The Coyote

by Roberts, James

  Instinctively his course brought him to the big resort he had noticed upon his arrival. The entrance doors had been closed against the chill of the night, but he could see the interior of the place through one of the windows despite the coating of dust upon the glass.

  As he peered within he stiffened to alert attention and a light oath escaped him. Walking swiftly from a rear door was a tall man, the lower part of his face concealed by a black handkerchief. He held a gun in each hand and was covering the score or more patrons of the place who had risen from the tables, or stepped back from the bar, with their hands held high above their heads.

  “Keep ’em there an’ you’ll be all right,” the masked man was saying in a loud voice which carried to Rathburn through cracks in the window glass. “Line up down there, now––you hear me? Line up!”

  The patrons lined up, keeping their faces toward the bandit.

  “If anybody gets to acting uneasylike it’ll be the signal for me to start shootin’––understand?” came the holdup’s menacing voice as he moved around behind the bar.

  “Open both cash drawers,” he ordered the servitor in the white apron. He covered the bartender with one gun while he kept the other pointed in the direction of the men standing in line.

  Obeying instructions, the bartender took the bills from the cash drawers and laid them before the bandit on the bar. He then made several piles of silver near the bills, walking to and from the drawers of the big cash register. Continuing to do as he was told, he stuffed the bank notes and silver into the masked man’s pockets, one gun’s muzzle against his breast, the other holding the men in line at bay.

  Rathburn heard footsteps on the walk close to him. He whirled and saw two men about to enter the resort. “I wouldn’t go in there,” he said sharply in a low voice.

  “Eh––what’s that?”

  The two men paused, looking at him questioningly.

  “I wouldn’t go in there,” Rathburn repeated. “Come here an’ take a look.”

  One of the men stepped to his side and peered curiously through the window.

  “Bill!” he whispered excitedly. “Look here. It’s a holdup!”

  The other man looked over his shoulder. He swore softly.

  “I’ll bet it’s The Coyote!” said the first man in an awed voice.

  “Probably is,” said Rathburn sneeringly. “They say he was heading this way.”

  “Good place to stay out of––if it’s him,” declared the second man.

  Rathburn suddenly pulled back his left sleeve. “See that?” he said, pointing to his left forearm.

  The two men stared at the bared forearm in the yellow light which shone through the dust-stained window. They saw a scar about three inches below the elbow.

  “Looks like a bullet made that,” one of the men observed.

  “You’re right,” said Rathburn, letting down his shirt sleeve. “A bullet from The Coyote’s gun left that mark.”

  The men looked at him wonderingly and respectfully.

  “You boys live here?” asked Rathburn.

  “Sure,” was the reply. “We work in the Pine Knot Hotel an’ stables. You from the hills?”

  “Yep,” answered Rathburn. “Cow-puncher an’ horseshoer an’ one thing an’ another. What’s he doing now?” He again turned his attention to the scene within the resort, as did the two men with him.

  The bandit was backing away from the bar toward the rear of the room, still keeping his guns thrust out before him, menacing the men who stood with uplifted hands.

  “You can tell your funny judge that I called!” he sang out as he reached the rear door. “An’ now, gents,” he continued in an excited voice, “it won’t go well with the man that tries to get out this back way too soon.”

  As he ceased speaking his guns roared. The two large hanging lamps, suspended from the ceiling in the center, went out to the accompaniment of shattered glass crashing on the floor. The three smaller lamps above the back bar next were cut to splinters by bullets and the place was in total darkness.

  Then there was silence, save for the sound of a horse’s hoofs coming from somewhere behind the building.

  Rathburn drew back from the window as a match flared within and his two companions moved toward the front door. He stole around the corner of the building and started on a run for the rear. He stopped when he heard a horse galloping toward the east end of the street behind the buildings which lined that side. He hurried behind two buildings which did not extend as far as the resort and hastened up the street. He did not once look back.

  Behind him he heard shouts and men running in the street. He increased his pace until he was running swiftly for the trees where he had left his horse. From above he caught the dying echoes of hoofs flying on the trail up the foothills by which he had come early that night.

  The cries down the street increased, a gun barked, and bullets whined over his head.

  “The locoed fools!” he panted. “Didn’t they hear that fellow ride away?”

  But the shooting evidently was of a promiscuous nature, for he heard more shots around by the rear of the place where the robbery had been committed. No more bullets were fired in his direction as he darted into the black shadows of the trees.

  He quickly untied his horse, mounted, rode in the shelter of the timber to the east trail, and began the ascent, urging his horse to its fastest walking gait up the hard trail. The fleeing bandit’s sounds of retreat no longer came to his ears, but he kept on, scanning the open stretches of trail above in the starlight, a disparaging smile playing upon his lips.

  Back in the little town excitement was at a high pitch. Extra lamps had been lighted in the resort where a big crowd had gathered. Several men ran to the office of Judson Brown, justice of the peace, while others went in search of the constable.

  When Brown failed to answer the summons at his door, some one discovered it was not locked, and the little group of men trooped in to find the justice gagged and handcuffed to his bed. They lighted the lamp and removed the gag. Then acting upon his instructions they took a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs.

  He stood, boiling with rage, while they alternately hurled questions at him and told him of the holdup.

  He ignored their questions as to how he came to be bound and gagged and demanded more details of the robbery.

  “We took him to be The Coyote,” said the spokesman of the group. He had been one of the men the bandit had lined up. “He was tall, an’ blue or gray eyes, an’–––”

  “A puncher from up north picked him out through the window,” spoke up one of the men who had encountered Rathburn outside the resort. “He’d been shot in the forearm by him once––showed us the scar. The robber was The Coyote, all right.”

  “Certainly it was him!” roared Brown. “He came in here, tied me up after pulling a gun on me, an’ threatening to kill me, practically, so he wouldn’t have any trouble pulling his trick. Tried to steer me off by saying he didn’t come here to make any trouble. I knew he lied!”

  The constable came in as the justice was finishing his irate speech.

  “I’m going to lead this chase myself!” cried Brown. “I want The Coyote, and I’m going to get him. I raise that reward to a thousand on the spot, and I know the sheriff will back me up. Get out every man in town that can stick on a horse, and we’ll catch him if we have to comb the hills and desert country till doomsday!”

  Already horsemen were gathering in the street outside. Feeling was high, for Dry Lake prided itself on its record of freedom from the molestation of outlaws. The rough element, too, was strong for a man hunt, or anything, for that matter, promising excitement.

  A quarter of an hour later Brown, who was accepted as the leader when emergencies involving the law arose, distributed his forces. He sent two posses of twenty men each north and northwest. A third posse of a dozen men started southward. Towns to the west were notified by telephone as was the sheriff’s office. The sher
iff said he would be on his way to Dry Lake in an hour. He was amazed that The Coyote should be in his territory. He, too, wanted the outlaw, and he praised Brown for his reward offer.

  Judson Brown himself led the posse of thirty men which took the east trail up the foothills. It was an hour past midnight. The moon had risen and was flooding the tumbled landscape with its cold, white light. From different vantage points on ridges high above, two men looked grimly down and saw the moving shadows of the man hunters as they took the trail.

  * * *

  CHAPTER V

  A CAPTURE

  Three hours after the posses scattered on their search for The Coyote, spurred by thoughts of the reward of a thousand dollars offered by San Jacinto county, and Judson Brown’s declaration that the reward would be increased by the thousands more which Arizona had laid upon the fugitive’s head, Rathburn smiled at the rosy dawn in supreme satisfaction.

  He had not lost his man’s trail during the early morning hours. Time and again he had outwitted the man ahead when the latter had waited to scan the back trail for signs of pursuit; more than once he had gained ground when screened by timber growth close to the trail; every stretch of dust-filled trail had been taken advantage of, while the soft going underfoot had deadened the sound of his horse’s flying hoofs.

  The bandit had traveled fast and he had kept steadily to the eastward. This last was what caused Rathburn to smile with satisfaction. The man for whose crime Rathburn was suspected was heading straight for Rathburn’s own stamping ground––the far-distant desert range, which he knew from the low horizon in the south to the white-capped peaks in the north. To catch up with him would be but a matter of a few hours, Rathburn reflected contentedly.

  Nor had the posse gained upon the two men ahead. Brown’s men, perhaps, did not have as excellent specimens of horseflesh as Rathburn and his quarry rode. Nor did they possess the trail knowledge, the tricks which Rathburn knew, and which the latter, more or less to his surprise, found that the man ahead knew. Whatever it was that caused that curling, sneering smile of contempt to play upon Rathburn’s lips at intervals, it was not scorn of the riding ability of the man he was pursuing.

  Moreover, both men ahead were saving their horses’ strength against a probable spurt by the posse at daylight. It would not be a hard matter to follow their trail by the bright light of broad day. So far as he could determine, Rathburn did not believe the man ahead knew he was followed by a solitary rider who was between him and the hounds of the law.

  Under the circumstances, the bandit would expect to be pursued by a number, Rathburn reasoned. He was ordering his pursuit on this theory, and he did not intend to take any more time than was absolutely necessary in catching up with the man ahead.

  Rathburn’s horse had not been hard ridden the day preceding, nor for several days before that. He had journeyed westward by easy stages, taking his time, favoring his mount in anticipation of some unforeseen emergency which might require hard riding. And he well knew the extraordinary powers of speed and endurance which the animal possessed.

  He frowned as he thought of the brand. He had not been under the impression that the iron his horse wore was generally known to the authorities. He would have to hole-up somewhere in the hills before long and attend to that brand. As it was, it was a dead give-away as to his identity. He could thank Brown for this bit of information, anyway.

  With the dawn, Rathburn found it easier to keep on his man’s trail without being seen himself. He gained considerable until he estimated that he was not more than a mile and a half, or two miles at most, behind.

  The sun was up when he reached the crest of the high ridge where was the tall pine and the sign which he had first seen the afternoon before.

  He hesitated, debating whether to let the printed notice remain with his penciled inscription about the Arizona reward on it, or to tear it down. Then he saw the man he was pursuing below on the trail. He moved swiftly out of sight down the eastern side of the ridge. But when he came to the next vantage point he discovered that his man had apparently seen him; for he was riding at a mad gallop on the trail which wound eastward along the edge of the hills.

  “Now’s as good a time as any, hoss!” he cried to his mount as he drove in his spurs and dashed in swift pursuit.

  Down the winding trail plunged horse and rider. The dun slipped and slid on the hard surface of the steep declivities and finally emerged upon the more open path which the man ahead was following.

  Rathburn no longer made any attempt at concealment. He was after the man ahead, and, somewhere behind, a posse was in mad pursuit. If he were captured before he could overtake the bandit who was responsible for the robbery, the latter would very likely escape––was certain to make his get-away, in fact.

  Rathburn called upon his horse by voice and spur for all the speed there was in him. He could see the fugitive ahead urging his horse to its utmost. The race was on in earnest. Thus they came to a long stretch of open, level trail. Here Rathburn’s horse began slowly to gain.

  The man ahead turned in his saddle, and Rathburn saw the glint of sunlight on dull metal. He brought out his own gun. But the other did not fire. He kept on, half-turned in the saddle, watching his pursuer keenly. Rathburn continued to gain upon him.

  They now were less than half a mile apart, and the fugitive suddenly turned his horse due north, straight toward the hills, and sent a volley of shots whistling in his pursuer’s direction.

  Rathburn held his fire. The bullets flew wide of their mark, and he could see his man reloading as he rode. Rathburn now cut across, racing for the point where he thought the other would reach the hills. His horse rose to the emergency with a tremendous burst of speed. He was close enough now to shoot with a reasonable certainty of scoring a hit on his flying target. But he had no desire to kill, and he could not be certain, at that distance, of merely wounding his quarry. He also recoiled from the thought that he might accidently hit the other’s splendid horse.

  Just ahead a thin line of straggling pines ranged down the gradual slope from the first low ridge of the hills for which they were heading. Rathburn swung north and gained the shelter of this screen just as the other rider again began firing. The trees now were between them, and each was an equal distance from the gentle slope of the ridge.

  Rathburn called upon his horse for a last, heartbreaking burst of speed and the dun made good. At the beginning of the slope to the ridge, Rathburn veered sharply to the right and burst through the trees a scant rod or two from his man. His gun was leveled straight at the other, who had been caught momentarily off his guard.

  “Drop it!” shouted Rathburn, racing toward him.

  The man’s right hand fell to his side while he checked his horse with his left. Rathburn rode in close to him and they came to a halt. Rathburn’s lips were curled in a smile of contempt. The other stared at him, white-faced, his eyes wide and inquiring. The fingers of his right hand relaxed, and the gun fell to the ground. Rathburn swung low in the saddle and scooped it up, thrusting it into a pocket of his coat.

  “Now beat it up over that ridge ahead,” Rathburn ordered. “And be quick about it. That posse may be close behind us.”

  The other’s eyes lit up with surprise. “You––you’re not an officer?” he stammered.

  “Shut up, you fool!” cried Rathburn. “You want to stay here an’ talk when there’s a score or two of men after us? I’m worse than an officer. Slope for that ridge now. Hurry!”

  The man put the steel to his horse, and they dashed up the slope, crossed the ridge, and found themselves in a thick growth of timber which covered a large area.

  “Pick your way into the middle of that patch of timber,” snapped out Rathburn. “An’ don’t forget I’ll be right close behind you. Get going––don’t gape!”

  The captive’s face flushed at the other’s manner and the indubitable note of contempt in his voice. But he obeyed the instructions and pushed into the timber.

  When
they had proceeded some distance Rathburn called a halt. “Ever been in this country before?” he demanded with a sneer.

  “Yes.” The other was more composed now. He studied his captor curiously and seemed more at ease. Evidently he was heartened by the fact that Rathburn had said he was not an officer and he believed him.

  “I suppose you’re after what I’m carrying on me,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “I guess I’d have had as much chance as I’ve got now if I’d started shootin’ even after you got the drop on me!”

  Rathburn laughed harshly. “You never had a chance from the start, if you only knew it,” he jeered. “Why, you upstart, you’re not entitled to any chance!”

  The other man’s face darkened in swift anger. “Brave talk,” he said sneeringly. “You’ve got me where you want me, so you can say anything.”

  “I’ve got a pile to say,” replied Rathburn shortly. “But this isn’t the time or place to say it. We want to be good an’ away out of that posse’s path––an’ quick.”

  “You might as well take what you’re after an’ then each of us can look out for himself,” was the hot retort.

  Rathburn looked at the man quizzically. “You’ve got more spunk than I thought,” he mused.

  He stared at the other man closely. The bandit could not have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six. He was tall, well-built, blond. His hair and eyes were about the color of Rathburn’s. But Rathburn particularly noted the man’s face, and whatever it was he saw there caused him to shrug and frown deeply.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded coldly.

  “Percy,” sneeringly replied the other.

  “That’s good enough for me,” said Rathburn cheerfully. “All I need is a name to call you by. Now, Percy, if you’re acquainted with this country in here an’ can steer the way to where the posse’ll be liable to overlook us you better be leading on. I see you’ve ditched your other gun somewhere––you had two.”