CHAPTER IV
The Hold-up
Riding hard into Florence from Sweetwater Ranch Bud Lane hunted up BuckMcKee at his favorite gambling-joint, and, in a white heat ofindignation informed him in detail of everything that had passedbetween Payson and himself. At once McKee inferred that the writer ofthe letter was none other than Dick Lane. Realizing that Payson wasalready informed of his villainy, and that in a very short time DickLane himself would make his appearance on the Sweetwater, thehalf-breed concluded to make a bold move while he yet retained theconfidence of Bud.
"Bud," he said, "I know the man who is sendin' the money to Payson.It's Dick, your brother."
"But," stammered Bud, his brain whirling, "if that's so, you lied aboutthe Apaches killing him you--why you--must have been the renegade, thedevil who tortured prospectors."
"Why, Bud, Dick never wrote all that dime-novel nonsense about the manwho stood by him to--well, not the very last, for Dick has managedsomehow to pull through--probably he was saved by the Rurales that werechasin' the band that rounded us up. No, it's Payson, Jack Payson,that made up that pack of lies, just to keep you away from me, the manthat was last with Dick and so may get on to Jack's game and block it."
"Game! what game?" asked Bud, bewildered.
"Why, you told me it yourself--to marry Dick's girl, and live on Dick'shard-earned money."
"But Dick borrowed the three thousand of Jack," objected Bud.
"Well, the dollars he borrowed have all gone, ain't they? And themoney he's sendin' back Dick dug out of the ground by hard work, didn'the? Leastways, Payson hadn't ort 'o use the money to rope in Dick'sgirl. It ort 'o be kep' from him, anyhow, till Dick comes on theground his own self. That 'u'd hold up the weddin', all right, if Iknow Josephine. It 'u'd be easy to steer her into refusin' to let Echogo into a mortgiged home."
Simple-minded Bud readily accepted the wily half-breed's explanationsand surmises, and fell into the trap he was preparing. This was tohold up the express-agent and rob him of the money Payson wasexpecting, on securing which it was McKee's intention to flee thecountry before Dick Lane returned to denounce him. To ascertain justwhen the money came into the agent's hands, and to act as a cover inthe robbery itself, an accomplice was needed. For this purpose no manin all the Sweetwater region was better adapted than Bud Lane. Frankand friendly with every one, he would be trusted by the most suspiciousand cautious official in Pinal County. The fact that he had chosenBuck McKee as an associate had already gone far to rehabilitate thisformer "bad man" in the good graces of the community. Under cover ofthis friendship, McKee hoped to escape suspicion of any part in thehomicide he contemplated. For it was murder, foul, unprovoked murderthat was in the black soul of the half-breed. He intended toincriminate Bud so deeply as to put it beyond all thought that he wouldconfess.
Young Lane, passionately loyal to his brother, was ready for anythingthat would delay Payson's marriage to Echo Allen. Together with thewild joy that sprang up in his heart at the thought that his brotherwas alive, was entwined a violent hatred against his former employer.In the fierce turbulence within his soul, generated by the meeting ofthese great emotions, he was impelled to enter upon a mad debauch, inwhich McKee abetted and joined him. Filling up on bad whisky, theyrode through the streets of Florence, yelling and shooting their "guns"like crazy men. It was while they were engaged in this spectacularexhibition of horsemanship, gun-play, and vocalization that Bud'ssweetheart rode into town to execute some commissions in preparationfor Echo Allen's wedding. Already "blue" over the thought that her ownwedding was far in the dim future, poor Polly was cast into the depthsof despair and disgust by the drunken riot in which her prospectivehusband was indulging with her particular aversion, the cruel,calf-torturing half-breed, McKee. Thoroughly mortified, she slippedout of town by a side street, and moodily rode back to Allen Hacienda,meeting on the way, as we have seen, Jack Payson.
After the debauch was over, and the merry, mad devil of nervousexcitement was succeeded by the brooding demon of nervous depression,McKee broached to Bud the idea of robbing the express-agent of themoney coming to Payson. This fell in readily with the young man'srevengeful mood. He unreservedly placed himself under the half-breed'sorders.
In accordance with these, Bud hung about the road-station a great deal,cultivating the friends of Terrill, the agent. 'Ole Man' Terrill, ashe was called, although he was a vigorous specimen of manhood on theunder side of sixty, was ticket and freight agent, express-messenger,and telegraph-operator, in fact, the entire Bureau of Transportationand communication at Florence station. Bud frankly told him he was outof a job, and had, indeed, decided in view of his coming marriage, togive up horse-wrangling for some vocation of a more elevatingcharacter. So Terrill let him help about the station, chiefly in theclerical work. While so engaged, Bud learned that a package valued atthree thousand dollars was expected upon a certain train. Although noconsignee was mentioned, the fact that the amount tallied exactly withthe sum Payson was expecting caused him to conclude it was Dick'srepayment of his loan. Accordingly he informed McKee that the timethey were awaiting had arrived.
Florence had grown up as a settlement about a spring of water some timebefore the advent of the railroad. Builders of the line got intotrouble with the inhabitants, and in revenge located the station half amile away from the spring, thinking new settlers would come to them.In this they were disappointed.
The point was an isolated one, and the station a deserted spot betweentrains.
Eastward and westward the single track of railroad drifted toshimmering points on the horizon. To the south dreary wastes of sand,glistening white under the burnished sun and crowned with clumps ofgrayish green sage-brush, stretched to an encircling rim of hills.Cacti and yucca palms broke the monotony of the roll of the plains tothe uplands.
Sahuaroes towered over the low station, which was built in the style ofthe old Spanish missions. Its red roof flared above the purple shadowscast by its walls. In the fathomless blue above a buzzard sailedmajestically down an air current, and hovered motionless over thelonely outpost of civilization.
Within the station a telegraph-sounder chattered and chirruped. 'OleMan' Terrill was at the instrument. His duties were over for theforenoon, the east-bound express, which, with the west-bound, composedthe only trains that traversed that section of the road each day,having arrived and departed a half-hour before, and he had cut in onthe line to regale himself with the news of the world. But there was adearth of thrilling events, such as his rude soul delighted in. TheApache uprising, that was feared, had not taken place. Colonel Hardie,of Fort Grant, had the situation well in hand. The Nihilists weregiving their latest czar a breathing-spell. No new prize-fighter hadarisen to wrest the championship of the world from John Sullivan, whohad put all his old rivals 'to sleep.' 'Ole Man' Terrill proceeded tofollow their example. He had been up late the night before at a pokergame. His head fell forward with a jerk. Aroused by the shock, heglanced drowsily about him. Heat-waves danced before the open window.Deep silence hung over his little world. Again his eyelids closed; hishead dropped, and slowly he slipped into sleep.
Tragedy was approaching him now, but not along the wire. Down anarroyo, or "draw" (the dry bed of a watercourse), that wound in adetour around the town of Florence, and debauched into the open plainnear the station, crept two men in single file, each leading a horse.They were Buck McKee and Bud Lane, who had ridden north from the townthat morning with the declared purpose of going to Buck's old ranch,the Lazy K. They had circled about the town, timing their arrival atthe station a little after the departure of the train which wasexpected to bring Dick Lane's money.
McKee emerged first from the mouth of the draw. He wore a coarseflannel shirt, loosened at the throat. About his neck was ahandkerchief. His riding-overalls were tucked into high boots withSpanish heels and long spurs. A Mexican hat with a bead band topped ahead covered with coarse black hair, which he inherited from hisCherokee
mother.
Save for the vulture floating high in air not a living thing was insight. With the caution of a coyote, McKee crept to the station doorand peered blinkingly through the open door into the room. The changefrom the dazzling light without to the shaded interior blinded him fora moment. He heard the heavy breathing of the sleeper before he sawhim.
Returning to the mouth of the arroyo, McKee motioned to his companionto bring out the horses. When this was done, the two men cinched thesaddles and made every preparation for sudden flight. Lane and thehorses remained outside the station behind a freight-car on a siding,while McKee stole softly through the open door to 'Ole Man' Terrill'sside.
Now, the agent used as a safe-deposit vault his inside waistcoatpocket, the lock upon which was a huge safety-pin. For further defensehe carried a revolver loosely hung at his hip, and easily reached. Hisquickness on the draw in the hour of need, and his accuracy of aim madehim a formidable antagonist.
Some men are born into the world to become its watch-dogs; others tobecome its wolves. The presence of a human wolf is, as it were,scented by the human watch-dog, even when the dog is asleep. McKee wasknown instinctively as a man-wolf to the born guardians of society;Slim Hoover, himself a high type of the man-mastiff, used to say of thehalf-breed: "I can smell that b'ar-grease he slicks his hair withagin' the wind. He may be out o' sight an' out of mind, when somethin'tells me 'McKee's around'; then I smell b'ar-grease, and the nextthing, Bucky shows up, with his ingrasheatin' grin. It's alluz 'greasebefore meet, as the Sky Pilot would say."
'Ole Man' Terrill was of the watch-dog breed. Whether warned by theinstinct of his kind or wakened by the scent of McKee's bear-grease, hesuddenly opened his eyes. Like all men accustomed to emergencies, hewas instantly in full possession of his wits, yet he pretended to beslightly confused in order to get a grasp upon the situation beforegreeting his visitor.
"Howdy, Buck," he said, adjusting his revolver as he swung half-roundin his chair, that he might reach his weapon more readily in anemergency. "Bustin' or busted?"
"Well, I'm about even with the game," replied McKee, pulling from hispocket a bag of tobacco and papers, and deftly rolling a butterflycigarette. "Goin' to shake it before I lose my pile. It's me for theLazy K. Dropped in to say good-by."
Terrill, who had recently had an expensive seance with McKee at poker,remonstrated:
"Yuh ought 'o give me another chanct at yuh, Buck. Yo're goin' awaywith too much of my money."
"Well, 'Ole Man,' I'm likely to rob yuh of a lot more ef you ain'tkeerful," answered McKee.
"Yuh can't jet yeta while," said Terrill. "Dead broke."
"Aw, come off! everybody knows ye're a walkin' bank. Bet yuh got threethousan' in that inside pocket o' your'n this minute."
Terrill started at McKee's naming the exact amount he was carrying. Heforgot his customary caution in his surprise. "Well, you did just hitit, shore enough. I believe ye're half-gipsy instid o' half-Injun.Jus' like yer knowin' I stood pat on four uv a kind when you had acesfull, and throwin' down yer cyards 'fore I c'u'd git even with yuh.How do yuh do it, Buck?"
McKee gave a smile of cunning, inscrutable superiority. "Oh, it's jes'a power I has. 'Keen sabby,' as the Greasers say--I'm keen on theknow-how. Why, I kin tell yuh more about the money. It's fer JackPayson--"
"Now, there's whur ye're way off as a cleervoyant, Buck," said Terrilltriumphantly. "Yuh guessed oncet too often, as yer old pard on theLazy K said to the druggist. 'Peruna?' ast the druggist. 'Yep,' saidyer pard. 'Beginnin' mild on a new jag?' ast the druggist a secondtime. 'Hell, no!' said yer pard they calls Peruna now from thein-sih-dent, 'ending up strong on an old one.' Nope, the threethousan' is county money, consigned to Sheriff Hoover. Jack Payson hasjes' lef' with a package from K. C., but it wasn't money. It was apurty, gilt chair--a weddin'-present fer the gal he's go'n' to marry."
At that moment the sounder of the telegraph began clicking the call ofthe station. Terrill whirled about in his swivel-chair and faced thetable.
McKee stood close behind him. His lips twitched nervously. His eyesnarrowed as he watched every movement of the agent's big shoulders ashe operated the key. At the same time the half-breed drew his revolverand covered the back of Terrill's head.
The agent completed his message and turned to continue his interruptedconversation. He found himself gazing into the muzzle of a .44, big,it seemed, as a thirteen-inch gun. "Why--what?" he stammered.
"I'm actin' jes' now as Slim's deppity," said McKee. "Unbutton an'han' that money over."
Once having his victim in his power, all the innate cruelty of theIndian blood of his maternal ancestors flashed to the surface. Terrillwas at his mercy. For one desperate moment he would play with him;even torture him as his forefathers had once made miserable the lastmoments of a captive. He knew that unless he silenced Terrill his lifemust pay the forfeit. Death was the penalty of detection. The arm ofthe express company was long. Ultimate capture was certain. Pursuedout of Arizona by the sheriff, he would be trailed through every campand town in the far West.
With an oath, Terrill tried to rise and face his antagonist, reachingfor his revolver as he did so. The butt of his weapon had caught inthe arm of the chair hampering his movements.
McKee threw him roughly back into the chair.
"Throw up your han's," he cried. "Don't try that."
Up went Terrill's hands high over his head. He faced the open window.Not a sign of help was in sight.
Quickly the agent turned over in his mind various schemes to foilMcKee, who now stood behind him with the muzzle of his revolverpressing into the middle of his back. Each was rejected beforehalf-conceived.
McKee laughed sneeringly, saying: "You oughtn't to be so keerless toshow where you cache your roll. Worse than a senorita with a stocking.She never keeps a whole pair when Manuel is playing faro."
Terrill made no reply. His hope of escape was slowly fading.
McKee had reached his left hand over his prisoner's shoulder to disarmTerrill, who moved slightly away from him, drawing in his feet as hedid so.
One chance had come to him. He knew that, if he failed, death wascertain, yet he determined to take the risk in order to retrieve theslip he had made in admitting that he had money in his possession to agambling crony; and so to keep clean his record for trustiness, ofwhich he was so proud. This last desperate resource was an oldwrestler's trick; one with which he had conquered others in the roughgames of the corral.
Again Terrill moved to the right and farther under McKee, who had toextend his arm and body far beyond an upright position. Holding hisrevolver against Terrill handicapped the half-breed in his movements.
With a quick turn, Terrill grasped McKee's left arm, jerking it downsharply on his shoulder. With his right hand he grasped the back ofhis antagonist's neck, pulling his head downward and inward. Using hisshoulder for a fulcrum, with a mighty heave of his legs and back hesought to toss McKee over his head.
So surprised for an instant was the cowboy by suddenness of the attackthat he made no effort escape the clutches of the desperateexpress-agent.
His feet had left the floor, and he was swinging in the air before hisfinger pressed the trigger.
There was a muffled report.
The two men fell in a heap on the floor, McKee on top. Dazed andshaken, McKee scrambled to his feet. The air was pungent with odor ofpowder smoke. Terrill rolled over on his side, trembled convulsively,and died. He had paid the penalty for a moment's indiscretion with hislife.
McKee quickly unfastened the pin and seized the roll of bills. Skimmingthrough the package, he smiled with satisfaction to see that the mostof it was in small bills, and none of them stained.
Carefully avoiding the fast-forming pool of blood which was oozing fromthe hole in the dead man's head, he hurried to the door.
A glance showed him the coast was clear. Running across the tracks, hejoined Lane, who was waiting for him behind the freigh
t-car withimpatience. In silence they mounted their horses. For a shortdistance McKee led the way upon the railroad-track, in order to leaveno hoof-prints, and then struck across the desert toward the hills inthe south.
"Why did you shoot?" gasped Lane.
"He drew on me," snarled McKee. "It wasn't Dick's money, but you'llget half. Shut up."
The burning sun rose higher and higher. The buzzard dropped lower inthe sky. The silence of death brooded over the railroad-station.
The Round-Up: A Romance of Arizona; Novelized from Edmund Day's Melodrama Page 4
