Bond was holding Farlin by the arm, relieving him of the rope and speaking swiftly in his ear in an undertone. “The raid is over, you fool, and you’re under cover. Do as I say, or . . . .”
Farlin didn’t wait to hear the rest. He jerked himself free and swung at Bond with such force that he stumbled ahead several paces. The next moment the heavy barrel of one of Bond’s guns crashed against his head and the world went inky black.
In the confusion and the futile chase of the surviving bandits, Jim Bond carried Farlin to the rear entrance of the hotel.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Porky’s eyes were half closed when Sheriff Mills entered his room. The official had met the doctor on the way.
“He’s sinking,” the doctor had said. “I guess the excitement has been too much for him.”
“Are you sure Lester didn’t hit him?” the sheriff had asked.
“Never had a chance to fire,” the doctor replied.
After this the official had looked steadily at the physician for some moments. “Now, Doc, give it to me square. How long is Porky going to last?”
“I don’t know,” returned the man of medicine. “I think he’s bleeding internally.”
“And that’s not so good,” the sheriff had observed.
Now, as the official stood staring at the wasted figure in the bed, he realized that his observation had been correct. He drew a chair close to the bed and sat down. Porky tried to move but merely groaned. His face was the color of ashes and his lips were blue.
The sheriff spoke in a low, vibrating voice: “I’m not going to ask you how you feel, Porky, because I can tell by the way you look. You’re in a tight hole. You can tell me what you want to tell me, and that’s all I’m asking of you. Take your time.”
The sick man motioned toward the top drawer of the bureau and nodded faintly. Sheriff Mills crossed quickly to the bureau, and, when he opened the top drawer, he understood. He took out the bottle, poured some of its contents into a glass, added some water from a pitcher on the stand, raised Porky’s head a little, and held the glass to his lips.
Porky drank the contents. His eyes widened a little and brightened under the stimulant. He coughed slightly and a pink froth bubbled on his lips. The sheriff waited and finally the sick man’s words came fairly strong: “Gladys Farlin sent a note down to me addressed to Jim Bond. Bond had told me to get any message for him delivered through you.” He paused while Sheriff Mills nodded in surprise. “Lester came in and found the note.” Porky continued painfully. “I threw my gun on him an’ told him to drop it. Instead he tore it open. Then I let him have it.”
“Do you know what was in the note?” asked the sheriff.
“Yes, I read it and burned it up. It was to tell Bond that Lawson was back in town an’ Dan was acting queer. I reckon you know that Lawson was dragging Dan into a job. That’s all I’ve got to say. You must know all about it.”
The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t,” he confessed, “but I’m doing a powerful lot of guessing.”
A flush came into Porky’s withered cheeks and he strove to raise himself.
“It’s the Rocky Point bank!” he cried hoarsely as another fit of coughing seized him. Red blood stained his lips as he whispered: “Listen, Sheriff . . . Dan ain’t to blame.” The sheriff leaned over him to catch his next words. “I took . . . a chance on Bond being all right. If he is . . . give me credit . . . for . . . one good turn . . . before I pass out.”
His frail frame shook with a violent paroxysm of coughing, and the blood spurted from his mouth. Sheriff Mills leaped to the door and called loudly for the clerk. When he turned back into the room, Porky Snyder lay still, his eyes wide in the fixed stare of death.
* * * * *
It was broad daylight when Dan Farlin regained consciousness. He didn’t open his eyes at once, but lay still in bed, groping vaguely in his mind to piece together the events of the night before and the early morning. Gradually his memory of what had preceded the attempted bank robbery returned. He knew, of course, that Bond had roped him and later had shot Lawson down in a lightning gun play. He knew, too, that Bond had knocked him senseless with his gun and had carried him away from the scene when the space behind the bank was swarming with horses, and the town had suddenly become alive with excited, shouting men. He recalled dimly the figure of a woman at the head of the stairs when Bond had taken him into a building. He remembered vaguely voices about him and swallowing something out of a glass that must have been a sleeping potion, for the voices had faded and he had lapsed into oblivion.
When he opened his eyes, he saw at once that he was in a hotel room. The white curtains were fluttering about the window and bright sunlight was streaming across the carpet. His head throbbed with a dull pain and he raised a hand to find it was bandaged. Bond had seen that he had been taken care of, he realized with a frown. Why? The gambler smiled grimly. The reason, in his opinion, was plain. Bond had succeeded in luring Gladys away from Sunrise and had brought her to Rocky Point. He might even have married her! Farlin’s jaw clamped shut. Bond had stumbled upon the bank job and probably had figured on finishing it himself. The arrival of the horsemen had nipped that scheme. Later Bond had kept what he knew to himself and had doubtless taken Gladys away. Farlin gave up further attempt at reasoning or conjecture because of the pain in his head. He closed his eyes until the door opened softly, and Jim Bond stepped in.
“Take it easy,” said Bond as he closed the door and moved a chair to the side of the bed. He sat down and looked steadily at Farlin, shaking his head. “Get just as mad as you please, but I’ll do the talking,” he said in an impressive tone.
“One question,” Farlin snapped. “Where’s Gladys?”
“She’s in Rocky Point in this very hotel. I told her just enough to persuade her to leave Sunrise and I brought her here safely. I’ve shot square with her and I’m in love with her whether you like it or not.” He nodded convincingly. “You’ll see her shortly. I didn’t think it was any too safe for her in Sunrise and she trusted me.”
Farlin’s eyes were hard, but he was listening intently. He made no attempt to interrupt as Bond continued.
“I got wind of this bank business some time back, but I’m not going to tell you how. I decided to butt into this play to keep you from getting yourself in bad and double-crossed by Lawson in the bargain. Gladys was worried because she thought something was up and didn’t want you to mix with Lawson. What I did, I did for her sake, and don’t ever forget that.”
The look in Farlin’s eyes had changed to a gleam of keen interest. There was no mistaking the sincerity in Bond’s tone, and his eyes showed that he was deeply in earnest.
“I had to give you that clout on the head last night to get you out of there quick. Those riders were Lawson’s gang and I happen to know that you didn’t expect them. It was just the start of Lawson’s double-cross. I believe he intended to kill you right there at the bank and leave you for the sheriff to puzzle over.”
Farlin asked for a glass of water, and drank it, nodding his thanks.
“All of the gang didn’t get away,” Bond continued. “Two of them are in jail, wounded. They’ve talked plenty and haven’t had anything good to say for Lawson. They don’t seem to understand just what your part in the play was, and it’s just as well they don’t. So far as I know, the sheriff and I are the only two outsiders who know about your connection with the affair.”
“How much does the sheriff know?” Farlin asked quietly.
“You have me there,” Bond replied. “He got in town about half an hour after the thing was over. He knows I brought you here and got the doctor for you, and he knows I put Lawson away. He knows Gladys and I left Sunrise together, and I think he believes you followed us here. That’s the thing to tell him anyway. I didn’t talk with him much and I didn’t tell him anything. But he told me not to leave town, so he will be talking to me again. And he’ll be in to see you. What he might have found out in Sunrise I don�
�t know, either.”
“Porky might have told him something,” Farlin said dryly.
“Porky’s dead,” said Bond bluntly. “Bled to death inside, I heard. You’re an older and smarter man than I am, Farlin, but, if I were you, I wouldn’t say any more than I had to, to anybody. And don’t blame Gladys for coming with me. I told her you were headed this way, too.”
“Did you tell her why I was coming?” asked Farlin quickly.
“I gave her a pretty broad hint,” replied Bond, “but you’ll have to ask her any further questions.” He held up a warning finger as a soft tapping was heard on the door, then he rose quickly, and nodded to Farlin.
“Come in,” called Farlin.
It was Gladys Farlin who entered and in another moment her arms were about her father and she was kissing him.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she said in a voice that trembled. “But everything is going to be all right . . . I just know it is.”
Bond had moved to the door. “I’ll be back later,” he said, smiling, and was out of the room before either of them could stop him.
“How’d you come to ride off with him?” Farlin asked the girl, stroking her hair.
“Because, Daddy, he knew what was going to happen here, although he didn’t tell me in so many words. He said it was best to come and I . . . I trusted him. I knew when you told me that we were going to leave so soon that you planned to make a big stake quickly. Oh, I’m not blaming you a bit for wanting to do this. But I do blame Lawson. I won’t say anything more about that because Lawson is gone. I never trusted him and I guess Jim Bond has told you how he planned to double-cross you. I wanted to help you, and Jim has helped us both.”
“You call him by his first name, then?” her father asked in a low, queer voice.
“It isn’t strange for people to call each other by their first names in this country, Daddy,” she answered softly, pressing his hand.
“It’s different in this case, Gladys. I suppose you know the kind of reputation this man has. Maybe he did do us a favor, but . . . well, I’m only thinking of you, dearie.”
“Daddy, from what I’ve seen of Jim Bond, he could not be bad enough to be this man they call Bovert. And, even if he is . . . I . . . I don’t care.”
“Gladys!” her father exclaimed. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I can see he has a way with women, and I expect he’s been telling you things.”
“He told me he loved me,” the girl said in a low voice, “and I believe him.”
There was a long silence. Farlin was at a disadvantage, for regardless of who Bond really was, the fact remained that he had saved Farlin’s life. And so far, he had played square.
After a time the gambler put the question he dreaded to ask: “How do you feel about him, Gladys?”
“Oh . . . I’m not sure.”
Both welcomed the knock on the door at this moment. The visitor who responded to Farlin’s invitation to enter proved to be Sheriff Mills.
The sheriff puckered his brows in a mock scowl as he looked from one to the other of them. “So you found your girl,” he said to Farlin. Then, looking critically at Gladys: “She doesn’t seem to be any the worse for riding from Sunrise to Rocky Point, and she had a good man with her.”
“What do you know about him?” asked Farlin.
“I know he got rid of a bad one for me, meaning Lawson,” said Mills with a frown, “and he sure did you a good turn. What’s more, I’ll bet the young lady will say he’s played square with her.”
“Maybe I’d better go,” said Gladys.
“No, you better stay right here,” drawled the sheriff. “I reckon you know as much about this business as I do, but there’s one thing neither of you know and that is that we’ve got to give Porky Snyder credit for puncturing the schemes of Lester and Lawson.”
“So he told Bond!” Farlin exclaimed, rising on an elbow. “I always thought that little runt knew more than he would own up to. And this fellow Bond isn’t Bovert after all. He’s the law!”
“No, Dan, he isn’t the law in any way whatsoever. And I’m not saying whether he is Bovert or not. What he did . . . which was plenty . . . he did on his own hook without my knowledge. He sent a message to be delivered to me through Porky. So maybe he figured on seeing me and letting me in on the play. But I reckon he got side-tracked on the trail of Lawson and his gang.”
“Hm-m-m,” grunted Farlin. “You’ve just the same as told me that he is this gun terror. Then what was your idea in telling us to lay off of him?”
“Well, if he is what you think, I told you that to direct attention at him,” drawled the sheriff. “And maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought, but I expected Lawson to get jealous and stage a gun play. I might have got rid of one of them, Lawson, say, or both. Lawson’s day was done. Sunrise’s day as a wild town was done. The law’s come to Sunrise, Dan, and it’s going to stay there. Sunrise is going to be a decent town and there’s a bunch of settlers coming in this fall to supply it with decent trade of the right sort. With Lawson and his gang gone and Big Tom out of the way, the new order of things starts.” He nodded gravely.
“And that puts me out of business,” Farlin observed wryly.
“You needn’t worry, Dan. You’d have quit anyway with this last play and I’m not blaming you, exactly, considering your state of mind, for taking the wild chance. Something will turn up for you, Dan. And now listen.” The sheriff leaned forward and spoke in a low, even tone. “I knew a whole lot about this business just now, but I’m forgetting it as fast as you can think. You followed Gladys into town because you thought she had run away with this Bond. You blundered into the bank play, and Bond happened along and helped you stop the robbery. Now don’t make a fool out of me by telling any other story.” Mills got to his feet and took up his hat.
“Why, Sheriff!” cried Gladys. “That’s what I call giving Daddy one grand, square deal.”
“You just do some forgetting yourself, young lady,” said Mills, shaking a stern finger at her. “After all”—with a sly look at Farlin—“I’m just a sort of cow sheriff.”
“And I’m taking that back,” said Farlin as the official went out the door.
* * * * *
An hour later, Jim Bond sat across the desk from Sheriff Mills in the latter’s private office. Mills was chewing an unlighted cigar as usual. Bond was eying him curiously. He had dropped in after he had made sure Mills had interviewed Dan Farlin.
“Well, let’s have it,” he said somewhat impatiently.
“I had a talk with Farlin and his girl,” said the sheriff, removing his cigar and leaning forward in his chair. “I told Dan how he happened to be here. He followed you and the girl, and you took her out of Sunrise because you thought things were getting pretty hot there. Farlin blundered into the bank raid and you stumbled along and helped him out. Isn’t that so?”
“It’s so, if you say so,” was Bond’s answer.
“So near as I can now make out, that’s what took place,” said the sheriff dryly. He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out an envelope. “I’ve got some papers here,” he said casually, “and a photograph, although it isn’t a very good one.” He looked at Bond, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. “Fact is,” he went on, “this picture is so bad I can’t make anything out of it at all. Why, it might even be you, the way it looks.”
“Just a snapshot, I suppose,” Bond ventured, keeping his steady gaze on the sheriff. There was a suggestion of a puzzled frown on his face.
“Yes . . . just a snapshot of a man on a horse,” said Mills. “Anyway, I have enough to look after here in my own territory without listening and bothering with what some outfit down south thinks about somebody or something.”
Bond started as the sheriff deliberately tore papers, photograph, and envelope in half, and then tore the halves into small pieces. He opened the door of the cold stove and tossed in the fragments. Then he dropped in a lighted match. “That’s the way I get rid of waste paper,” h
e explained. “What do you figure on doing, Bond?”
The youth roused himself. “I . . . I hadn’t made any plans,” he stammered. “You’re sure you know what you just did, Sheriff?”
“I’m not so old that I don’t usually know what I’m doing, young man,” said Mills coldly. “Now, about the girl. You think pretty well of Gladys Farlin, do you not?”
“Oh, well enough,” Bond answered shortly.
“She’s a nice girl,” the sheriff went on in his even voice. “Too nice to play any tricks on.” He gave Bond a sharp look, then held up a hand as Bond started to speak. “Never mind. There are going to be some opportunities out Sunrise way for a young fellow who has a little money, some brains, and isn’t afraid to work. A piece of land out there could be made into a good-paying proposition, and that country out there is going to be sweet to live in from now on.”
Bond brightened. “I haven’t any fault to find with this country, Sheriff,” he said with a confidential nod.
“Like other spots in the West, this is going to be a great wheat section,” Mills observed. “But there’ll always be room for cattle. Maybe not so many, but better stock. It wouldn’t surprise me if Dan Farlin decided to stay in these parts. I know he’d stay if Gladys decided that she wanted to stay.”
Bond was smiling very broadly. “Sheriff, you’re a pretty smooth article.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you got just about anything you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t want much. I like to see people happy and contented, and I want to see this country come into its own with the right kind of people living in it. John Duggan, our banker, is a pretty good hand at giving advice to a young fellow who wants to get a start.” He lifted his brows slightly.
Bond laughed outright in delight. “I get you, Sheriff. I’ll be having a little talk with Mister Duggan.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Mills, looking at his watch. “Well, I expect by this time the doc has looked Dan over and maybe Duggan has dropped in to see him. Suppose we drift up that way.”
Bullets in the Sun Page 19
