by Unknown
"After you've pulled on the rope that hangs him," added Clint angrily. "Nothin' to that, 'Mona. He's for us or he's against us. Let him say which right now."
The girl nodded, white to the lips.
"Do you mean that you'll give me up unless I let Dinsmore escape before we reach town?" asked the young man.
"I ... I've got to save him as he did me. If you won't help, it's because you don't love me enough," she faltered.
"I can't," the boy cried.
"'Nough said," cut in Wadley. "You've got yore answer, 'Mona, an' he's got his."
Jack stiffened in the saddle. His hard eyes bored straight into those of his sweetheart. "Have I?" he asked of her.
The girl nodded and turned her head away with a weak, little gesture of despair. Her heart was bleeding woe.
The Ranger wheeled on his horse and galloped back to his place beside Dinsmore.
CHAPTER XLIII
TEX RESIGNS
Jack Roberts, spurs jingling, walked into the office of his chief.
Ellison looked up, leaned back in his chair, and tugged at his goatee. "Well, Tex, you sure were thorough. Four men in the Dinsmore outfit, an' inside o' two days three of 'em dead an' the fourth a prisoner. You hit quite a gait, son."
"I've come to resign," announced the younger man.
"Well, I kinda thought you'd be resignin' about now," said the Captain with a smile. "Weddin' bells liable to ring right soon, I reckon."
"Not mine," replied Roberts.
Somehow, in the way he said it, the older man knew that the subject had been closed.
"Goin' to take that job Clint offered you?"
"No." Jack snapped out the negative curtly, explosively.
Another topic closed.
"Just quittin'. No reasons to offer, son?"
"Reasons a-plenty. I've had man-huntin' enough to last me a lifetime. I'm goin' to try law-breakin' awhile for a change."
"Meanin'?"
"You can guess what I mean, Captain, an' if you're lucky you'll guess right. Point is, I'm leavin' the force to-day."
"Kinda sudden, ain't it, Tex?"
"At six o'clock to-night. Make a note of the time, Captain. After that I'm playin' my own hand. Understand?"
"I understand you're sore as a thumb with a bone felon. Take yore time, son. Don't go off half-cocked." The little Captain rose and put his hand on the shoulder of the boy. "I reckon things have got in a sort of kink for you. Give 'em time to unravel, Tex."
The eyes of the Ranger softened. "I've got nothin' against you, Captain. You're all there. We won't go into any whyfors, but just let it go as it stands. I want to quit my job--right away. This round-up of the Dinsmores about cleans the Panhandle anyhow."
"You're the doctor, Tex. But why not take yore time? It costs nothin' Tex to wait a day or two an' look around you first."
"I've got business--to-night. I'd rather quit when I said."
"What business?" asked Ellison bluntly. "You mentioned law-breakin'. Aimin' to shoot up the town, are you?"
"At six to-night, Captain, my resignation takes effect."
The little man shrugged. "I hear you, Jack. You go off the pay-roll at six. I can feel it in my bones that you're goin' to pull off some fool business. Don't run on the rope too far, Jack. Everybody that breaks the law looks alike to my boys, son."
"I'll remember."
"Good luck to you." Ellison offered his hand.
Roberts wrung it. "Same to you, Cap. So long."
The young man walked downtown, ate his dinner at the hotel, and from there strolled down to the largest general store in town. Here he bought supplies enough to last for a week--flour, bacon, salt, sugar, tobacco, and shells for rifle and revolvers. These he carried to his room, where he lay down on the bed and read a month-old Trinidad paper.
Presently the paper sagged. He began to nod, fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again it was late in the afternoon. His watch told him that it was just six o'clock.
He got up, took off the buckskin suit that had served him for a uniform, and donned once more the jeans and chaps he had worn as a line-rider.
"Good-bye, Mr. Ranger," he told himself. "I reckon you can't have much worse luck as a citizen than as an officer."
He buckled round his waist the belt that held his revolvers, and from the corner of the room where it stood took his rifle. Carrying the supplies he had that afternoon bought, he directed his steps to the Elephant Corral and saddled his horse. With motions of deft economy he packed the provisions for travel, then swung to the saddle and cantered down the street.
At the post-office corner he swung to the left for a block and dismounted in front of a rather large dugout.
A wrinkled little man with a puzzled, lost-puppy look on his face sat on a bench in front mending a set of broken harness.
"'Lo, Tex. How they comin'?" he asked.
"'Lo, Yorky. Hope I see you well," drawled the horseman, a whimsical twitch of humor at the corner of his mouth. He was swinging his lariat carelessly as cowboys do.
"Jes' tol'able. I got a misery in my left shoulder I'm a-goin' to try some yerbs I done had recommended." Yorky was the kind of simple soul who always told you just how he was when you asked him.
Roberts passed him and led the way into the house. "Come inside, Yorky, I want to talk with you," he said.
The room into which the cowboy had passed was a harness shop. It was littered with saddles and bridles and broken bits of traces. A workman's bench and tools were in one corner of the shop. A door, bolted and padlocked, led to a rear room.
Jack put down his rifle and his belt on a shelf and sat down on the bench.
"Yore prisoner's in there all right," said the saddler with a jerk of his thumb over his left shoulder.
Since no one else in town would take the place, Yorky had been unanimously chosen jailer. He did not like the job, but it gave him an official importance that flattered his vanity.
"He's not my prisoner any more, Yorky. He's yours. I quit being a Ranger just twenty-five minutes ago."
"You don't say! Well, I reckon you done wise. A likely young fellow--"
"Where's yore six-shooter?" demanded Jack.
Yorky was a trifle surprised. "You're sittin' on it," he said, indicating the work bench.
Roberts got up and stood aside. "Get it."
The lank jaw of the jailer hung dolefully. He rubbed its bristles with a hand very unsure of itself.
"Now, you look a-hyer, Tex. I'm jailer, I am. I don't allow to go with you to bring in no bad-man. Nothin' of that sort. It ain't in the contract."
"I'm not askin' it. Get yore gat."
The little saddler got it, though with evident misgivings.
The brown, lean young man reseated himself on the bench. "I've come here to get yore prisoner," he explained.
"Sure," brightened the jailer. "Wait till I get my keys." He put the revolver down on the table and moved toward the nail on which hung two large keys.
"I'm just through tellin' you that I'm no longer a Ranger, but only a private citizen."
Yorky was perplexed. He felt he was not getting the drift of this conversation. "Well, an' I done said, fine, a young up 'n' comin' fellow like you--"
"You've got no business to turn yore prisoner over to me, Yorky. I'm not an officer."
"Oh, tha's all right. Anything you say, Tex."
"I'm goin' to give him my horse an' my guns an' tell him to hit the trail."
The puzzled lost-dog look was uppermost on the wrinkled little face just now. Yorky was clearly out of his depth. But of course Jack Roberts, the best Ranger in the Panhandle, must know what he was about.
"Suits me if it does you, Tex," the saddler chirped.
"No, sir. You've got to make a fight to hold Dinsmore. He's wanted for murder an' attempted robbery. You're here to see he doesn't get away."
"Make a fight! You mean ... fight you?"
"That's just what I mean. I'm out of reach of my gats. Unhook yore gun if
I make a move toward you."
Yorky scratched his bewildered head. This certainly did beat the Dutch. He looked helplessly at this brown, lithe youth with the well-packed muscles.
"I'll be doggoned if I know what's eatin' you, Tex. I ain't a-goin' to fight you none a-tall."
"You bet you are! I've warned you because I don't want to take advantage of you, since I've always had the run of the place. But you're jailer here. You've got to fight--or have everybody in town say you're yellow."
A dull red burned into the cheeks of the little man. "I don't aim for to let no man say that, Tex."
"That's the way to talk, Yorky. I've got no more right to take Dinsmore away than any other man." Jack was playing with his lariat. He had made a small loop at one end and with it was swinging graceful ellipses in the air. "Don't you let me do it."
Yorky was nervous, but decided. "I ain't a-goin' to," he said, and the revolver came to a businesslike position, its nose pointed straight for Roberts.
The gyrations of the rope became more active and the figures it formed more complex.
"Quit yore foolin', Tex, an' get down to cases. Dad-gum yore hide, a fellow never can tell what you honest-to-God mean."
The rope snaked forward over the revolver and settled on the wrist of the jailer. It tightened, quicker than the eye could follow. Jack jerked the lariat sideways and plunged forward. A bullet crashed into the wall of the dugout.
The cowboy's shoulder pinned the little man against the bolted door. One hand gave a quick wrench to the wrist of the right arm and the revolver clattered to the puncheon floor. The two hands of the jailer, under pressure, came together. Round them the rope wound swiftly.
"I've got you, Yorky. No use strugglin'. I don't want to start that misery in yore shoulder," warned Jack.
The little saddler, tears of mortification in his eyes, relaxed from his useless efforts. Jack had no intention of humiliating him and he proceeded casually to restore his self-respect.
"You made a good fight, Yorky,--a blamed good fight. I won out by a trick, or I never could 'a' done it. Listen, old-timer. I plumb had to play this low-down trick on you. Homer Dinsmore saved Miss Wadley from the 'Paches. He treated her like a white man an' risked his life for her. She's my friend. Do you reckon I'd ought to let him hang?"
"Whyn't you tell me all that?" complained the manhandled jailer.
"Because you're such a tender-hearted old geezer, Yorky. Like as not you would 'a' thrown open the door an' told me to take him. You had to make a fight to keep him so they couldn't say you were in cahoots with me. I'm goin' to jail for this an' I don't want comp'ny."
Jack trussed up his friend comfortably with the slack of the rope so that he could move neither hands nor feet.
From the nail upon which the two keys hung the jail-breaker selected one. He shot back the bolts of the inner door and turned the key.
CHAPTER XLIV
DINSMORE GIVES INFORMATION
The inner room was dark, and for a moment Jack stood blinking while his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom.
A voice growled a question at him. "What do you want now, Mr. Grandstander?"
"I want you."
"What for?"
"You'll find out presently. Come along."
For a moment Dinsmore did not move. Then he slouched forward. He noticed that the Ranger was not armed. Another surprise met him when he stepped into the outer room. The jailer lay on the floor bound.
The outlaw looked quickly at Roberts, a question in his eyes. Jack unlocked his handcuffs. They had been left on him because the jail was so flimsy.
"My rifle an' six-shooters are on the shelf there, Dinsmore. A horse packed with grub is waitin' outside for you. Make for the short-grass country an' cross the line about Deaf Smith County to the Staked Plains. I reckon you'll find friends on the Pecos."
"Yes?" asked Dinsmore, halfway between insolence and incredulity.
"That's my advice. You don't need to take it if you don't want to."
"Oh, it listens good to me. I'll take it all right, Mr. Ranger. There are parties in Mexico that can use me right now at a big figure. The Lincoln County War is still goin' good." The bad-man challenged Roberts with bold eyes. "But what I'm wonderin' is how much Clint Wadley paid you to throw down Cap Ellison."
The anger burned in Jack's face. "Damn you, Dinsmore, I might 'a' known you'd think somethin' like that. I'll tell you this. I quit bein' a Ranger at six o'clock this evenin', an' I haven't seen or heard from Wadley since I quarreled with him about you."
"So you're turnin' me loose because you're so fond of me. Is that it?" sneered the outlaw.
"I'll tell you just why I'm turnin' you loose, Dinsmore. It's because for twenty-four hours in yore rotten life you were a white man. When I was sleepin' on yore trail you turned to take Miss Wadley back to the A T O. When the 'Paches were burnin' the wind after you an' her, you turned to pick her up after she had fallen. When you might have lit out up the cañon an' left her alone, you stayed to almost certain death. You were there all the time to a fare-you-well. From that one good day that may take you to heaven yet, I dragged you in here with a rope around yore neck. I had to do it, because I was a Ranger. But Wadley was right when he said it wasn't human. I'm a private citizen now, an' I'm makin' that wrong right."
"You'd ought to go to Congress. You got the gift," said Dinsmore with dry irony. Five minutes earlier he had been, as Roberts said, a man with a rope around his neck. Now he was free, the wide plains before him over which to roam. He was touched, felt even a sneaking gratitude to this young fellow who was laying up trouble for himself on his account; and he was ashamed of his own emotion.
"I'll go to jail; that's where I'll go," answered Jack grimly. "But that's not the point."
"I'll say one thing, Roberts. I didn't kill Hank. One of the other boys did. It can't do him any harm to say so now," muttered Dinsmore awkwardly.
"I know. Overstreet shot him."
"That was just luck. It might have been me."
Jack looked straight and hard at him. "Will you answer me one question? Who killed Rutherford Wadley?"
"Why should I?" demanded the bad-man, his eyes as hard and steady as those of the other man.
"Because an innocent man is under a cloud. You know Tony didn't kill him. He's just been married. Come clean, Dinsmore."
"As a favor to you, because of what you're doin' for me?"
"I'm not doin' this for you, but to satisfy myself. But if you want to put it that way--"
"Steve Gurley shot Ford because he couldn't be trusted. The kid talked about betrayin' us to Ellison. If Steve hadn't shot him I would have done it."
"But not in the back," said Jack.
"No need o' that. I could 'a' gunned him any time in a fair fight. We followed him, an' before I could stop him Gurley fired."
The line-rider turned to the jailer. "You heard what he said, Yorky."
"I ain't deef," replied the little saddler with sulky dignity. His shoulder was aching and he felt very much outraged.
"Ford Wadley was a bad egg if you want to know. He deserved just what he got," Dinsmore added.
"I don't care to hear about that. Yore horse is waitin', Dinsmore. Some one might come along an' ask inconvenient whyfors. Better be movin' along."
Dinsmore buckled the belt round his waist and picked up the rifle.
"Happy days," he said, nodding toward Jack, then turned and slouched out of the door.
A moment, and there came the swift clatter of hoofs.
CHAPTER XLV
RAMONA DESERTS HER FATHER
Arthur Ridley, seated on the porch between Clint Wadley and Ramona, was annoying one and making himself popular with the other. For he was maintaining, very quietly but very steadily, that Jack Roberts had been wholly right in refusing to release Dinsmore.
"Just as soon as you lads get to be Rangers you go crazy with the heat," said the cattleman irritably. "Me, I don't go down on my ham bones for the letter of th
e law. Justice! That's what I aim for to do. I don't say you boys haven't got a right to sleep on Dinsmore's trail till you get him. That's yore duty. But out here in Texas we'd ought to do things high, wide, an' handsome. Roberts, by my way of it, should have shook Homer's hand. 'Fine! You saved 'Mona's life. Light a shuck into a chaparral pronto. In twelve hours I'm goin' to hit the trail after you again.' That's what he had ought to have said."
