“Tonto!” Bill cried, his voice hoarse with fear. “Where did he git yuh?”
There was no answer.
Leaping over Grat’s body, Bill raised Tonto’s head. A glance was enough.
“Lord,” he groaned, “he’s just shot to pieces!”
Bitter Root turned Grat over.
“Look at him!” he muttered. “Yuh’d hardly know it was Grat.”
“I ain’t worryin’ about him,” Bill exclaimed. “But this boy here got into this jam through me. He can blame me for this.”
“Better put the blame where it belongs,” Bitter Root advised calmly. “Smoke and Beaudry put this trouble on yuh. Yuh wa’n’t askin’ for it.”
“That’s my only excuse,” Bill murmured, more to himself than to Bitter Root. “I’ll git both of ’em for what they’ve done to me. If I don’t do it tonight, I’ll keep after ’em until I do, and I’ll be thinkin’ of this boy when I fetch ’em I”
He was pulled to his feet by a terrific crashing of guns. On the heels of it came a furious and sustained barking of rifles that dwarfed anything that had gone before.
“They mean business this time,” he told Bitter Root, a fury in his eyes. “I’m goin’ back there. I’ll have Maverick step in here to help yuh keep this end clear—”
“Don’t bother; I can handle it alone—”
“I’ll send Maverick just the same,” Bill insisted, running to the door that led to the rear room.
He found Latch and Maverick firing from the center window.
“Where are they?” he asked, shouting to make himself heard.
“Workin’ up to the buildin’ from both sides!” Latch answered. “Plenty shadders back there! It’s pritty hard to see ’em.”
Bill edged up to the window beside him. He found the shadows just as black as Latch said they were. A hundred yards away, however, rifles spurted flame almost continuously.
“They seem to have found some cover!” he exclaimed. “There must be a ditch out there! Don’t let ’em git in where they can mow down our horses!”
He got Maverick’s attention and told him to go up to the front of the store. A question leaped into Maverick’s eyes. Bill pretended not be aware of it.
“No use sayin’ anythin’ yet,” he thought. “It might upset ’em.”
For a quarter of an hour the firing continued without a lull. His eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, and he saw that Smoke and his men were afoot. It certainly meant that they were determined to bring the fight to close quarters.
“They’re beginnin’ to git a little desperate,” he thought, grim satisfaction tightening his mouth “1 reckon there’s some of ’em won’t ever git in here unless we carry ’em in feet first.”
At the next window, Flash let out a yell.
“They git yuh?” Bill demanded.
“I been stung two or three times!” Flash answered. “I just knocked one of ’em end over end. That makes it okay with me!”
“Was it Beaudry?”
“Bill, he ain’t in the fight, I tell yuh!” Luther shouted. “We ain’t goin’ to have the pleasure of settlin’ with him tonight!”
“There’ll be other nights,” the red-haired one muttered to himself. As he reloaded his gun he felt something burn across his head. Its touch was so light it didn’t even shake him. A second later, blood began to run down his cheek. “That was mighty near keno,” he thought. A few seconds later, Latch stopped a slug.
“Just creased me,” he grinned.
“Well, I’m goin’ up on the roof and see if I can’t break that up a little,” Bill told him.
Leaving the window, he hurried to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. He had not yet reached the upper landing when a movement in the room off to his right halted him abruptly. The door was open. Silhouetted against the glow of the fire he saw the figure of a man outlined against the window for a moment. The man’s size alone identified him. It was Smoke Sontag!
A ladder placed against the window explained his presence there. Smoke beckoned to some one else coming up, and then passed through a door that led into the next room.
Bill stood there, helpless in his surprise for an instant. He galvanized into action then. Tossing his rifle on the bed, he drew his .44’s and ran to the window. He found himself confronting the astonished face of a man climbing the ladder.
A quick heave sent the man toppling over backwards. Without wasting another glance at him, he turned to follow Smoke. The big fellow, familiar with every corner of the Grocery, was moving cautiously from room to room, evidently intent on making sure that the upper floor was unoccupied.
Finally, he stepped out into the hall.
“Steve—where are yuh?” he demanded in a loud whisper. He glanced at the window where the ladder had stood. His back was to Bill, but the latter saw him stiffen with sudden alarm. Smoke was only ten feet away. He could have killed him where he stood. Instead, he called a warning.
“Smoke—I got yuh!”
In that dreadful instant the big fellow must have realized that he was looking into eternity; that he was safe only so long as he kept his back turned. He had a gun in his hand, and he was fast with it. But so was Little Bill, and it was hardly in the cards that a man could whirl around in that narrow hall and shade him that precious fraction of a second that spelled the difference between life and death.
A strange mixture of courage and anger steadied him. His jaws clicking together with a wolfish snap, his cheek muscles bunching into little knots that distorted his face, he spun around.
It was the expected thing, utterly devoid of surprise. And yet, he got in the first shot. It might have served him better had he held it a tenth of a second and made it count, for he had no second shot coming to him.
Unhurried, Little Bill fired from the hip. His hand had never been steadier. He could have had a second shot, but there was no need for it. Smoke simply raised up on his toes, and brushing the wall, sank down as though he were being lowered by a rope.
Bill approached him warily. Believing him dead, but taking no chance, he kicked Smoke’s gun out of reach. The big fellow’s eyes rolled open. There was still a faint gleam of life in them.
“Smoke—yuh had this comin’ to yuh,” Bill said soberly. “Yuh only got a few seconds to go …. Tell me this—did Beaudry run out on yuh?”
Smoke’s eyes said yes. He tried to speak, but his lips were leaden. Bill had to bend low to catch his faintly whispered, “You—fetch—the rat, Bill—”
“I will …. Yuh can count on that—”
No one ran up from below to investigate the shooting; proof enough that they had not heard it above the banging of their own guns.
Bill walked to the window. He saw the ladder lying on the ground. A glance along the building told him no one was there. He walked to the other side and inspected it. No one there, either.
Wearier than he suspected, he climbed to the roof. He peered about him cautiously. A little sigh of relief escaped him as he realized that he was alone.
“Smoke was the only one that got in,” he thought aloud. He had not been sure until now.
Suddenly he froze to attention. It was only the crushing stillness that had startled him. He twitched his ears incredulously. They had not deceived him; the guns that had made the night hideous with their vituperation were silent at last.
It dawned on him slowly that the fight was over; that the shattered remnant of the Sontag gang had slunk away, never to have identity again under that name.
Minutes later, Luther and Link found him squatted down on the top step, his shoulders hunched as he sat in deep contemplation. They had just discovered Smoke’s body.
“Bill,” Luther cried, his voice pinched with anxiety, “are yuh all right?”
The red-haired one raised his head.
“Yeh, Fm okay, Luther,” he murmured slowly, wiping his blood-smeared face with his sleeve. “It’s all over, eh?”
“But Smoke—did you git him?” Link deman
ded. “Yeh, it was me …. How did we come through?” “We lost Tonto—maybe Flash won’t pull through. The rest of us is banged up some, but nothin’ serious.”
“Flash got it pritty bad, eh?” Bill questioned.
“I don’t figger he’s up to sittin’ a saddle,” Luther answered. “If we’re pullin’ out—”
“We ain’t pullin’ away, Luther,” said Bill. “The Grocery belongs to us now. We’re stayin’ right here.”
“But what about Beaudry? Ain’t we goin’ after him?”
Bill hesitated for a moment. Then:
“I wouldn’t know where to look for him tonight. But Cherokee will lead us to him some day. Yuh can be sure of that ….”
Chapter XXIII
THEY were comfortable, well fed and reasonably safe at Black Grocery. Long before their wounds had healed they could have had their pick of a dozen desperadoes, all good men and true, with a price on their heads, who came to the Grocery to swear allegiance to Little Bill and sought to enroll themselves under his banner, for news of the annihilation of the Sontags had traveled far, and they smelled rich pickings ahead for the Stillings boys.
Bill said no; he had men enough. He did not waste any words about it, for those case-hardened souls measured a man by the iron in his make-up. And yet, without seeming to curry favor, he won their good-will by staking a number of them to grub and ammunition. Others found it easy to turn a dollar by arriving at the Grocery with beef and ponies, of which they were by no chance the lawful owners.
Before Flash and Bitter Root were able to ride again, Bill led the others into Medora, Oklahoma, and robbed the bank without a hand being raised against them. For their trouble they got less than a thousand dollars however. But the ease with which they had accomplished the robbery emboldened them, and two weeks later they stopped a Santa Fe train, south of Waukomis, only to find the express car bristling with deputy U. S. marshals.
Empty-handed, they returned to the Grocery, carrying Link and Luther so badly wounded that for ten days their lives hung in the balance.
They saw nothing of Beaudry, though he was variously reported to have been seen on the Canadian, and again that he was hiding in the Nations with the Chickasaws. Bill investigated the rumors and failed to find a trace of him, and as the weeks went by he was inclined to agree with Latch that Beaudry had quit the country for Arizona or New Mexico. It was a feeling that was prompted in no little degree by Cherokee’s disarming lack of interest. The Kid had settled down to a life of ease and, apparently, was well satisfied with things as they were.
One morning they awakened to find a trace of snow on the ground. In that country, winter was no great hardship, but it would curtail their activities for weeks to come, for they could never tell when snow would fall. When it did, they would leave a trail behind them that a child could follow.
It forced a decision on Bill. He knew they must have money to carry them through the winter. There was only one way they could get it, and it must be accomplished without delay.
Accordingly, three days later, they rode into the little town of Sweetwater, just across the line in the Panhandle. It was an old story to them by now, and they walked out of the bank with over five thousand dollars. But as they mounted hurriedly and raced out of town, a money bag slipped off of Luther’s saddle. The loss was not discovered until they had gone a block. It was too late to turn back then.
It was after daylight the following morning when they pulled up at Spirit Springs, due west of Leach Lytell’s ranch. They were well out of Texas, but Lytell’s enmity was something to consider.
“We better hide out here for the day,” Bill decided. “Our ponies are weary. We’ll take turns standin’ guard while the rest git some sleep. As for Lytell, he wouldn’t come at us alone. Before he can git a posse lined up we’ll be on our way.”
They counted the proceeds of the Sweetwater raid and discovered that they had exactly twelve hundred and thirty-nine dollars.
“That won’t see us through the winter,” Luther muttered bitterly. He cursed himself for his carelessness. The others were almost as excited as he about it.
“We’ll take it and like it,” said Bill. “We came out of this without a drop of blood bein’ spilled, so don’t curse your luck. We’ll have to turn up somethin’ else in a hurry.”
His philosophic acceptance of the situation worked a change in them, and they began to look at it as he did. By the time they were ready to turn in they were jesting about it.
Bill volunteered to be the first to lay out on the knoll above the springs. In the two hours he was there he saw no one, nor did Link who followed him. In fact it was not until late in the afternoon that Luther, who was taking his turn as look-out, ran down the knoll and wakened them with word that someone was coming.
“Bill, there’s an outfit headin’ for the springs!” he cried excitedly. “Who do yuh think it is?”
“Why, I don’t know,” Bill answered, propping himself up on an elbow. “Who does it look like?”
Luther could not hold back his grin any longer.
“Why, it’s Tas!” he exclaimed, as pleased as a boy. “I recognized the old Sawbuck wagon right off!”
The news unloosened their tongues as nothing had done in weeks. Already time was beginning to mellow memory of the days in which they had worked for Tascosa, and they recalled them now as an idyllic existence. Emotion stirred in them …. Happy, carefree days. How far they had come since then!
“I’m achin’ to see the old buzzard,” Link chuckled. “It’ll be a pleasure just to hear him cuss again. D’yuh ’member the time Maverick jerked the wild cat and palmed it off on him for venison?”
Of course they remembered it.
“He’d a killed me if he’d caught me the night he found out,” Maverick declared between bursts of laughter. “I don’t know what the runnin’ time is between the Kiowa Agency and the river, but I musta busted some sort of a record.”
Luther and Scotty recalled other incidents, strangely precious now. With the past few months forgotten, they were soon chattering like magpies. It remained for Little Bill to break in on them.
“Boys, we can’t let Tascosa ride into us this-a-way,” he said soberly. “We don’t know who he’s got in his outfit. Whoever they are we don’t want to give ’em a chance to start a story that Tas and us was holdin’ sort of a reunion here at Spirit Springs. You know as well as I do that some folks might jump to the conclusion that we hadn’t met by chance.”
“How could they say that?” Luther demanded gruffly, disappointment furrowing his brow.
“Some would say it,” Bill insisted, “and they’d hint that there was a connection between us; maybe that Tas was supplying certain information.”
“Well, we owe him a better deal than that,” Luther monotoned. “If we’re goin’ to move we better be quick about it; they ain’t over half-a-mile out.”
The others gave in grudgingly. Throwing their saddles on their horses, they were ready to leave. They had tarried too long however, for old Tas had ridden in ahead of his wagon, and as they started into the brush, he hailed them.
“You better go on,” Bill advised Luther and the others. “I’ll talk to him.”
“What yuh runnin’ away for?” Tas scolded. “Yuh certainly saw us comin’ in.”
Bill told him why.
“Might be sunthin’ in that,” Tascosa admitted. “I’ll jest ride along with yuh down the arroyo for a few yards. I got sunthin’ to say to yuh, Bill.”
Bill rode on until the old man called a halt. Tas looked him over critically.
“Wal, yuh look natchurel,” he grumbled. “I’m glad to see yuh, Bill, but yuh can’t expect me to approve of what you’re doin’.”
The smile died out of Bill’s eyes. “I don’t approve of it myself,” said he. “But I can’t do any different now.”
“I don’t know about that,” Tascosa objected. “Yuh ain’t got no excuse, now that you’ve cleaned out the Sontags.”
&nb
sp; “I’ve got an excuse as long as Cash Beaudry walks this earth!” Bill retorted. “You heard anythin’ of him?”
“Nary a word, nor neither will you. I take it he’s left the country—”
“He’ll come back if he has,” said Bill. “No matter where he goes he’ll be in trouble soon enough. He’ll head back for Oklahoma then …. I’ll be waitin’ for him.”
His argument did not impress the old man.
“See here, Bill,” he exclaimed, “why don’t you use a little sense? Yuh can’t go on robbin’ banks and holdin’ up trains while you’re waitin’ for him. Why don’t yuh give yerself up and square things the best yuh can? Yuh can go after Beaudry when yuh come out—pro-vidin’ he’s still drawin’ breath.”
“No, Tas, you’re talkin’ in circles,” Bill murmured slowly. “I’m goin’ to fetch Beaudry. I ain’t goin’ to let nothin’ git in the way of it. I know I’ll be cut down some day. When the time comes, I’ll take it with a grin. But if I knew I was goin’ to be killed next week I wouldn’t give up this wild life for a two-by-four cell. I wouldn’t last long in prison; I need the open prairie
But you got somethin’ else on your mind. When did yuh leave Bowie?”
“Last evenin’.” Tas produced a plug of tobacco, and after measuring it with his eye, bit a considerable chunk out of it. “I put Martha on the train yestiday.”
Bill pulled himself up with a start.
“Goin’ away for a visit?” he suggested, pretending to find something amiss with a stirrup.
“No, she’s leavin’ Bowie for good, Bill. Her mother’s brother has a big ranch out in Gila county, Arizony; Martha’s goin’ out to live with him. She asked me to say good-bye to yuh, should I run acrost yuh.”
The red-haired one’s eyes were suddenly a stone wall, but Tas saw a look of torture settle on his mouth.
“That’s goin’ to make it awful quiet for Doc, ain’t it?” Bill queried, satisfied to say anything but what he was thinking. He saw Tascosa stare at him incredulously.
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