Nan of Music Mountain

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XI

  AFTER THE STORM

  It was well along toward midnight of the same day when two horsemen,after having ridden circumspectly around the outbuildings and corrals,dismounted from their horses at some little distance from the door ofthe Calabasas Inn. They shook out their legs as men do after a longturn in the saddle and faced each other in a whispered colloquy. Anovercast sky, darkening the night, concealed the alkali crusting theriders and their horses; but the hard breathing of the latter in thedarkness told of a pace forced for some hours.

  "Find your feet before you go in, Pardaloe," suggested the heavier ofthe two men guardedly to the taller one.

  "Does this man know you?" muttered the man addressed as Pardaloe,stamping in the soft dust and shifting slightly a gun harness on hisbreast.

  "Pedro knows me," returned Lefever, the other man, "but McAlpin saysthere is a new man here, a half-wit. They all belong to the samegang--coiners, I believe, every one of them. They work here and pushin Texas."

  "Can you spot the room when you get up-stairs, where we saw thatstreak of light a minute ago?" demanded Pardaloe, gazing at the blackfront of the building.

  "I can spot every foot of the place, up-stairs and down, in the dark,"declared Lefever, peering through the inky night at the ruinous pile.

  Instead of meeting de Spain, as appointed, Lefever had come in fromthe Thief River stage with Scott three hours late only to learn of thefight at the Inn and de Spain's disappearance. Jeffries had alreadysent a party, of whom Pardaloe, a man of Farrell Kennedy's fromMedicine Bend, had been picked up as one, down from Sleepy Cat, tolook for the missing man, and for hours the search had gone forward.

  "Suppose you go back to the barn," suggested Pardaloe, "and wait therewhile I go in and have a little talk with the landlord."

  "Why, yes, Pardaloe. That's an idea," assented Lefever feebly. Then helaid the first two fingers of his fat right hand on the lapel of hiscompanion's coat: "Where should you like your body sent?" he asked infeigned confidence. "Concerning these little details, it's just aswell to know your wishes now."

  "You don't suppose this boob will try to fight, do you, when he knowsJeffries will burn the shack over his head if another railroad man isattacked in it?" demanded Pardaloe.

  "The most ruinous habit I have had in life--and first and last I havecontracted many--has been, trusting other people," observed Lefever."A man shouldn't trust anybody--not even himself. We can burn theboob's shack down--of course: but if you go in there alone the ensuingblaze would be of no particular interest to you."

  "All right. We go in together."

  "Not exactly that, either. You go first. Few of these forty-fourbullets will go through two men at once."

  Ignoring Lefever's pleasantry, Pardaloe, pulling his hat brim throughforce of habit well over his eyes, shook himself loose and, like a bigcat walking in water, stepped toward the door. He could move his tall,bony frame, seemingly covered only with muscles and sinews, sosilently that in the dark he made no more sound than a spectre. Butonce before the door, with Lefever close at hand, he pounded thecracked panels till the windows shook. Some time elapsed before therewas any response. The pounding continued till a flickering lightappeared at a window. There was an ill-natured colloquy, a delay, moreimpatience, and at length the landlord reluctantly opened the door.

  He held in his hand an oil-lamp. The chimney had been smoked in such away that the light of the flame was thrown forward and not back.Lefever in the background, nothing disturbed, threw a flash-light backat the half-dressed innkeeper. His hair was tumbled sleepily acrosshis forehead and his eyes--one showing a white scar across thepupil--set deep in retreating orbits, blinked under heavy brows. "Whatdo you want?" he demanded. Pardaloe, without answering, pushed throughthe half-open door into the room.

  "We're staying here to-night," announced Pardaloe, as simply aspossible. Lefever had already edged into the doorway, pushing thestubborn innkeeper aside by sheer bulk of weight and size.

  The sleepy man gave ground stubbornly. "I've got no beds," he growledsurlily. "You can't stay here."

  Lefever at once assumed the case for the intruders. "I could sleepthis minute standing on my head," he declared. "And as for stayinghere, I can't stay anywhere else. What's your name, son?" he demanded,buttonholing in his off-hand way the protesting man.

  "My name is Philippi," answered the one-eyed defiantly.

  "Regards to Brutus, my dear fellow," retorted Lefever, seizing theman's hand as if happily surprised.

  "You can't crowd in here, so you might as well move on," declaredPhilippi gruffly. "This is no hotel."

  Lefever laughed. "No offense, Philippi, but would it be indiscreet toask which side of your face hurts the most when you smile?"

  "If you've got no beds, we won't bother you long," interposedPardaloe.

  "I'd like a pitcher of ice-water, anyway," persisted Lefever. "Sitdown, noble Greek; we'll talk this over."

  "Who are you fellows?" demanded Philippi, looking from one to theother.

  "I am a prospector from the Purgatoire," answered Pardaloe.

  Philippi turned his keen eye on Lefever. "You a railroad man?"

  "No, sir," declared Lefever, dusting the alkali vigorously from hiscoat sleeve.

  "What are you?"

  John looked as modest as it was possible for him to look. "Few peopleask me that, but in matter of fact I am an _objet d'art_."

  "What's that?"

  "Different things at different times to different men, Philippi,"answered Lefever simply, exploring, while he spoke, different cornersof the room with his flash-light. "At this moment--" he stoppedsuddenly, then resumed reassuringly--"I want a drink."

  "Nothing doing," muttered the landlord sulkily.

  Lefever's flash-light focussed on a United States license hanging backof the bar. "Is that a mere frame-up, Philippi?" he demanded, walkingsignificantly toward the vender's authority.

  "Nothing in the house to-night."

  "Then," announced Lefever calmly, "I arrest you."

  Philippi started. "Arrest me?"

  "For obtaining a thirst under false pretenses. Come, now, before weslip the irons on, get us something to eat. I'll go up-stairs and pickout a room to sleep in."

  "I tell you," insisted Philippi profanely, "there are no rooms for youto sleep in up-stairs."

  "And I," retorted Lefever, "tell you there are. Anyway, I left asewing-machine up-stairs here three years ago, and promised to keep itoiled for the lady. This is a good time to begin."

  With Lefever making the old steps creak, ahead, and Pardaloe, withhis long, soft, pigeon-toed tread close behind, the unwillinglandlord was taken up the stairs, and the two men thoroughly searchedthe house. Lefever lowered his voice when the hunt began throughthe bedrooms--few of which contained even a bed--but he kept up arunning fire of talk that gave Philippi no respite from anxiety.

  Outside the kitchen quarters, which likewise were rigorously searched,not a soul could be found in the house. One room only, over thekitchen, gave hope of uncovering something. The party reached the doorof this room through a narrow, tortuous passageway along an atticgable. The door was locked. Philippi told them it belonged to asheep-herder who did not use it often. He protested he had no key.Pardaloe knocked and, getting no response, tried unsuccessfully toforce the lock. Lefever motioned him aside and, after knocking loudlyon the door himself, laid his shoulder against it. The door creakedand sprung in crazy protest. The panels cracked, the stubborn framegave, and with a violent crash Lefever pushed completely through thelocked barrier and threw his flash-light inside. Pardaloe, urging theunwilling Philippi ahead, followed.

  The room, unfinished under the rafters, was destitute of furnishings,and bore traces of long disuse. Stretched on the floor toward themiddle of it, and side by side, lay two men. One of them was verylarge, the other not more than half his companion's size. Lefeverkneeling over the man nearest the door listened for signs ofbreathing, and laid his head to the man's heart. H
aving completed hisexamination, he went around to the other--Pardaloe and Philippisilently watching--and looked him over with equal care. When he haddone, he examined, superficially, the wounds of each man. Rising, heturned toward Philippi. "Were these men dead when you brought them uphere?"

  "I didn't bring 'em up," growled Philippi.

  "You know them, Pardaloe?" asked Lefever. Pardaloe answered that hedid. Lefever turned sharply on Philippi. "Where were you when thisfight was going on?"

  "Down at the stage barn."

  "Getting your alibi ready. But, of course, you know that won't let youout, Philippi. Your best chance is to tell the truth. There were twoothers with this pair--where are Gale Morgan and Sassoon?"

  "Satt Morgan was here with hay to-day. He took them over this eveningto Music Mountain."

  "Where were they hit?"

  "Morgan was hit in the shoulder, as far as I heard. Sassoon was hit inthe side, and in the neck."

  "Where is de Spain?"

  "Dead, I reckon, by this time."

  "Where's his body?"

  "I don't know."

  "Why do you think he is dead?"

  "Sassoon said he was hit in the head."

  "Yet he got away on horseback!"

  "I'm telling you what Sassoon said; I didn't see him."

  Lefever and Pardaloe rode back to the stage barn. "Certainly looksblue for Henry," muttered Lefever, after he had gone over withPardaloe and McAlpin all of the scant information that could begathered. "Bob Scott," he added gloomily, "may find him somewhere onthe Sinks."

  At Sleepy Cat, Jeffries, wild with impatience, was on the telephone.Lefever, with McAlpin and Pardaloe standing at his side, reported tothe superintendent all he could learn. "He rode away--without help, ofcourse," explained Lefever to Jeffries in conclusion. "What shape heis in, it's pretty hard to say, Jeffries. Three more of the bunch,Vance Morgan, Bull Page, and a lame man that works for Bill Morgan,were waiting in the saddle at the head of the draw between the barnand the hotel for him if he should get away from the inn. Somehow, hewent the other way and nobody saw hide nor hair of him, so far as Ican learn. If he was able to make it, Jeff, he would naturally try forSleepy Cat. But that's a pretty fair ride for a sound man, let alone aman that's hit--and everybody claims he was hit. If he wasn't hit heshould have been in Sleepy Cat long before this. You say you've hadmen out across the river?"

  "Since dark," responded Jeffries. "But, John," he asked, "could a manhit in the way de Spain was hit, climb into a saddle and make aget-away?"

  "Henry might," answered Lefever laconically.

  Scott, with two men who had been helping him, rode in at two o'clockafter a fruitless search to wait for light. At daybreak they picked upthe trail. Studying carefully the room in which the fight had takenplace, they followed de Spain's jump through the broken sash into thepatio. Blood that had been roughly cleaned up marked the spot where hehad mounted the horse and dashed through an open corral gate down thesouth trail toward Music Mountain. There was speculation as to why heshould have chosen a route leading directly into the enemy's country,but there was no gainsaying the trail--occasional flecks of bloodblazed the direction of the fleeing hoofs. These led--not as thetrailers hoped they would, in a wide detour across easy-ridingcountry toward the north and the Sleepy Cat stage road--but fartherand farther south and west into extremely rough country, a no man'sland, where there was no forage, no water, and no habitation. Not thisalone disquieted his pursuers; the trail as they pursued it showed theunsteady riding of a man badly wounded.

  Lefever, walking his horse along the side of a ridge, shook his headas he leaned over the pony's shoulder. Pardaloe and Scott rode abreastof him. "It would take some hit, Bob, to bring de Spain to this kindof riding."

  Beyond the ridge they found where he had dismounted for the firsttime. Here Scott picked up five empty shells ejected from de Spain'srevolver. They saw more than trace enough of how he had tried tostanch the persistent flow from his wounds. He seemed to have worked along time with these and with some success, for his trail thereafterwas less marked by blood. It was, however, increasingly unsteady, andafter a time it reached a condition that led Scott to declare de Spainwas no longer guiding Sassoon's pony; it was wandering at will.

  Confirmation, if it were needed, of the declaration could soon be readin the trail by all of them. The horse, unrestrained by its rider, hadcome almost completely about and headed again for Music Mountain.Within a few miles of the snow-covered peak the hoof-prints randirectly into the road from Calabasas to Morgan's Gap and werepractically lost in the dust of the wagon road.

  "Here's a go," muttered Pardaloe at fault, after riding back and forthfor a mile in an effort to pick the horse up again.

  "Remember," interposed Scott mildly, "he is riding Sassoon'shorse--the brute is naturally heading for home."

  "Follow him home, then," said Lefever unhesitatingly.

  Scott looked at his companion in surprise: "Near home, you mean,John," he suggested inoffensively. "For three of us to ride into theGap this morning would be some excitement for the Morgans. I don'tthink the excitement would last long--for us."

  The three were agreed, however, to follow up to the mouth of the Gapitself and did follow. Finding no trace of de Spain's movements inthis quest, they rode separately in wide circles to the north andsouth, but without picking up a hoof-print that led anywhere or gavethem any clew to the whereabouts of the missing man.

  "There is one consolation," muttered Lefever, as they held to whateach felt to be an almost hopeless search. "As long as Henry canstick to a saddle he can shoot--and the Morgans after yesterdayafternoon will think twice before they close in on him, if they findhim."

  Scott shook his head: "That brings us up against another proposition,John. De Spain hasn't got any cartridges."

  Lefever turned sharply: "What do you mean?"

  "His belt is in the barn at Calabasas, hanging up with his coat."

  "Why didn't you tell me that before," demanded Lefever indignantly.

  "I've been hoping all the time we'd find Henry and I wouldn't have totell you."

  In spite of the hope advanced by Lefever that de Spain might by somechance have cartridges in his pocket, Scott's information wasdisquieting. However, it meant for de Spain, they knew, only thegreater need of succor, and when the news of his plight was made knownlater in the day to Jeffries, efforts to locate him were redoubled.

  For a week the search continued day and night, but each day, even eachsucceeding hour, reduced the expectation of ever seeing the hunted manalive. Spies working at Calabasas, others sent in by Jeffries to MusicMountain among the Morgans, and men from Medicine Bend haunting SleepyCat could get no word of de Spain. Fairly accurate reports accountedfor Gale Morgan, nursing a wound at home, and for Sassoon, badlywounded and under cover somewhere in the Gap. Beyond this, informationhalted.

  Toward the end of the week a Mexican sheep-herder brought word in toLefever that he had seen in Duke Morgan's stable, Sassoon's horse--theone on which de Spain had escaped. He averred he had seen theblood-stained Santa Fe saddle that had been taken off the horse whenthe horse was found at daybreak of the day following the fight,waiting at Sassoon's corral to be cared for. There could be, it wasfairly well ascertained, no mistake about the horse: the man knew theanimal; but his information threw no light on the fate of its missingrider.

  Though Scott had known first of de Spain's helpless condition inhis desperate flight, as regarded self-defense, the Indian was thelast to abandon hope of seeing him alive again. One night, in themidst of a gloomy council at Jeffries's office, he was pressed foran explanation of his confidence. It was always difficult for Scottto explain his reasons for thinking anything. Men with the surestinstinct are usually poorest at reasoning a conviction out. But,Bob, cross-examined and harried, managed to give some explanationof the faith that was in him. "In the first place," he said, "I'veridden a good deal with that man--pretty much all over the countrynorth of Medicine Bend. He is as full of tri
cks as a nut's full ofmeat. Henry de Spain can hide out like an Indian and doctor himself.Then, again, I know something about the way he fights; up here,they don't. If those four fellows had ever seen him in action theynever would have expected to get out of a room alive, after a showdownwith Henry de Spain. As near as I can make out from all the talkthat's floating around, what fooled them was seeing him shoot at amark here one day in Sleepy Cat."

  Jeffries didn't interrupt, but he slapped his knee sharply.

  "You might just as well try to stand on a box of dynamite, and shootinto it, and expect to live to tell it," continued Scott mildly, "asto shoot into that fellow in a room with closed doors and expect toget away with it. The only way the bunch can ever kill that man,without getting killed themselves, is to get him from behind; and atthat, John, the man that fires the gun," murmured the scout, "ought tobe behind a tree.

  "You say he is hit. I grant it," he concluded. "But I knew him oncewhen he was hit to lie out in the bush for a week. He got cut off oncefrom Whispering Smith and Kennedy after a scrimmage outside WilliamsCache two years ago."

  "You don't believe, then, he's dead, Bob?" demanded Jeffriesimpatiently.

  "Not till I see him dead," persisted Scott unmoved.