“Rathburn!” he exclaimed.
Rathburn hesitated. His first feeling of instinctive animosity fled. He scowled in a swift effort to place the man, and the thought that in an indirect way Doane was partly responsible for what had come to pass flashed through his tortured brain. This brought swift comprehension of his immediate danger. Now that he had taken the decisive step he would have to call upon all his resources of courage and cunning to protect his liberty. The die had been cast!
He hurried past Doane, swung into the saddle, and rode at a swift pace around the corner, leaving Doane standing on the steps of the bank, staring after him with an expression of amazement on his face.
Rathburn knew it would be but a matter of a very few minutes before the knowledge that the State Bank of Hope had been held up and robbed––would be common property in the town. The very boldness of the robbery had insured its success, for none would dream that a lone bandit would have the nerve to come into town in broad daylight, hold up the bank, and attempt to run for it across the open, burning spaces of the desert. But he was not aware of the coincidence which would make the news of the robbery known sooner than he expected.
At the end of the side street he struck boldly across the desert, driving in his spurs and urging the gallant dun to its top speed. In a matter of minutes he was out of view of the town––a speck bobbing amid the clumps of mesquite, palo verde, and cactus. He raced for the mountains in the northwest.
There was another element of uncertainty which entered into the probability of quick pursuit, as he had shrewdly divined. It might be some time before the sheriff’s predicament was discovered. Meanwhile most of the male population was scouring the vicinity of Imagination Range looking for him, and there would be no one to lead a second posse until the sheriff was liberated. There was nothing in sight behind him toward town except the vista of dry desert vegetation swimming in the heat. Rathburn rode on with a feeling of security, so far as trouble from that quarter was concerned.
His thoughts were in a turmoil, and he passed a shaking hand over his damp brow. The resentment had given way to grim decision and determination. Well, he had shown them what The Coyote could do. They would remember that job; they could lay that at his door. The proceeds would carry him a long way. They had given him his reputation, and he would make the game worth the candle!
The old fierce defiance of misguided youth was in his veins. He felt a wild exultation seize him. Doubt and all problems were set aside. His eyes glowed with a reckless light, as he raced on toward the blue hills.
Doane had known him––had called him by name. Therefore Doane knew he was The Coyote––the outlaw with a price on his head. So much the better. He wanted them to know!
The sun was at its zenith, as he passed above the Mallory place. He did not once turn his head and look down upon it. His jaw was squared, his lips pressed tight, as he guided his horse into the winding foothills of the range. In a narrow cañon he dismounted and undid his slicker pack. When he again tied it behind the saddle it contained the bag which held the bank notes he had taken that morning. He pushed on in the early afternoon.
He now rode with more caution. The fact that he had not seen any members of the posses which were scouring the hills, he accredited to ignorance on their part of the fact that he had been at the Mallory ranch the night before and had gone into town. These things they had hardly had time to learn. More than likely they had assumed that he had crossed the mountains, and it was possible that most of the men on the hunt were on the east side of the range. He became more and more convinced of this as the afternoon wore on, but he did not relax his vigilance. His face had clouded.
“We made a mistake, hoss,” he muttered, “in not remembering to hunt up Mike Eagen first thing.”
In the quick moves following his sudden momentous decision, he had forgotten Eagen. This fact now bothered him. He had a score to settle with Eagen on general principles. This did not mean that he necessarily would have to shoot Eagen down; but he wanted Eagen to hear straight out what he thought of him. It might be a long time before he could gratify that desire after the events of this day.
Slowly he proceeded, not once venturing upon a high spot until he had investigated by crawling to a vantage point on his hands and knees. It was sundown when he saw the first riders. Two were farther down the slopes to westward, and several more were far to eastward. It was true then that Long had thrown a cordon about the section of the mountains which he had been seen to enter the day before.
However, Rathburn’s knowledge of the range and the secrets of the mountain trails gave him a distinct advantage over the inexperienced members of the posses. True, there were deputies and some others who were experienced; but they were in the minority.
Rathburn realized that the sheriff must have been released some hours before, and that his escapade of the morning would stimulate the man hunt. The rewards would be increased, and every able-bodied man in Hope would doubtless join in the scramble for the reward money. He was satisfied that Sheriff Long’s order would be to “shoot on sight!”
On the very crest of the range he paused in the shelter of the rocks. There still was a fair chance for him to get away clean to eastward. The sheriff had not had time to get more men over there, and by making a break into the southeast and then cutting straight to the east, there was a strong possibility that he would succeed in circling around the posse and effect his escape.
But something was drawing him to Joe Price! He did not quite understand that it was the desire to confide in and confess to his friend what had actuated his choice of moral trails. But the yearning was there, and he was yielding to it. He conjectured shrewdly that Long might not dream that he would have the temerity again to enter the very district where he was being sought. It was his belief that the best place to hide from a posse was in the midst of it!
It was this confidence, almost as much as his skill in trailing, which enabled him to gain a point above Joe Price’s cabin in the early twilight. He waited patiently until the curtain of night had fallen, and the stars had replaced the fading banners of the sunset, before he slipped down a steep slope and walked his horse into the cañon below the old miner’s abode.
* * *
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE COMPASS WAVERS
Joe Price regarded Rathburn with a curious look in his eyes when he beheld him in the doorway of his cabin. He stepped swiftly to the one window, which was over the table, and dropped the burlap shade. Then he closed the door.
“So they’ve been here?” asked Rathburn.
“What else could you expect?” replied Price testily. “They’re combin’ these hills for you.” He looked at Rathburn keenly, but Rathburn only smiled.
“That’s not news to me,” he said quietly; “I’ve percolated through their lines twice.”
“Stay here,” said Price, “and I’ll look after your horse––or were you hidin’ up all day?”
“No such luck,” answered Rathburn grimly.
The old man looked at him curiously; then he went out of the door, closing it carefully after him.
Rathburn found cold food, put it on the table, and sat down to eat. When Price returned he had finished. The old miner sat down in a chair opposite Rathburn.
“Now, out with it,” he said. “Something has happened. I can see it in the way you look an’ act. What’s up?”
Rathburn carefully rolled a brown-paper cigarette, snapped a match into flame, and lit it before he replied. He was half smiling.
“I held up the State Bank of Hope this mornin’ an’ extracted a bag of perfectedly good bills,” he announced. “Didn’t bother with the counter money. Made ’em serve me from the vault.”
Joe Price’s eyelids did not even flicker.
“Any idear what you got?” he asked.
“Not whatsoever,” replied Rathburn coolly; “but the smallest I saw on top of the package was a fifty.”
Price nodded. “You got plenty,” he s
aid.
Rathburn scowled. He had expected some kind of an outbreak––at least a remonstrance from his old friend. He glanced about uneasily and then glared defiance at Price.
“It had to come, Joe,” he asserted. “There wasn’t any way out of it. What’s more, I killed that greased pard of Eagen’s, Gomez.”
“How so?” queried Price.
“Well, I’ll tell you, Joe, but I don’t expect it to go any further. He said something about Laura Mallory an’ a man named Doane, an’ I didn’t like it. I slapped him. Then he went for a knife he had in his hat.”
The old man nodded again. “I see,” he said simply. “You shot him. Not a bad riddance. How did you come to rob the bank, Rathburn?”
Rathburn’s gaze again shifted uneasily. Then he rose with a burning look at Price, walked up and down the slanting length of the cabin, and halted before the old miner.
“Joe,” he said in a tremulous voice, “it’s the last ditch. I can’t get away from it. I thought I could tell you––an old friend––the whole story, but I can’t, Joe. That’s the devil of it! There’s something wrong with me. I reckon I’m one of those fellows who just had everything mapped out for him. I had some trouble, Joe, an’ it’s started something––something I can’t control. They had to remember me, an’ I gave them something to remember me by!”
“Who do you mean by ‘they,’ Rathburn?” asked the miner.
“Sheriff Long an’ the others,” said Rathburn quickly. “There wasn’t a chance for me. Why, I was thinking of giving myself up only this morning. Joe, it ain’t in the pictures––not after I let Gomez have it. Even after I stopped Gomez I had an idea that I could face the music. Besides, Joe, there’s more to this than you think. They call me The Coyote, an’, Joe, so help me, from now on I am!”
“Did you stop at the Mallory place?” asked Price quietly.
Rathburn did not reply at once. With agony in his eyes he looked at his old friend, and suddenly he bristled:
“I might as well never have gone there,” he flung out. “I see now I wasn’t wanted. I found out as much from Gomez. He told me about Laura’s affair with that fellow Doane. But what could I expect? I wasn’t entitled to no thought from her, an’ I should have known as much. I’m just a plain fool––a worse one now than I was before.”
Joe Price’s faded blue eyes glowed with comprehension.
“You thought Laura had put you off, so you gave in an’ robbed the bank, Rathburn, an’ just naturally made a mess of things when you had a chance,” said the old man stoutly. “That ain’t actin’ with a lick of sense. You wasn’t gettin’ square with anybody, an’ you wasn’t doin’ that girl right by takin’ the word of Gomez.”
“I saw the two of them, her an’ Doane, in Hope this morning, walkin’ down the street, arm in arm, laughing––probably over me,” Rathburn replied bitterly. “I’ve got eyes, and I can put two an’ two together. I’m only The Coyote with her, and I’ll be The Coyote. She took my gun an’ then gave it back when Mike Eagen showed up, thinkin’ maybe there’d be gun play, an’ I’d get mine.”
“Now you shet up!” shrilled Price. “I reckon you’ve lost all the brains you ever did have? Do you think Laura would keep your gun, knowin’ there might be trouble, an’ you wouldn’t have any way to protect yourself? Don’t you suppose she knows you’re as fast as Eagen? She’s no fool, if you are. But, if you’ve got to stay the fool, you better be lightin’ out with your winnings. An’ you’re not takin’ the bank’s money, either.”
“What do you mean by that?” scowled Rathburn, who had been thoughtful while his friend was speaking.
“I had money in that bank, Rathburn, an’ so did Mallory, an’ there’s a lot more of us–––”
“I’ll give you back your money,” Rathburn growled. “Anyway, they’re protected by insurance, an’ the insurance people can hunt me till doomsday––I guess.” He was cooling off rapidly.
“Maybe they are,” said Price, “an’ maybe they ain’t. But it ain’t goin’ to help you none the way you’re goin’ to feel about it later, no matter who loses it.”
Rathburn was pacing the room, frowning. Twice he started to speak, but the words failed to come. Then he put a question. “Who is this man Doane? He knew me, for I met him when I was comin’ out of the bank, an’ he called me by name.”
“Doane is cashier of the bank down at Hope. He was likely just comin’ to work when you met him.”
Rathburn stared with an incredulous expression. “You’re sure?” But even as he put the question, Rathburn placed his man.
“I’m dead certain on it,” declared Price.
Rathburn sat down heavily and took his hat in his hand.
“That makes it different,” he said dully, as if to himself. “Maybe she’s stuck on him for his money, an’ maybe she’s stuck on him because he’s a good guy. Maybe this thing would hurt him.”
“Oh, I don’t think they’d blame him,” said Price with a note of consolation in his voice; “an’ he probably wouldn’t lose nothin’.”
“But she might think––it might be that she–––” Rathburn swung his hat to his head and rose. He walked toward the door, but Joe Price got in his way.
“Where you goin’?” he asked.
“To the Mallory ranch!”
“You can’t get there!” said Price hoarsely, pushing him back.
“I’ve got to get there!” answered Rathburn grimly, pushing the old man aside. “I must see Laura.”
“You got here just by luck,” Price pointed out. “An’ there’s more men in by now. Maybe they know you’re here. But wait till I get your horse––he’s hid.”
“Get him,” Rathburn commanded.
After a moment’s hesitation Price went out the door, and he returned almost instantly. He walked to the table and blew out the light. “Go to the door an’ see,” he urged in an excited voice.
Rathburn hurried out. High on the mountain above the cañon a fire was burning.
“It’s the signal,” Price whispered in his ear.
“Joe, do me a last favor,” said Rathburn in a queer voice. “Get me my hoss before it’s too late!”
The old man obediently slipped into the shadows behind the cabin.
* * *
CHAPTER XXXV
GUNS IN THE NIGHT
When Joe Price returned, leading Rathburn’s horse which he had fed and watered, and turned over the reins, he spoke swiftly in a low voice:
“They’ll be watchin’ hard for you down the cañon, boy. Bob Long’s sure to mean business this ’ere time.”
“Well, I know it,” said Rathburn with a low, mirthless laugh. “I locked him in his own jail this mornin’ to get a clean chance to decide to give myself up. Then, when the chance came––well, he surely thinks now that I put him away to cover my tracks. I expect the boys have got their shootin’ orders.”
“Listen!” whispered Price excitedly. “Wait till I get my own horse, an’ I’ll strike east across the hump. That’ll start ’em after me maybe––sure it will, Rathburn! They’ll think I’m you, see, an’ light right out after me.”
Rathburn laid one hand on the old man’s shoulder and put the other over Joe’s mouth.
“Joe, you’re all excited––plumb unreasonable excited. You know I wouldn’t let you do that. Now don’t hand me more worries than I’ve got. Be good, Joe.” He patted Price’s shoulder, then swung into the saddle.
The old miner looked up at him, his face showing strangely white in the dim starlight, pierced by the fire on the peak.
“I didn’t tell ’em you’d been here, Roger; don’t forget that!”
“I knew that, Joe,” Rathburn chuckled. “So long.”
Swiftly he rode down the little meadow below the spring into the deep shadows of the cañon which led down a steep trail to the desert. Presently he checked his pace until he was walking the gallant dun. He wished to avoid as much noise as possible, and to save the horse for a final spurt d
own nine miles of desert to the Mallory ranch from the mouth of the cañon––providing he got out.
For two reasons he had deliberately chosen this route: it was shortest, and it offered the best going. He must save the dun’s strength. Rathburn knew the limits of his splendid mount; knew they had almost been reached; knew there was just enough left in the horse to make the ranch without killing him. The Coyote would surrender before he would kill his horse to effect his escape or gain an objective!
Thus they slipped down the narrow cañon, with the desert stars gleaming white above the lava hills of Imagination Range, while the fire glowed on the peak above Joe Price’s cabin. Rathburn’s face was pale under his tan; his thoughts were in a turmoil, but his lips were pressed into a fine line that denoted an unwavering determination. Had Sheriff Bob Long seen his face at this time he might have glimpsed another angle of Rathburn’s many-sided character––an angle which would have given him pause.
Rathburn looked behind, and his eyes narrowed. Two fires were burning on the peak.
Already the watchers were cognizant of his latest move and were signaling to those who might be below. He wondered vaguely why they had not surrounded Joe Price’s cabin while he had been there. Then he realized he had been there hardly long enough for his pursuers to get there in any number. Suddenly his thoughts were broken into by a streak of red in the cañon depths below him. He swerved close against the rock wall, drew his gun, and, speaking to the dun, drove in his spurs.
A short distance below he could see the faint glow of the starlight night and knew he was near the cañon’s mouth. There were more streaks of red, and bullets whistled past him. Then Rathburn raised his gun and sent half its deadly contents crashing down into the trail ahead.
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