by Unknown
A shrill whistle rang out from the side of the train farthest from the station. The wheels began to move slowly. There was a rush for the engine. Jack Goodheart stood in the door of the cab ready for business.
"No passengers allowed here, boys," he announced calmly. "Take the coaches in the rear."
A dozen revolvers cracked. There was a rattle of breaking windows. The engine, baggage-car, and smoker moved forward, leaving the rest of the train on the track.
Men, swarming like ants, had climbed to the top of the cars, evidently with some idea of getting at their victim from above. Some of these were on the forward coaches. They began to drop off hurriedly as the station fell to the rear.
The wheels turned faster. Bud Proctor swung aboard and joined the sheriff.
"I cut off the other cars and gave the signal to start," he explained triumphantly.
"Good boy, Bud. Knew I could tie to you," Prince answered with the warm smile that always won him friends.
They passed into the car together. Clanton was leaning far out of the window waving a mocking hand of farewell to the crowd on the platform. He drew his head in and handed the weapons back to his friend.
"Don't I make a good deputy, Billie? I didn't fire even once."
Chapter XXIX
"They Can't Hang Me If I ain't There"
The jury brought in a verdict of murder in the first degree. Clanton was sentenced to be hanged at Live-Oaks four weeks after the day the trial ended. Prince himself had been called back to Washington County to deal with a band of rustlers who had lately pulled off a series of bold, wholesale cattle thefts. He left Goodheart to bring the prisoner back with him in case of a conviction.
The deputy sheriff left the train at Los Vegas, to which point Prince had sent a man with horses to meet Jack and the convicted murderer. It was not likely that the enemies of Clanton would make another attempt to frustrate the law, but there was a chance that they would. Goodheart did not take the direct road to Live-Oaks, but followed the river valley toward Los Portales.
The party reached the Roubideau ranch at dusk of the third night. Pauline had been at the place three months keeping house for her father. She flew to meet Jim, her eyes filled with a divine pity. Both hands went out to his manacled ones impulsively. Her face glowed with a soft, welcoming warmth.
"You poor boy! You poor, poor boy!" she cried. Then, flaming, she turned on Goodheart: "Bel et bien! Why do you load him down with chains? Are you afraid of him?"
The deputy flushed. "I have no right to take any chances of an escape. You know that."
"I know he is innocent. Why did they find him guilty?"
"I had no evidence," explained Jim simply. "Dad Wrayburn swore I shot twice at Webb just before I disappeared in the brush. Then a shot came out of the chaparral. It's not reasonable to suppose some one else fired it, especially when the bullet was one that fitted a forty-four."
"But you didn't fire it. You told me so in your letter."
"My word didn't count with the jury. I'd have to claim that, anyhow, to save my life. My notion is that the bullet didn't come from a six-gun at all, but from a seventy-three rifle. But I can't prove that either."
"It isn't fair. It--it's an outrage." Polly burst into tears and took the slim young fellow into her arms. "They ought to know you wouldn't do that. Why didn't your friends tell them so?"
He smiled, a little wistfully. "A gunman doesn't have friends, Polly. Outside of you an' Lee an' Billie I haven't any. All the newspapers in the territory an' all the politicians an' most of the decent people have been pullin' for a death sentence. Well, they've got it." He stroked her hair softly. "Don't you worry, girl. They won't get a chance to hang me."
Pauline released him, dabbed at her eyes, and ran, choking, into the house.
"You've got to be in trouble to make a real hit with Miss Roubideau," suggested the lank deputy, a little bitterly. "I'll take those bracelets off now, Clanton. You can wash for supper."
Polly saw to it, anyhow, that the prisoner had the best to eat there was in the house. She made a dinner of spring chicken, mashed potatoes, hot biscuits, jelly, and apple pie.
A rider for the Flying V Y dropped in after they had eaten and bridled like a turkey cock at sight of Clanton.
"Don't you let him git away from you, Jack," he warned the officer. "We're allowin' to have a holiday on the sixth up at our place so as to go to the show. It is the sixth, ain't it?" he jeered, turning to the handcuffed man on the lounge.
"The sixth is correct," answered Jim coolly, meeting him eye to eye.
"You wouldn't talk that way if Clanton was free," said Goodheart. "You're taggin' yoreself a bully an' a cheap skate when you do it."
"Say, is that any of yore business, Mr. Deputy Sheriff?"
"It is when you talk to my prisoner. Cut it out, Swartz."
"All right."
The cowpuncher turned to Pauline, who had come to the door and stood there. "You'll be goin' to the big show on the sixth, Miss Roubideau. Live-Oaks will be a sure-enough live town that day."
The young woman walked straight up to the big cowpuncher. Her eyes blazed. "Get out of this house. Don't ever come here again. Don't speak to me if you meet me."
The Flying V Y rider was taken aback. Like a good many young fellows within a radius of a hundred miles, he was a candidate for the favor of Pierre Roubideau's daughter.
"Why, I--I--" he stammered. "I didn't aim for to offend you. This fellow bushwhacked my boss. He--"
"That isn't true," she interrupted. "He didn't do it."
"Sure he did it. Go-Get-'Em Jim is a killer. A girl like you, Miss Roubideau, has got no business stickin' up for a bad man who--"
"Didn't you hear me? I told you to go."
"You've been invited to remove yoreself from the place an' become a part of the outdoor scenery, Swartz," cut in Goodheart, a snap to his jaw. "I'd take that invite pronto if I was you."
The cowpuncher picked up his hat and walked out. The drawling voice of the prisoner followed him.
"Don't you worry, Polly. They can't hang me if I ain't there, can they?"
The deputy guessed that Pauline wished to talk alone with Clanton. Presently he arose and sauntered to the door. "I want to see yore father about some horses Billie needs. Back soon."
He gave them a half-hour, but he took pains to see that his assistant covered the back door while he watched the front of the house. The prisoner was handcuffed, but Jack did not intend to take any chances. Personally he believed that Clanton was guilty, but whether he was or not it was his duty to bring the convicted man safely to Live-Oaks. This he meant to do.
Chapter XXX
Polly has a Plan
Pauline moved across the room and sat down beside Jim. An eager light shone in her soft, brown eyes.
"Listen!" she ordered in a low voice. "I've got a plan. There's a chance that it will work, I think. But tell me first about your sleeping arrangements. Does Jack or the other guard sit up and watch you all the time?"
"No. The champion roper of New Mexico, Arizona, an' Texas throws the diamond hitch on yours truly. He does an expert job, tucks me up, an' says good-night. He knows I'm perfectly safe till mornin', especially since both he an' Brad sleep in the same room with me."
"Well, I'm going to give you dad's room." She leaned forward and whispered to him steadily for five minutes.
The sardonic mockery had vanished from the face of the prisoner. He listened, every nerve and fiber of him at alert attention. Occasionally he asked a question. Carefully she explained the plan, going over each detail of it again and again.
Jim Clanton was efficient. In those days it was a necessary quality for a bad man if he wished to continue to function. He offered a suggestion or two which Pauline incorporated in her proposed campaign of action. At best her scheme was hazardous. It depended upon all things dovetailing properly. But he was in no place to pick and choose. All he asked was a chance and an even break of luck.
"You dan
dy girl!" he cried softly, and took her two hands between the palms of his fettered ones. "I'm a scalawag, Polly. But if you pull this off for me, I'll right-about-face. That's a promise. Somehow I've never acted like I wanted to. I've done a heap of wild an' foolish things, an' I've killed whenever it was put up to me. I don't reckon any woman that married me would be real happy. But if you'll take a chance 111 go away from here an' well Make a fresh start. You're the only girl there is for me."
A faint smile lay in her eyes. "You used to think Lee was the only girl, didn't you?"
"Well, I don't now. I like Polly Roubideau better."
Abruptly she flung at him a statement that was a question. "You didn't kill Mr. Webb."
"No. I never killed but one man without givin' him an even break. That was Peg-Leg Warren, an' he was a cold-blooded murderer."
A troubled little frown creased her forehead. "I've thought for more than a year now that you--liked me that way. And I've had it in my mind a great deal as to what I ought to do if you spoke to me about it. I wish you had a good wife, Jim. Maybe she could save you from yourself."
"Mebbe she could, Polly."
The lashes of her eyelids fell. She looked down at the bands of iron around his small wrists. "I--I've prayed over it, Jim. But I'm not clear that I've found an answer." Her low voice broke a little. "I don't know what to say."
"Is it that you are afraid of what I'm goin' to be? Can't you trust yore life with me? I shouldn't think you could."
Her eyes lifted and met his bravely. "I think that wouldn't stop me if--if I cared for you that way."
"It's Billie Prince, then, is it?"
"No, it isn't Billie Prince. Never mind who it is. What I must decide is whether I can make you the kind of wife you need without being exactly--"
"In love with me," he finished for her.
"Yes. I've always liked you very much. You've been good to me. I love you like a brother, I think. Oh, I don't know how to say it."
"Let's get this straight, Polly. Is there some one else you love?"
A tide of color flooded her face to the roots of the hair. She met his steady look reluctantly.
"We needn't discuss that, Jim."
"Needn't we?" He laughed a little, but his voice was rough with feeling. "You're the blamedest little pilgrim ever I did see. What kind of a fellow do you think I am? I ain't good enough for you--not by a thousand miles. Even if you felt about me the way I do about you, it would be a big risk for you to marry me. But now--Sho, little missionary, I ain't so selfish as to let you sacrifice yore life for me."
"If I marry you it will be because I want to, Jim."
"You'll want to because you're such a good little Christian you think it's up to you to save a brand from the burning. But I won't let you do any such foolishness. You go marry that other man. If he's a good, square, decent fellow, you'll be a whole lot better off than if you tied up with a ne'er-do-well like me."
They heard a step on the porch.
"Don't forget. Three taps if you're alone in the room," she said in a whisper.
Goodheart came into the parlor with Pierre Roubideau. "Expect we'd better turn in, Clanton. We've got to make an early start to-morrow."
The prisoner rose at once. Pauline had drawn her father aside and was giving him some instructions. The old Frenchman nodded, smiling. He understood her little feminine devices and was a cheerful victim of them.
The young woman found a chance for a word alone with the deputy.
"I want to see you to-night, Jack, about--something." Her eyes were very bright and the color in the soft cheeks high. She spoke almost in a whisper.
The lank young sheriff had the soul of an inarticulate poet. Beneath the tan of his leathery face the blood burned. This was the first really kind word he had had from her since their arrival. All her solicitation had been for the condemned youth in his care. Perhaps all she wanted now was to ask some favor for Clanton, but hope leaped in his heart.
He made arrangements for the night in his usual careful way. It was not pleasant to have to watch the prisoner as a cat does a mouse, but Goodheart was thorough in whatever he undertook. Skillfully he tied Clanton in such a way as to allow him enough freedom of motion to change position without giving him enough to make it possible for him to untie himself.
"Back after a while" he told Jim.
The young man on the bed grunted sleepily and the deputy returned to the parlor.
Pauline, still in her kitchen apron, smiled in at the door upon him and her father.
"You two go out on the porch and smoke your pipes," she said. "I have to finish my work in the kitchen, then I have to go down to the cellar and take care of the milk. Ill not be long."
Pierre, an obedient parent, rose and moved toward the porch. Before he left the room Goodheart took the precaution to lock the bedroom door and pocket the key. He was a little ashamed of this, but he knew that Go-Get-'Em Jim was a very competent and energetic person. Convicted and sentenced though he was, Clanton still boasted with cool aplomb that there would be no hanging on the sixth. The deputy strolled round to the back of the house to make sure his assistant was still on the job. After a few words with the man he returned to the porch. He was satisfied there was no possible chance of an escape. The prisoner lay handcuffed and tied to a bed by the champion roper of the Southwest. The door of the room was locked Both exits from the house were guarded. Jack felt that he could safely enjoy a smoke.
Chapter XXXI
Goodheart Makes a Promise and Breaks It
Pauline was a singularly honest little soul, but she now discovered in herself unsuspected capacity for duplicity. She went singing about her work, apparently care-free as a lark. Presently, still humming a French chanson, she appeared on the porch swinging a key, passed the two men with a gay little nod, and disappeared around the corner of the house to the cellar.
The rancher apologized for the key. "We've had to lock the cellar lately since so many movers have been going through on this road. Eh bien! Our hams--they took wings and flew."
Polly rattled the milk pans for a moment or two and then listened. From above there came to her the sound of three faint raps on the woodwork of the bed. She crept up the stairs that led from the cellar into the house. At the top of them was a trapdoor. Very slowly and carefully she pushed this up. Through the opening she passed into a bedroom.
Softly the girl stole to the bed. From the cellar she had brought a butcher knife and with this she sawed at the rope which bound the prisoner.
"But your handcuffs. What can we do about them?" she whispered.
Clanton stretched his stiff muscles. He made no answer in words. For a moment or two his arms writhed, then from out of the iron bracelet his long slender hand slowly twisted. Soon the second wrist was also free.
"I've had a lot of fun poked at my girl hands, but they come in useful sometimes," he murmured.
"I'll have to hurry back or I'll be missed," she told him. "You'll find a saddled horse in the aspens."
He caught her by the shoulders and held her fast. "You've been the truest little friend ever a man had. You've stuck by me an' believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself any longer. No matter what folks said about me or about you for takin' an interest in such a scamp, you never quit fightin' to keep me decent. I've heard tell of guardian angels--well, that's what you've been to me, little pilgrim."
"I haven't forgotten the boy who rode up Escondido Cañon to save me from death and dishonor," Pauline cried softly.
"You've paid that debt fifty times. I owe you more than I can tell. I wisht I knew a way to pay it."
Her soft and dusky eyes clung to his pleadingly. "If you get away, Jim, you will be good, won't you?"
"I'll be as good as I've got it in me to be. I don't know how good that is, Polly. But I'll do my level best."
"Oh, I'm so glad," she whispered. "Good luck--heaps of it."
He was not quite sure whether it was his privilege to kiss the parted red lip
s upturned to him, but he took a chance and was not rebuked.
Pauline went noiselessly down the steps again into the cellar while Clanton held the trapdoor. He lowered it inch by inch so that it would not creak, then spread over it the Navajo rug that had been there before the entrance of the girl.
Pierre Roubideau was still on his first pipe when Polly came round the corner of the house and stopped at the porch steps.
