“Pears yo’re right, Post. I guess I gotta take Ginger for this.’
“Better guess again, marshal,’ said a quiet voice from behind, and he turned to face the speaker, Green. The Y Z man was standing easily, his hands in plain view, and a half-smile on his lips. There was no threat in his attitude and the official began to bluster.
“Look here, yu. I represent the law.’
“Glad to hear it—some o’ the marshals I’ve met up with on’y succeeded in mis-representin? it,’ Green said pleasantly.
“Mebbe they did, that ain’t nothin’ to do with me,’ said Tonk aggressively. “I’ve got the say-so in this town. Yu been runnin’ on the rope too long, an’ I tell yu, if I’d been around the day yu come, yu’d ‘a’ gone to the “cooler” ‘stead o’ the Y Z, an’ yu can stick a pin in that.’
“Yu don’t say,’ remonstrated the cowboy. “An’ what for?’
“Beatin’ up a valued citizen, that’s what for,’ said the marshal. Green laughed outright. “The said valued citizen being a tin horn gambler who is now present an’ keepin’ mighty quiet,’ he sneered.
“Never yu mind,’ snapped the officer, who had entirely missed the savage look which Pete had favoured him with. “If he’s keepin’ quiet it’s on’y because he knows I’m here—’
“To do his dirty work for him,’ interjected Green. Then in an instant he changed, the bantering in his voice vanished, his eyes narrowed to slits, and his attitude became one of alert preparedness.
“Let me tell yu somethin’ for yore own good, marshal,’ he said. “That star yo’re wearin’ ain’t bullet-proof, an’ it ain’t big enough to hide behind, as many a better man than yu has found out. Everyone who saw the shootin’ knows that it was an even break, an’ that Mex was guilty as hell, an’ showed it. I know yu got yore orders—I saw the valued citizen give ‘em to yu.’ Tonk flashed an uneasy look at the gambler, and Green grinned as he continued, “Yu shouldn’t ‘a’ done that, marshal; yo’re givin’ the game away, an’ the valued citizen ain’t a bit pleased with yu. Now gents, I’m goin’ to put a resolution to the meetin’, namely, that Ginger goes back to the Y Z with me. Will anybody kindly second that?’
“I’m pleased to,’ said Snap, his eyes twinkling.
“Thank yu, seh,’ replied the proposer gravely, and then, “Gents, it has been proposed and seconded that Ginger goes with me. I will now put it to the vote. All in favour will raise both hands—empty.’
He lifted his own as he spoke and there was a gun in each. Snap followed suit, squinting hopefully at the Double X men. There was no hesitation; the marshal was not popular, and the few who would have liked to support him realised that one false move would turn the comedy into a tragedy. Even the marshal knew it, and his hands were not the last to go skyward. Green’s sardonic glance swept the room.
“Carried unanimous,’ he said. “Ginger, I didn’t know yu was that popular.’ Then to Snap, he added, “Get him on his hoss, while I count the votes again, case I’ve missed any.’
For several minutes he stood there, guns poised ready for instant action, and a lurking devil of mirth in his eyes. When he had given Snap sufficient time he backed slowly towards the door.
“There, marshal, yu see how wrong yu was,’ he smiled. “Everybody allowed it was an even break an’ wanted Ginger let alone. Why, yu even voted for it yore own self.’
“This ain’t finishin’ here,’ snarled the officer.
“Well, well,’ drawled the puncher. “But don’t be in a hurry, marshal.’
He slid quickly through the door, slammed it behind him, and found his horse. Vaulting into the saddle, he waited. Snap and the wounded man were already on their way. A moment or two passed and then a narrow band of light showed that the door of the saloon was being opened. Green drove a bullet into the jamb at about the height of a shortish man’s head and laughed at the speed with which the bar of light vanished.
“I told yu not to be in a hurry, marshal,’ he called out, and receiving no response, added to himself, “I reckon that’ll keep ‘em tied for a while.’
Turning his horse he rode slowly and noiselessly in the wake of his friends, and soon overtook them. There was no pursuit; the opening of the saloon door had been the marshal’s last attempt to save his face, and had resulted in his nearly losing a part of it, for the answering bullet had been much nearer than Green had guessed or intended. Tonk was taking no more chances.
Chapter XII
THE news of the avenging of Bud produced a variety of sentiment at the Y Z. Ginger’s friends, naturally, approved wholeheartedly and regarded the wounded man with envy and admiration. The foreman frankly stated his opinion that the killing was a misguided piece of “damn foolishness’—that he did not believe that Mex had anything to do with the slaying of Bud, and that the only result would be a range war which would bring trouble and calamity to the Y Z. The older men, though they cared nothing for the deceased, took their cue from the foreman and were plainly pessimistic.
To Simon Petter, when he reported the matter, Blaynes was even more outspoken. He put the whole of the blame on Green, whom he accused of egging on Ginger, and hinted that he must have some hidden motive for snirring up trouble.
“He’s got the earmarks of a professional gun-slinger, an’ if he’s that, what’s he doin’ around here?’ he asked. “I’ve a hunch we oughtta give him his time.’
But Simon did not adopt the suggestion; he was conscious of a curious liking for the stranger, and at the same time, in an indefinite way, he feared him. Was his arrival at the ranch purely accidennal or was there some sinister design behind it? That was a question Simon had wrestled with several times without coming to a satisfactory solution.
“An’ now, I s’pose, we’ll have Dexter goin’ on the warpath, an’ Tonk a-comin’ round here with a warrant,’ pursued Blaynes. “Huh! that sponge,’ sneered his employer. “If I catch him onthe Y Z I’ll bake him as hard to find as water on the Staked Plain, marshal or not. As for Dexter, if he wants a fight he can have it; I ain’t eatin’ no dirt at his orders.’
The foreman looked at his boss in amazement; this was a side of him he did not know. Old the ranch-owner might be, but the spirit of the pioneer who had blazed his path into new counnry and fought to hold his place there remained.
“Why do yu reckon they tried to bump off Lunt?’ asked Simon.
“No idea—private difference, I should say,’ replied the foreman. “See here, Simon, don’t get the notion that I got any use for the Double X. Yu say the word an’ I’ll take a dozen o’ the boys an’ wipe ‘em up.’
The cattleman shook his head. “Let ‘em make the first move,’ he said. “Yu just remember what I’m tellin’ yu, if they want trouble they can have it. I ain’t none so shore that—’
He left the thought unspoken, gave Blaynes a nod of dismissal, and turned away. The foreman, on his way from the house, saw Noreen talking to Green by the corral, from which he had just led his horse, and the sight drew a snarling oath from his lips. The girl was going to visit the hurt man when she met the puncher, and there was reproach both in eyes and voice when she asked how he was.
“Ginger’s doin’ fine,’ said Green, “but I reckon he won’t never recover.’ Then noting her look of consternation, he added, “Not if yo’re goin’ to nurse him.’
She blushed a little and then retorted smilingly, “Then we must find a better nurse.’
“Shucks! I didn’t mean it that way,’ Green protested, and grinned at the neat way in which she had turned his little joke against him.
Noreen laughed too, but in an instant her face became grave again, and she asked, “Why did you let him do it?’
He had been expecting the question and his expression sobered immediately. “Ginger is a grown man, ma’am, an’ it was his business,’ he explained. “Bud was his friend, and he had it to do.’
“But surely it is the business of the law to punish a criminal,’ she protested.
Th
e law, meaning the marshal,’ said Green. “Well, yes, but yu see the law is such a powerful long time gettin’ to work that a criminal is liable to die of old age before it gets him. An’ s’pose it does get him, what happens? Why, he’s allowed to escape because the sheriff is a friend, or he gets let off by a packed jury of his “peers”—the fellers who oughtta be in the dock with him. Theoretically, the law is sound enough, but out here it’s just a farce and a man must do his own police-work. This feller was a cow-thief an’ a murderer—his life was twice forfeit, an’ I don’t see that it matters whether one man or a hundred are concerned in puttin’ him out o’ mischief.’
He spoke seriously, and she was conscious that it was not entirely with the object of justifying Ginger, but that they were his own views, and that she might expect him to act in accordance with them. As a Western girl, born and bred, a deed of violence was no new thing to her, but this one had come very close to her, and the horror was still fresh. She realised that he was right, but she would not admit it, even to herself.
“But under your system, the man who is fast with his gun can commit any number of crimes with impunity,’ she argued. “Had this man been quicker than Ginger, he would merely have added another murder to the one he was already guilty of.’
“I ain’t claimin’ the system, or that it is perfect,’ the cowpuncher replied. “Yu have to have some penalty for offences against life an’ property. An’ yu mustn’t mix up killin’ with murder, too many folks do that, an’ plenty o’ fellers get reputations as bad men who don’t deserve ‘em. There’s two sorts o’ gunmen—one who kills for the sake of it, an’ the other, who won’t pull a gun until he has to, an’ who gives his man an even break every time. No, the law of the gun may be defective an’ primitive, but without it this country wouldn’t be possible. Do yu reckon that if yore father catches a rustler with the goods he’ll hand him over to Tonk?’
The girl was silenced, if not convinced, for, knowing Simon, she did not expect that he would do any such thing. Green saved her the problem of answering his question by turning the conversation.
“Yore friend has come a-visitin’ again,’ he said, and looking towards the ranch-house she saw that Taxman and Laban had just ridden up.
“I don’t make friends so easily,’ she returned, and then, “You don’t like him?’
“Yo’re a good guesser,’ he admitted. “Shucks! We break even on that—he don’t like me, an’—’ a gleam of mirth sparkled in his eyes, “I’m worried to death about it.’
With a flourish he replaced the hat he had been holding, slid into the saddle with the ease and grace of a young panther and sent Blue racing for the plain. Noreen proceeded on her errand of mercy and spent quite a long time with the patient. She found him cheerful, the pain of his hurt being compensated for by the fact that he had avenged his friend, and he was full of admiration for the man who had saved him from the clutches of the marshal.
“All wool an’ a yard wide, that feller,’ he said enthusiastically. “I reckon he’d be a good one to tie to, Miss Norry.’
The phrase was one common enough in the locality, and indicated merely that the man to whom it was applied could be trusted, but the girl grasped that there was another meaning, and though she knew Ginger was not intending anything of the sort, she felt herself flushing.
Meanwhile, Green was pushing Blue at a good pace through the Maze. Several hours’ hard riding brought him to the spot he was aiming for, the blind canyon where the trail of the stolen cattle had melted away. Here he rode into the water and turned upstream, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the cottonwoods fringing the banks. On either side the ground sloped steeply to the frowning cliffs above. It was a peaceful scene, with the sun dappling the foliage, the piping of the birds, and the chattering of the shallow river as it raced over the stones which sought to impede its course.
The cowpuncher progressed slowly, his keen gaze searching every yard of the ground. He had covered less than a mile when the canyon narrowed and he came to a blank wall of rock which appeared to be the end of it. The foot of this was masked by a thick clump of trees into which the stream disappeared. Pushing aside the branches, which at this point almost met across the water, he forced his way through and then pulled up in astonishment.
He had come to the end of the canyon, and as he had expected, the cliff was before him. At the base of it, however, was a small natural tunnel through which the river flowed. It was a curious formation, suggesting that, in some bygone paroxysm of Nature, the rocky walls of the canyon had been flung together, welding at the top and leaving a passage for the stream at the oottom. Approaching the opening, Green saw that the tunnel was too low for a rider to pass through and that the stream appeared to occupy the whole width. A faint gleam of light appraised him that it did not extend very far.
Leading the roan, he stepped forward, cautiously sounding the depth of the water; it remained shallow, however, and the bed was firm rock, lightly covered by sand brought down by the stream. In a few moments they were emerging into daylight again, only to find the path barred by a rude pole fence. This removed, the puncher Ied his horse behind a clump of bushes and carefully scanned the scene before him; he had no wish to fall into another trap.
He saw an open valley, oval in shape, and sloping gently at first and then steeply to the rim-rock on either side. The floor was covered with good grass, and winding through the middle was the stream which had led him to the place! The valley was something over a mile in length and about half that distance in width, and was devoid of trees save on the enclosing slopes, where groups of pine and birch could be seen among the thick undergrowth. A herd of about a hundred head of cattle was feeding leisurely, and appeared to be unattended.
Green advanced, still keeping under cover along one of the slopes and leading his horse. Presently he descried a small log shack, half-hidden by trees, on the opposite side of the valley; it seemed to be untenanted.
“It shore is a dandy place for rustlin’,’ soliloquised the puncher. “First they got a desert to lose the trail on, an’ if that don’t work the trick, there’s a stream to drive the cattle along that’ll wash out every track soon as it’s made, with a tunnel nobody’d ever suspicion ‘less they come straight on it, an’ here’s a natural feedin’-ground where stock can stay hid till yu want it. Why, it’s as easy as takin’ money from a sleepin’ kid.’
He had now worked his way along the side of the valley until he was level with the grazing animals, but they were still too far away for him to distinguish the brand, and this was imperative.
“Gotta take a chance, Blue,’ he said. “Them cows may be wear-in’ honest monograms, an’ we don’t want to make a mistake.’ Riding slowly and rather away from the herd in order not to startle it, he gradually got sufficiently near to decipher the brand. “Crossed Dumb-bell,’ he muttered. “Huh, we gotta have a closer peep at that.’ The loop of his whirled rope settled over the horns of the nearest steer and the roan braced back for the jolt as the frightened beast dashed off and rolled headlong. Green sprang to the ground, and having hog-tied the steer, examined the brand at his leisure. The story was plain enough.
“Frying Pan brand with another “pan” an’ a bar through the handle,’ commented the puncher. “Pretty slick work though; in a month or so them scars will be healed over, an’ as cows don’t talk none, nobody’ll be any the wiser. I guess that settles it an’ I’d better be driftin’.’
He released the limbs of the victim and lost no time in regaining his saddle, for a steer which had been thrown is not a proposition to be enjoyably dealt with on foot. A twitch of the rope set the brute entirely free, whereupon it bellowed furiously and charged. At the same moment came the sharp report of a rifle and the venomous hum of a bullet past the puncher’s ear. He looked round and saw a couple of riders spurring down upon him from the upper end of the valley.
Green did not stay to argue. Swinging the roan so as to dodge the infuriated steer, he rode for the
tunnel, another bullet which drilled a hole in his hat leaving no doubt as to the intentions of the newcomers. He did not fear that they would overtake him, but they might cripple either his mount or himself, and so prevent the information he had gained being turned to account. The pursuers did not shoot again, being apparently under the impression that they could run him down; they may even have imagined that he was ignorant of the exit at the lower end of the valley.
Halfway to the tunnel the fugitive narrowly escaped a calamity. He had to pass a scattered part of the herd, and several of the animals, with usual bovine stupidity, suddenly decided to run right across his path. Blue was going at too great a pace for a sudden swerve, and there was but one way out of the difficulty. With a supreme effort, Green lifted the roan as they reached the running steers and the horse rose and cleared the obstacle with a magnificent leap. A shout from behind, either of rage or admiration, greeted the performance.
Two minutes later the puncher reached the end of the valley, flung himself from his horse and dragged his rifle from its scabbard under the left fender of the saddle. The pursuers were still coming on but with slackening speed, as though in doubt. From their appearance and gesticulations, the puncher opined that they were Mexicans. He and his horse were hidden in a thicket of bushes. Presently, as he expected, they pulled up and he could see them arguing. He levelled his Winchester and fired; the horse of the nearer rider sank to its knees and rolled over, sending the man in the saddle sprawling. Instantly his companion wheeled to ride away, but ere he could do so the gun spoke again and the second horse went down.
“That sets yu afoot anyways, yu coyotes,’ muttered the marksman, and without waiting further he led the roan through the tunnel again, mounted, and headed for home at the best speed the country would allow.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) Page 13
