“You damn fools!” Little Bill stormed. “What did yuh want to mix in this for? All of yuh here?”
“All but Tas; we figgered he was too old to take a hand in a runnin’ fight,” said Link.
On the ridge they met Tonto Baker and Maverick. The two men were staring at something in the brush. Their faces were glum, for now that the excitement was over they were beginning to realize where they stood.
Little Bill pulled up alongside them to stare at the lifeless thing on the ground. It was a moment or two before he spoke.
“Anybody know who he is?” he asked.
“It’s Frenchy Le Breton,” said Link. “It was me who got him. If his aim had been a little better it would have been the other way around. I rode up this little knoll and he cut down on me.”
“Just better leave him there,” Bill advised. His mouth was hard as he turned away. Link glanced at him sharply.
“I hope you ain’t sore about this, Bill,” he said. “It was either him or me.”
“I ain’t sore about nothin’, Link. How could I be? Yuh got Luther and me out of a bad jam. That ain’t what’s in my mind at all. I just wonder if yuh realize that it means … that we’re all outside the law now. We ain’t got only a crooked sheriff against us, but every peace officer in Oklahoma as well. In twenty-four hours there’ll be a price on our heads.”
They had nothing to say as Bill led the way back to the springs.
“We’ll water our horses and pull out of here at once,” he told them. “Best thing to do is to head for the North Fork and work out into No Man’s Land; we ain’t safe this side of there now.”
His gloomy view of things began to get on Luther’s nerves.
“See here, Bill,” he burst out angrily, “ain’t no use in goin’ on that-a-way! We did everythin’ we could to keep from spillin’ blood here. I never wanted to drift into outlawry. Now Beaudry has pushed us into it. Since that’s the case, I intend to git even without wastin’ any time. Pop got it, and we’d have got it but for the boys here. If the law—in the face of all that—can make me an outlaw, I say let it!”
There was nothing more to be said. Circumstance had burned their bridges behind them and they could only go on. Reckless, strangers to fear, they rode away from Cain Springs strangely subdued and helpless. Needing a leader, they found him in Little Bill.
No one knew the country better than they. For two days they followed the North Fork into the almost uninhabited region to the west. If they were pursued they failed to catch a glimpse of their pursuers.
From Wednesday to Friday they went without food. They were also without money. Something had to be done. So about noon on Saturday they rode into Scott’s Station. There was just a backwoods store there. They drew up in front of it and Little Bill and Tonto Baker went in to see what Scott would let them have for Bill’s watch.
Ike Scott had seen his share of outlaws. He was instantly aware of the six rough-looking men, all heavily armed, their manner desperate, who drew rein at his hitch rack. He was alone in his store. It imposed no handicap on him. Without wasting any time in deciding what to do, he reached for the sawed-off shotgun he kept under the counter for just such emergencies. As Little Bill and Tonto stepped through the door he flung the gun to his shoulder and fired.
Not knowing what they faced in entering the store, Bill and Tonto came in with their eyes alert. As Scott threw his gun into position they dropped to their knees behind a cracker barrel. A split second later a load of buckshot swept the door.
They were untouched. Before Scott could fire the second barrel, Tonto’s six-gun barked sharply. Scott dropped his gun and fell across the counter.
Luther and the others came running to find the two men staring at the stiffening body. They stopped in their tracks.
Little Bill got to his feet and walked over to the counter. A glance was enough to tell him that Scott was dead.
“That makes it complete,” he muttered gloomily. “This is a grudge the law won’t forget.”
“What happened?” Luther demanded huskily. “I was watchin’; I didn’t see you go for your guns or do anythin’ to bring this on.”
“We didn’t,” Tonto declared soberly. “We didn’t do nothin’ nor was there a word said. He just threw that shotgun to his shoulder and began to blaze away.”
“I’m afraid we did more than plenty,” said Little Bill.
“Why, yuh mean I shouldn’t have dropped him?” Tonto demanded incredulously. “What else could I have done? He would have got us both with that second barrel!”
“Oh, I ain’t findin’ fault,” Bill answered. “Reckon you’re right, Tonto; you couldn’t have done nothin’ else. We’re all outside the law, and there ain’t nothin’ for us to do but realize that it’s the other fellow or us from now on.”
They helped themselves to what food they could carry. With greater deliberation than they had shown since leaving Cain Springs, they mounted and rode away.
They had little to say to each other. Little Bill was the most glum of all. He could not put the thought of Martha Southard out of his mind. He found a bittersweet satisfaction in recalling how she had rushed to his side to warn him against Beaudry. Certainly her concern for him had sprung from something warmer than friendship.
It made him realize how great was his loss in losing her. That he had lost her forever, that the events of the past few days had removed her from his world as surely as death could have done, he could no longer doubt. Whatever Martha’s feeling toward him, she would not be permitted to brood over it alone for long. Paint would see to that.
“I don’t know as I can blame him for that,” he told himself. “I can’t expect Martha to string along with me now. I’d be the last one in the world to ask it of her. I don’t know what lies ahead of me, but it sure ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ for a girl like her to share.”
Chapter XI
IT WAS a comparatively easy matter to lose one’s self in the almost impenetrable brakes of scrub oak and buck brush in the Strip. But water was needed as well as cover.
At the end of several days they found a place that suited them. Others had been there before. There was even a brush corral that some rustling gang had built years past.
Little Bill looked the ground over carefully and from such sign as he could discover, decided that a month or more had passed since anyone had camped at this hidden spring. Reassured that they were safe for the time being, they went into camp.
There was some game in the brush, but to fire a gun was to announce their presence not only to any prowling marshal but to other wanted men like themselves, and that might mean the Sontags, for they had no way of knowing how close they were to Smoke and his long riders. So their guns were silent. Link took Little Bill to task over it.
“I didn’t know we was walkin’ wide of Smoke,” he said. “I figgered the sooner we met up with ’em the better we’d like it.”
“We’ll meet up with ’em, sure enough,” Bill answered, “but I don’t aim to give ’em a chance to jump us. If I can, I’m goin’ to be the one to pick the time and place; not Smoke. It’s somethin’ that will only be done once, and it’s got to be done right when we do it.”
“What do yuh mean by all that?” Luther demanded.
“I mean we ain’t strong enough for a showdown yet. Outside of you and me and Link none of us owns a first-class rifle. We need ammunition too.”
“I’d like to know where we’re goin’ to git all them things,” Link argued.
“We’ll get ’em,” Bill answered him. “I’m figgerin’ things out. We need money, and there’s only one way I know of that men in our position can get it.”
“You mean hoistin’ a bank?” Luther queried, his mouth grim.
The question was unnecessary, for they understood him well enough.
“That’s what I mean,” the red-haired one echoed gravely. “It ain’t a case of its bein’ what we want to do. As I figger it, we ain’t got no choice at all, unless we wan
t to walk in and give ourselves up. You know if we do that we’ll all end up down in Fort Smith with a rope around our necks.”
“That’s a fact,” Scotty Ryan agreed. “As far as the law goes we couldn’t be any worse off than we are now.”
The others, save Luther, nodded owlishly. He was staring at something off in the brush. The others caught his preoccupation.
“What is it?” Little Bill questioned sharply.
“There’s a man out there,” Luther replied. “He’s crawled behind that big gum tree.”
They reached for their guns in a hurry.
“Just keep him covered,” Bill snapped out. “I’ll work out to the right a ways and get the meanin’ of this. If he breaks cover and won’t stand, you let him have it. No foolin’ about this!”
He and every man in camp were instantly suspicious that the law had caught up with them already. Barring that they were agreed that the man Luther claimed to have seen cautiously working his way through the brush was a Sontag spy, for they took it for granted that since Beaudry had failed to rub them out Smoke would waste no time in trying it.
Prepared to shoot it out to the finish, if it developed that the Sontags were present in force, they strained their eyes for a glimpse of moving object.
They saw nothing however. Little Bill began to glide away noiselessly. He had not gone thirty feet when he was hailed from behind the gum tree.
“Put away your hardware, Bill,” the stranger called out. His tone was friendly. “It’s Latch Shively. I was jest bein’ a might careful about findin’ out who you was before I walked into yore camp.”
The voice sounded familiar enough, but Little Bill did not lower his rifle.
“If that’s you, Latch, show your face,” he ordered.
A year and more had passed since he had last laid eyes on the man who stepped out from behind the tree, but he recognized him instantly.
Latch was a little man, not much bigger than Little Bill himself; upwards of fifty now, his eyes watery and the mildness of his manner emphasized by a long, drooping mustache. It was an impression that was entirely misleading, for Latch had been living outside the law for seven years or more and was wanted for a score of bank robberies and train hold-ups.
He had ridden with one band of long riders after another, for outlaw gangs were continually disintegrating as the U. S. marshals made successful war on them. Inevitably, the remnants joined other gangs. If they escaped being rubbed out without warning, they soon found themselves hunted down all over again. Latch had had no better luck than the run of outlaws. Little Bill had last heard of him as a member of the Yeager gang that had all but been wiped out in a two-day gun fight with a posse of marshals, a month back.
“Well, it’s you, sure enough, Latch,” he said. “Come on in.”
He was honestly glad to see him, for here was a tried and true hand who would be useful in any emergency. As for Luther and the others, they felt quite as he did about it. Some had slight acquaintance with Shively; the others at least knew him by reputation.
“Latch, you look a bit seedy,” Little Bill said banteringly as Maverick put the coffee pot on the fire.
“Yeh, I fergot to have my pants pressed this mornin’, sure enough,” Latch chuckled, with a rueful glance at his faded butternut jeans. “Fact is, Bill, I came out of this last fracas with nothin’ but my guns and my appetite. I jest about been livin’ on roots for a week.” He cast an appraising eye over the camp. “You boys seem to be travelin’ pretty light too …. You ain’t all out of grub, be yuh?”
“No, we got enough for a day or two,” Bill grinned mirthlessly. “We’re figgerin’ on movin’ directly.” He broke off only to add after a moment’s pause, “I reckon you’ve heard how things stand with us.”
Latch nodded.
“I daresay I’ve heered the most of it,” he said, “and I’ve read the rest.”
“What do yuh mean by that?” Link asked. “I didn’t know you’d left any forwardin’ address for your newspaper.”
One or two laughed at the little pleasantry.
“Maybe he got it special delivery,” Tonto Baker observed.
“Mebbe I did at that,” Latch declared, wagging his head. “Leastwise it was delivered special by some depity sheriff or marshal.”
From his pocket he drew out a soiled and folded piece of paper. When he had it spread out they saw that it was a poster that said in big black letters:
WANTED FOR MURDER
$500 Reward for the Arrest or Information Leading to the Arrest of the Following
Their names and descriptions followed. The poster bore the printed signature of Cash Beaudry, sheriff of Cimarron County.
Their faces hardened as they read it to the last line. It told them no more than they had expected, but seeing it in black and white was a conclusive confirmation that affected every one of them.
“Where did you get this?” Little Bill asked.
“Oh, I tore it off a fence on the Blackhawk road,” Latch told him. “They’ve got ’em up everywheres.”
“I reckon they have,” Bill muttered. His voice was cold and harsh. He stared at the poster for a moment. “Both of those men had guns in their hands and was blazing away at us when we dropped them. You can’t call that murder. But hell’s fire, that’s only an excuse to rub us out. There’s somethin’ behind all this that don’t appear on the surface. Beaudry has got it in for us on his own account; but that’s only half of it. I reckon you heard that the Sontags got Pop.”
“I heerd that somebody got him,” said Latch. He shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. “Mebbe it was the Sontags got him.”
“Couldn’t have been no one else,” Luther put in. “Beaudry is takin’ his orders from Smoke. Reckon you know that, Latch.”
“Mebbe I know it,” the newcomer admitted. He stroked his ragged mustache thoughtfully. “I could tell yuh things; but I won’t.”
“It ain’t necessary,” Little Bill said bluntly. “The Sontags know us, and they know this country ain’t big enough to hold them and us any more. That’s why Beaudry tried to wipe us out at Cain Springs. I’m tellin’ yuh we aim to remember a few of them things.”
Maverick called them to eat. The pickings were slim.
“Better dish up some more,” Bill told him. “It’s only puttin’ things off to no purpose to try to piece things out to last an extra meal or two. The quicker we git to the bottom of the pot the sooner we’ll be movin’.”
There was a murmur of approval from the others.
“The motion seems to have been carried,” said Maverick. He began to slice up the last of their bacon.
They had little to say as they ate. The meal finished, Little Bill built himself a cigarette. His manner was thoughtful.
“Latch,” he said without preamble of any sort, “how’d you like to ride with us?”
The outlaw did not seem surprised at the question.
“I aimed to git around to that myself,” he answered. “Fact is, it would suit me first-rate, Bill.”
“You say that knowin’ how things stand between us and the Sontags; that there’s a showdown comin’ that ’11 be a showdown?”
“That don’t bother me,” the little man answered without hesitation. “I never got no favors from the Sontags, nor asked fer any. I can’t say they ever crowded me any, either. But I’ll say this, if I throw in with yuh I’ll go all the way.”
“We’d like to have yuh,” Bill told him.
“There’s jest one thing holdin’ me back,” said Latch. Every eye around the fire was focused on him sharply as he hesitated momentarily. “And it’s jest this, boys; I ain’t alone. Two of us came out of the big fight at Black Hawk. I got the Cherokee Kid with me and I don’t feel I can walk out on him.”
There was instantaneous tightening of their mouths at mention of the Cherokee Kid’s name.
“We don’t want none of him,” Link Appling declared hostilely. “Every bunch he’s ridden with has been wiped out, and I’ve hea
rd it said it wa’n’t no accident that he never was present when the blow-off came.”
“I’ve heard it too,” said Luther. “I didn’t know he was ridin’ with you and the Yeagers, but if he’s come through again without even bein’ creased I’d say it would take a deal of explainin’.”
Scotty and Tonto also had a word to say against the man.
“I think you’re wrong, boys,” Latch said when they had finished. “I’ve heerd some of this talk against him, but I don’t put no stock in it. Cherokee has been with us for four months, and I know he’s all right. You needn’t worry about him not bein’ creased. Three or four days back I thought I’d have to ampytate his leg. I finally dug the slug out. He’s comin’ around okay and if he gits a little grub under his belt he’ll be all right directly.”
“Where have yuh got him?” Little Bill asked. He had yet to express an opinion about Cherokee.
“Beyond this rise about a mile,” said Latch.
“You afoot?”
“No, we got horses, such as they are. It’ll be a day or two before the Kid can do much ridin’. I don’t want to sway you one way or t’other about him, Bill, but he ain’t a bad man to take along. He’s a little too quick on the trigger when he’s likkered up. You can handle him though.”
Little Bill took his time about answering and when he spoke at last it was to voice a question, and it was sufficiently startling to make them set up stiffly.
“Latch—ain’t it a fact that Cherokee and Cash Beaudry used to pal together when they was both workin’ for the old Cross T outfit?”
It was something that the others had forgotten or never knew.
“I didn’t know ’em in them days,” Latch said frankly, “but I take it yo’re right, and that’s jest what makes me think Cherokee ought to be the man fer you. Since your memory is so good, mebbe you’ll recall that soon after Cash managed to git hisself elected sheriff that Cherokee showed up in Bowie and struck him for a job. He didn’t git it fer some reason—”
“Most likely because Smoke said no,” Luther observed. “There’s nothin’ wrong with Smoke’s hearin’.”
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