed. "We'll see you after you've eaten."
Shorty reached down beside the bed and picked up a boot.
"He looks bully this morning, Bob, doesn't he?" Ford remarked as they departed.
Bob and Pat ate breakfast together. Pat seemed all at once to take on a thoughtful mood. At last he spoke.
"Bob, I want you to have this business. I can't take care of both places, and anyway you'll want to stay here with Shorty for awhile. I know you wouldn't leave him. It would help both of us. This is a real layout."
Bob laid dawn his fork and stared at Ford in amazement, unable to comprehend. Finally he shook his head.
"Can't be done, Ford. I've got to confess that I'm broke flat broke. I was thinking this morning that I would try and find a job with one of these miners."
"You could pay me later," Pat insisted.
"I couldn't do that. Besides, I want to be free; you know why. When the time comes to act I want to be able to saddle and ride in ten minutes." He would never think of taking advantage of Pat's kindness.
"l understand," Pat answered, figuring on the table with the tines of his fork. Presently he looked up again. "If anything happens to me, Bob, this place is yours. I knew that you wouldn't consent to buy it, so I wrote a will last night." He lifted a protesting hand as Bob started to interrupt. "Wait until I get through. Our work must be completed. You've got to fight it through--I mean we've got to fight it through. If you're wiped out, I'll have money enough to carry on the war. But you--you must have enough to continue. You'll always find a ready buyer for this layout. Understand, I'm just investing in the cause of our coming empire. I can afford it. I'm putting up my money against your time and efficiency."
"You talk like you expect trouble today."
"I'm expecting it every hour, every minute. A man came in this morning saying that he was robbed by Plummer and four of his gang not over three hours ago. They got ten thousand in dust."
"Where are Jim and Burk?"
"I posted them out along the river. They'll warn us in time, I hope, unless Plummer is too smart for them."
"We'll have the advantage of being here first," Bob explained. "They're sure to come straight here."
"I don't want to have trouble right here if we can help it, but we won't back up, Bob."
They were aroused from their conversation by the sound of beating hoofs. Trouble was not being long delayed. Burkley was swinging to the ground as they reached the front door.
"They's comin, boss! Five of 'em! I seen Plummer an' Cleveland among 'em! Be here any minute!"
"Where's Jim?" Bob snapped into action.
"Here he comes, hell bent fer 'lection!" answered Burkley.
"They're comin'!" yelled Jim, as he swung to the ground and threw the bridle reins over his horse's head.
"Come in here, men," Bob commanded. "Listen! Pat don't want us to muss this place up if we can help it. Quick! The three of us will sit at this table behind the door and pretend to be playing cards. Pat, you go on about your business. If they don't start anything, we'll let them drink and leave. If they do, you watch me for the high sign and back me up."
They scarcely had time to get into position. Ford walked toward the back of the room and Bob shuffled the cards. The five desperadoes rode up to the hitching post in a cloud of dust, dismounted, and filed up the steps into the barroom.
Cleveland, in the lead, called boisterously, "Come on, men, the drinks is on the house! Here is where we get something out of old man Ford!"
As was customary, the bartender poured five glasses and they gulped them down.
Then, seeing Ford for the first time, Plummer called, "Here's the head of the one man Vigilante himself! He's got guts but no brains! Come up, fellow, and drink on me!"
Slowly Pat walked forward to meet them, but without the least hesitancy. When within ten paces from them he addressed them coldly.
"I don't drink with Plummer or any of his cutthroat gang!"
Plummer's face turned white with rage. Cleveland's hand was toying with the button on the front of his vest. The hands of the other three men were taut over their gun butts.
"Stick 'em up!" Bob commanded icily. "We'll shoot the first man who moves for a gun!"
The sudden discovery that they were covered from behind brought their hands up.
"Jim, get their guns!"
"Ford!" Plummer challenged, "I thought you had guts! I'll take that back. You're a low-down coward, trapping us like this! Holding us up at our back! You're too cowardly to give us a fighting chance!"
For a moment Ford wavered. "I'm not going to shoot you down in cold blood, even though you deserve it! I'm giving you one hour to get out of town. When that time is up, if you are not gone, you'd better be ready for action! All right," he added, "keep your guns!"
"About face!" Bob commanded, "and keep following your noses straight ahead."
Without making answer the bandits turned and left the saloon. Bob and his men kept their guns trained on them until they mounted and rode off down the street.
After they had gone Bob turned to Ford. "We'll have to fight that bunch, Pat, so you'd better make up your mind right now."
"I know it," Pat answered wearily. "I don't know why I put it off, but in one hour I'm going to meet them. No one ever called Pat Ford a coward and got away with it."
"I'm with you, Pat. I have a special reason for wanting to be present. Didn't you recognize Three Finger Smith? I couldn't miss that ugly scar across his chin. I could have killed him, but when I do I want it to be face to face and let him know what's coming. Burk, you and Jim watch and see if they leave town."
It was the longest hour either Bob or Pat had ever spent. A few minutes before the hour was up Jim and Burkley returned with the news that Plummer and his men were waiting at the livery stable.
"Good!" said Bob shortly. "Now, you fellows work your way back of the shacks down behind the livery stable; Pat and I will go down the street."
After they had gone Bob and Pat started on their journey, each with the alertness that saw every moving object ahead of them. There was no one on the street at this hour of the day, all the men having gone to their work. One hundred yards more to go and no one appeared to challenge them. Fifty--twenty--then fifteen yards.
Suddenly four men rushed out of the entrance, opening fire simultaneously as Pat's and Bob's guns spoke. The first two men crumpled up. Neither Bob nor Ford were hit. Bob got a fleeting shot at one of the two men who had dodged back. Both men instinctively flattened themselves against the wall of the stable. Pat was nearest the entrance.
Bob didn't see the man who fired the next shot, but he saw that Pat was buckling up. Something snapped within and he made a mad rush for the entrance. He arrived just in time to see three horsemen galloping from the other end of the star able. He let go with both guns, but they were out of range. Burkley and Jim, arriving just at that time, opened fire, but they too were out of range, a
nd the three got away: Plummer, Cleveland, and Three Finger Smith.
Cursing his luck, Bob hurried back to Pat. He was still conscious, but Bob knew instantly that he was done for. Pat smiled sadly up at Bob as he stooped over him.
"They got me, Bob," he whispered with an effort. "The place is...yours. See that...Clara and the baby...get back...home...and...remember...carry on the fight..." His voice trailed away.
Bob cradled the head in his arms. His eyes filled with tears and a groan of anguish escaped his lips. His first and best friend in the West had gone down fighting for the new empire.
Jim and Burkley came around the corner of the stable, but stopped at what they beheld. They took off their hats. All nature's disturbing action ceased, and a hushed calm settled over them. Bob Bainbridge had known grief before, but nothing that moved him as this. Pat Ford had become more than a companion--he was a brother.
"Pat," he said quietly, "God being my witness, I'll follow your murderers to hell itself to avenge your death!"
With an effort he controlled his feelings as he beckoned to his friends, who were still reverently waiting, not willing to desecrate the secrets of these two great leaders.
"Help me take him to the saloon."
Carefully, without a word, they gathered him up in their arms and carried him to his own room. It was Jim who found the will in Ford's pocket and handed it to Bob. Bob shoved it in his pocket without looking at it.
"Poor old Pat, he knew it was coming," Bob murmured, gazing down on the cold face that was now smiling.
7
AFTER THEY HAD BURIED PAT FORD, JACK Darling, the bartender, interviewed Bob. "Do you want I should keep on, Mr. Bainbridge?" he asked.
"Go right on as usual, Jack. If Pat trusted you I am glad to take his judgment."
He then called Jim and Burkley to meet with him and Shorty in Shorty's room. Shorty took his old friend's death so hard that it endangered his own condition.
Bob was glad that Daisy had been so faithful in nursing Shorty, for now he could leave him with a degree of confidence that he would receive the proper care and attention until he recovered.
The Bitterroot Trail Page 7
