The sick man’s lips formed the word: “Yes.”
Farlin leaned over him. The Derringer still was in his hand. “Porky, you’re no better than Lester was. The town didn’t lose much in him and it wouldn’t lose much in you . . . or me, for that matter. Gladys came down here last night and after that you gave Lester his. Now Gladys is gone. Gone . . . understand? She’s gone with that rotter of a Bovert who calls himself Bond. Do you hear? There was an inside to this killing up here, Porky, and I want it. Gladys didn’t come down here just to give a scum like you a glass of jelly. You know something and that something has to do with Gladys’s running away with that rat. Tell me the inside, Porky . . . tell me what you know, or just as sure as I know how to pull this trigger, I’ll blow you to Kingdom Come!”
A thin smile came to Porky’s lips and a faint flush stained his withered cheeks. He spoke with a great effort. “It looks . . . like . . . I’d have . . . to go anyway, Dan. Pull!”
The Derringer came up on a level with Porky’s fluttering heart and then Dan Farlin flung himself from the bed. He stood in the center of the room, trembling. What good would it do? What good would anything do? What . . . ?
He went to the window and flung up the shade to let the glad world in. For moments—a minute—minutes he stood there. Then he abruptly left the room. He went back to the Red Arrow and took a drink. They looked at him strangely there. He went into the little office and sat down to wait. After a time he sent out for coffee and breakfast. He drank no more.
Sheriff Mills came shortly before noon.
Sitting in the office, an unlighted cigar between his teeth, never taking his eyes from the speaker’s face, the official listened to Dan Farlin’s crisp, succinct explanation of what had taken place the night before.
“And that’s the story,” the gambler finished. “It’s all I know, all I’ve got to say. I’ve stayed here and kept an eye on things. Nothing has been taken. I’ll bring last night’s receipts down from the cabin and then I’m turning the place over to you to do with as you confounded please. The rest of your information you can get from Porky, from the barn . . . from anywhere you want, but you’ve got my end of it.”
With this Farlin shot him a look that came near being a look of hatred and undying malice.
The sheriff removed his cigar. “I believe what you say, of course,” he said slowly. “But what’s the matter with you, Dan? This thing hasn’t hit you this hard, has it? It had to come, one way or another. You’ve got sense enough to see that. And it may be that it spells the end of Sunrise as a bad town. Maybe you see that, too. But you shouldn’t take it so much to heart.”
Farlin’s laugh was so strange that men out in front looked at each other as they heard its echo.
“Listen, you,” said Farlin bitterly. “Do you know what’s happened?”
“Why, you’ve just told me, Dan,” said the sheriff quietly.
Farlin laughed again. “I haven’t told you anything,” he sneered. “Nothing! Do you think these killings amount to anything to me? I’d just as soon ride out of this town through a river of blood! Do you think this place was my life? Do you think that, you simple cow sheriff? You ass! Telling us to protect Bovert . . . to leave him alone, which was the same thing. And now what? Because he was good-looking, and had a smooth tongue in his head, and made a few brave plays he’s . . . Gladys has run away with him!”
Farlin fairly shouted the words in accusation at the sheriff.
Mills looked at him coldly. “How do you know?” he asked.
“Find her!” Farlin fairly hissed. “Go out and find her! Go up to the cabin, comb the town. Ask questions. Find him! And you sit there and talk to me. I played square with you. If you wanted this devil, why didn’t you take him? You didn’t have the nerve! You weren’t sure, you hemmed and hawed, you sat around with your feet on your desk and a cigar in your mouth, waiting for George to do it! Now he’s made a fool out of all of us, and Gladys, too. But there’s one thing he can’t do.” Farlin nodded grimly. “He can’t outrun a bullet!”
“That’ll do,” said Mills sternly. “Get out somewhere and try to come to. Then I’ll talk to you. Just now I’ve got other things to do.”
* * * * *
Within the hour Dan Farlin was riding east on the trail to Crazy Butte and Rocky Point. So Lawson thought he was bad, eh? The gambler laughed and spurred his horse. No soreness in the saddle now. Just a burning rage that suffused his whole being. He would stage the raid and it was Lawson who would have to look after himself instead of secretly planning to cross another.
And as Farlin rode, so Lawson and his band rode—almost at the butte.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dawn bloomed like an exquisite white rose in the east when Jim Bond and Gladys Farlin came in sight of Rocky Point. Bond drew rein and smiled at the girl who had ridden with him from Sunrise without asking a question. They had talked a little, but all Bond had told her was that Lawson had intrigued her father into going in with him on a job, and that the job was scheduled for this coming night.
“You will have to go to the hotel, Gladys,” he told her, “and I’ll have to keep out of sight. Maybe we both better keep out of sight. This is planned as a last job by Lawson, and your dad is figuring the same way. If it goes through, they’ll make a clean-up.”
“Do you want to tell me what it is, Jim?” she asked.
“I will have to tell you now,” he replied gravely. “I could have told you back in Sunrise, but I was afraid you might let something slip. You know . . . without intending to do so. You must promise even now to keep what I tell you a secret. Do you promise?”
“Of course,” Gladys answered readily. “I’m trusting you. Do you think I would have ridden here with you if I hadn’t decided to trust you?”
“You more than trust me, Gladys,” he said softly. “Whether you know it or not, you love me.” He saw her cheeks flush with the same delicate glow of pink that was staining the eastern sky. “But we won’t talk of that now,” he said hastily. “Lawson and your father plan to raid the Rocky Point bank tonight.”
“Oh!” The girl’s right hand flew to her breast.
“Lawson didn’t dare to come to the Point to get the lay of the land and plan the raid. So he got your dad to do that. He admires your father’s brain and let him in on it because it was a job that required brains . . . more gray matter than Lawson has. If they are left alone, I believe they can turn the trick and loot the bank. It would mean a lot of money to your dad, Gladys, and, if you say hands off, it’s all right with me.”
She looked at him quickly and shook her head. “You’re just testing me, Jim Bond,” she said with a smile. “You know I wouldn’t have it that way even if I was certain Father never would be found out.”
“That’s the way I figured it.” He nodded, his eyes shining with approval. “I’m going to make the raid fail, but I’m not telling the banker or anyone else here a thing about it. I’m going to stop it myself. Maybe, when your dad finds you’re gone, he won’t go through with it. But there’s always Lawson to be reckoned with. If your dad didn’t go through with it, he would have to shoot it out with Lawson, and . . . well, Lawson is the devil himself with a gun.”
Gladys made no comment. She knew this was only too true. Since her father had joined Lawson in this venture, he had to go through with it. Otherwise, Lawson would consider he had been double-crossed and that could mean but one thing—a gun play.
“Are you . . . sure of . . . all this?” she faltered.
“If I wasn’t,” Bond began—then he paused and looked at the girl closely. “Porky told me,” he said. “Lester told him to trail your dad because Lester was afraid your dad was figuring to blow. Porky overheard a conversation between Lawson and your dad when Lawson made his proposition. You can’t blame your dad for taking him up on it. Gladys, I know Dan Farlin well enough to know that he wants to quit the . . . the big game. And he wants to leave you fixed right when he quits. You know what I mean. Yo
u can’t blame him. I don’t.”
There was a mist in Gladys’s eyes and her lips trembled.
“Your dad isn’t Lawson’s kind,” Bond went on quickly. “And if they went through with this business, Lawson would try to cross him, sure as shooting, and maybe kill him. He was glad of the chance to plug Cole and don’t you forget it. I spied on their camp and heard ’em planning this raid and heard Lawson have words with Cole. So you can see just what kind of a chance your dad is taking. But you needn’t worry. Now, listen, Gladys. You’ll have to go into town alone. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” The girl nodded.
“All right. You’ll have to take a room in the hotel, and maybe you’d better stay there, Gladys. If your father comes in ahead of Lawson and his crowd, he’ll maybe find out you’re there. It doesn’t make any difference. It might be better. I’m stopping this raid alone, Gladys, without asking help from anyone. And . . . regardless of what you may think, or find out later . . . I’m not the law, girlie. Do not forget that. I’m not the law!”
She stared in fascination at the grim look on his face and the cold hard look in his eyes. But he wasn’t looking at her.
“You’re taking a chance yourself, are you not, Jim?” she asked in a low voice.
“For you,” he answered quickly. “But let that out. You go into town and get your room. Maybe you better stay there. But please don’t say anything to anybody. Do you promise?”
She thought for a time. “All right, Jim Bond, I’ll take a chance on you. I won’t say a word to a soul.”
“That’s the girlie!” he exclaimed. “Edge that horse over here so I can give you a kiss and then go on in. The rest of it is up to me.”
But Gladys wondered just the same as she rode into Rocky Point. Why had Bond wanted her to leave Sunrise? When her father discovered she was gone, he might give up the bank robbery plan and start looking for her. Then the trouble would come with Lawson just the same. Lawson’s killing of Cole showed he was determined and desperate. But Bond had told her in a tone she recognized as conveying the truth that he was not the law. He had said he was going to prevent the bank robbery alone. Therefore, he must know the way the raid was to be staged and what to do. This thought worried the girl but a few moments. She put spurs to her horse and rode on into the Point with her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing, her blood tingling in her veins. She was putting her trust in an outlaw. It seemed a fitting climax to her wild, prairie career.
George Reed, handsome, genial proprietor of the hotel, was delighted to see her and readily agreed to keep her presence secret without asking any questions. She learned later that Sheriff Mills and his deputies had left town for Sunrise. The coast, then, was clear for the bank raid. But was the coast clear for Jim Bond? She worried, and thrilled, and wondered all day in her room, and after supper took up a position at her window where she could see down the main street.
* * * * *
Never in his life had Bond been so careful of his movements as he was this day. He gained a post of vantage in the wild wastes about Crazy Butte literally by inches. His caution and alertness were so acute that the snapping of a twig brought his gun leaping into his hand. He knew there was a possibility that the disappearance of Gladys might cause Farlin to give up the bank project. In which event, Bond would have only Lawson to deal with. He was going to have to deal with him in any event, consequently it was policy to keep an eye on the outlaw leader rather than on Farlin.
So it was that Bond saw Lawson gather his band in the breaks south of the butte after leaving Gladys. He had heard the excited conversation just outside the outlaws’ camp near Sunrise between Cole and Lawson that had ended in harsh words.
“There’ll be just three of us to do the real job,” Lawson had said. “You an’ me an’ . . . another. We’ll keep the gang back to stop a posse if necessary an’ go into town by ourselves.”
“Who’s the other party you’re mentioning?” Cole had demanded.
“I can’t tell you now,” Lawson had replied irritably. “He’s helping to run this thing, but I’m bossing it.”
“Maybe it’s that bozo who calls himself Bond an’ who’s got you all buffaloed,” Cole had ventured.
“He’d have been cracked off long ago if I hadn’t kept everything quiet,” had been Lawson’s angry retort.
“Ah! Then . . . it’s Farlin!”
Bond had found it necessary to leave after this to avoid being discovered by the night hawk watching the outlaws’ horses.
Now, as he watched the outlaws dozing under the trees in the late afternoon sun, he began to scan the flowing plain to westward for sign of Dan Farlin. If Farlin decided that Gladys had eloped with Bond, the gambler might throw discretion to the winds in his rage and disappointment—which, though Bond did not actually know it, was exactly what the gambler had done.
In the last fading, purple glow of the twilight, Farlin came into sight, riding fast from the west. The rendezvous would soon be completed. Jim Bond carefully picked his way out of the breaks in the gathering shades of night, to sweep across the darkened plain and take up his station at the edge of town. With Cole gone, would Farlin and Lawson attempt the raid alone?
* * * * *
It lacked a few minutes of midnight when Jim Bond saw two riders streaking down from the north. Long before they drew opposite his secluded position in the shadows of the timber that grew along the little creek flowing down from Crazy Butte, he recognized Farlin and Lawson on their horses.
He let them thunder past, his eyes straining into the north, and shortly afterward caught sight of a dense, moving shadow. The outlaw band. So Lawson was bringing his band into town, after all. This was the first move in Lawson’s double-cross—for Bond knew that it was not Farlin’s intention to allow more men at the actual scene of the raid than he thought he could, in dire emergency, handle alone.
As soon as Farlin and Lawson had passed and Bond had caught sight of the movement of the outlaw band, he slipped swiftly through the shadows on his way to town.
Rocky Point was dark and the streets deserted with only the yellow gleams of lamplight, which filtered through windows and doors of a few resorts, streaming across the sidewalks of the main street.
Farlin and Lawson rode in cautiously behind the bank. They had circled the town at a slow pace and come in through the trees. As they halted their walking horses, Farlin gave the signal to dismount. Then Farlin turned on the outlaw leader and spoke in a low voice: “You’ve got the stuff?” he said.
“I didn’t bring along any peppermint candy to blow a safe with,” was Lawson’s gruff reply.
“Don’t talk so loud,” was the order in an undertone. “I’m going to let you into the bank. I’ve made a key that will work the back door. You know where the safe is, or I’ll show you. It’s an old-timer, but you’ll have to do the business fast.” The gambler’s right hand twitched and his Derringer lay in his palm. “Listen, Ed, I’m going to keep you covered from now until we split . . . and we’re going to split before we leave town.”
Lawson snarled and started to move his gun hand. The look in Farlin’s eyes stayed him.
“I’ve only got two slugs,” said the gambler softly, “but they’re both for you if you start anything. Choose your own time, Ed . . . or break clear afterward, as you see fit.”
Lawson motioned viciously toward the rear door of the bank. “Go ahead,” he snapped out.
“After you,” said Farlin meaningfully.
Lawson strode forward with a muttered curse. He carried a small sack—the powder and tools for shattering the doors of the safe. Farlin followed, with the deadly Derringer snuggled in his right hand and the key to the door in his left. Clouds scuttled across the sky and the shadows danced, wavered, hesitated in the small open space behind the bank.
The key was turning in the lock when the thunder of flying hoofs awoke the sleeping town. The outlaws, a bit in advance of their leader’s orders, were sweeping in to cover
the retreat. At the last Lawson had shown his colors—he had been afraid to go through with the thing alone in town and leave his gang to ward off a posse outside of town. He had ordered them to come in.
Farlin leaped back from the door he was in the act of opening. He left the key sticking in the lock. At this moment a shadow drifted over his head, there was a gentle swish in the air, and a rope fell about his shoulders as his Derringer spit fire aimlessly in the night.
Lawson dropped the sack and whirled his back toward the door, his gun jumping into his hand. He thought he saw Farlin crawling away. In reality the gambler was being dragged by a rope in the hands of Jim Bond. In a trice Lawson saw the slim shadow and leaped toward Bond. Bond gave a mighty heave on the rope, jerking Farlin into the shadow of the trees, and stepped lightly toward Lawson.
By some queer shift of the wind, timed by some celestial arbiter, the clouds were swept away and the moonlight streamed into the space behind the bank. The pounding of horses’ hoofs was in the air, shouts came from the street, and it seemed as if the whole town had been roused in the instant that Farlin’s futile shots had broken on the still night air.
Lawson’s eyes were flaming a deadly red as he confronted Bond.
“So you were goin’ to horn in on this, single-handed!” he shot through his teeth. “Or maybe you framed it!” His words ended in a shout as horses began pouring into the restricted space.
“You were afraid to try it single-handed,” Bond taunted. “And you were going to frame Farlin, you beginner!”
“So you are this Bovert!” Lawson exploded. “You came north to get Ed Lawson’s card. Here it is!”
But Jim Bond’s move was so lightning fast that his gun was flaming before Lawson could shoot. The big outlaw staggered and fell on his back almost under the hoofs of his own riders’ horses. Bond leaped back into the shadow of the trees, drawing another weapon. He emptied both guns as he darted among the trees. Riderless horses reared and townsmen poured into the space behind the bank. The members of Lawson’s outfit left their dead leader on the ground and raced away, those that were left.
Bullets in the Sun Page 18
