by Grey, Zane
"It's safer than waitin' here, you can gamble... An' I reckon I needn't tell you what I'll do to you--if you don't come back."
Flick threw the letter in Jocelyn's face. "Go to hell! You cain't make me do your dirty job an' insult me to boot."
But Seth and Matty quickly intervened, one to rescue the letter and the other to lead Flick aside. Between them they persuaded him.
"All right, I'll go an' do my damnedest," said Flick. "But I'm tellin' you straight, Jocelyn has busted the Cibeque."
With that he picked up his saddle, blanket, and bridle, and disappeared round the corner of the cabin. Jocelyn stood up to tilt his bottle and drain the contents. He was about to fling the empty bottle aside when he remembered something. Stalking over to Jim. he pulled him up to an erect sitting posture, rapped his head hard against the post and set the bottle upon it.
"There!" he exclaimed, with elation, and drawing his gun he flipped it in the air, catching it by the handle with great dexterity. "Anybody want to bet me?"
No one answered. Seth Haverly looked a protest he knew it would be useless to voice. Jocelyn had dominated the group. He had alienated them, but had them under his thumb. Jocelyn stepped off ten long paces and turned, his face singularly bright, to level the gun.
Jim saw that the hammer of the Colt was up. Next instant he looked into the small, black, tube-like barrel of the quivering weapon. All faculties but sight seemed to be in abeyance. And that deadly little hole suddenly belched fire. He felt a slight jar, just before the gun boomed. Particles of shattered glass fell on his head and shoulders.
"Ha! How's thet, Seth? Shot the neck off first crack!" cried the grinning devil.
"Wal, it's damn bad, if you ask me," growled Haverly. "Thet gun of yourn can be heerd fer miles."
When Jocelyn levelled it again, Jim's consciousness seemed unclamped.
Jocelyn was aiming a little lower this time. Back of the gun gleamed the eyes of a cat playing with a mouse.
Then came a rush and patter of moccasined feet. Molly flashed out. She struck up the gun so violently that it went off harmlessly in the air.
"Hey, gurl! You might get hurt," protested Jocelyn, as if he had been interrupted at a favourite sport.
"Flack Jocelyn, put away that gun," demanded Molly, furiously.
"Say, little lady, you cut quite a figger in my eyes, but you ain't givin' orders yet," drawled Jocelyn. But a keen person could have observed that here he was on uncertain ground.
"Put it away--or I'll--"
"What'll you do?" interposed Jocelyn, darkly. All the same he lowered the gun.
Seth Haverly, his brother, and their three comrades showed undisguised satisfaction at the turn of affairs. Seth, in fact, exhibited more. Molly Dunn, whatever her relation to this man or his villainy, was certainly not afraid of him.
"I'm liable to do anythin', Hack Jocelyn," she said, and she looked it.
Seth stepped out unsteadily. "Molly, you better stay back. Honest, gurl, Hack was only foolin'. He ain't really goin' to hurt. Traft."
"You're a liar, Seth," snapped Molly. "You know better. An' you're a lot more than a liar. Flick was right, only the Cibeque is busted. You let Jocelyn drive Slinger out an' now you're--"
"Shet up," ordered Jocelyn, sheathing his gun. "Molly, you're damn pretty when you're riled, but you're goin' too far. Shet your mouth now, or I'll slap it good an' hard."
"You dare touch me!" she blazed, with such passion that it affected loving Molly Jocelyn.
Jim, loving Molly so deeply, and feeling her emotion so tremendously, had an intuition of a change in her that was not wholly explained by her fears for him. She had heard intimations not intended for her. She had realized Jocelyn's perfidy--that if murder was to be averted she would have to do it. This, of course, could have roused Molly's wild spirit to any extreme. Still, there seemed to be something else. Was Molly talking to gain time? Her suppressed air of suspense, her furtive glances, were slight indeed, compared with stronger expressions, yet they did not escape Jim.
"Wal, I'll touch you a-plenty an' pronto," replied Jocelyn. And that fetched Jim's gaze back to the leader in this woodland drama. He was in time to note Jocelyn, as he espied the ring on Molly's left hand.
"Where'd you get thet ring?" demanded Jocelyn, suddenly hot. "On your third finger! An' a big sparkler!"
"None of your mix, Hack Jocelyn," retorted Molly, and she put her hands behind her back. It was then that Jim imagined he saw her look over Jocelyn or behind him.
Jim peered across the grassy open to the wooded slope. On that side the pines were scattered, as by an expert landscape gardener who wanted a beautiful open forest. And on the instant Jim sighted the flash of a dark form vanishing behind a tree trunk. It resembled what he imagined an Indian would look like, and all his being responded in a concerted shock. Had Molly seen it?
"You two-faced hussy!" ejaculated Jocelyn, dark with jealous wrath.
"Stick out your hand... Lemme see."
Molly coolly brought her hand round and extended it, fingers spread, upper side exposed, and she preened it before the exasperated cowboy. She might have been actuated by many motives, but one of them assuredly was a woman's desire to inflict pain.
"Reckoned you was hidin' thet from me," declared Jocelyn, tragically.
"You just had that idea. Why should I hide it from you--or anybody else?... It's my engagement ring."
"Engagement!" echoed Jocelyn.
"Shore... An' I may as well announce it."
"Wimmen shore air hell," muttered Jocelyn, more to himself, as if the puzzle of Molly Dunn's dual nature was beyond him. He seemed to be studying her as a species new to him, as fascinating as mysterious. And his doubt grew.
Jim took advantage of the moment to glance across the open to the slope, up and down, and to each side. He was about to believe he had been deceived, when far down to the left, at the edge of the forest, he saw something move--a shadow of a branch or the tail of a horse or--
"Molly, who gave you thet ring?" went on Jocelyn, coming to himself.
"Mister James Traft," replied Molly, blushing deeply. Even though she was playing a woman's wit against this jealous lover, she could not conceal her maidenly confusion, her pride and joy.
Jocelyn bellowed like a bull.
"Since when? How long you bin engaged to this ---- tenderfoot?"
"I reckon--since the night of the rodeo dance in Flag."
Perhaps nothing else could have shaken Jocelyn as this mortal blow to his vanity. Perhaps Molly was working on that very weakness. If so, she was taking desperate chances, and she knew it. A transformation took place in Jocelyn, not a swift one, but a gradual breaking up of illusive force, of the one vital vulnerable link in his personality, and it left him a cold, hard fiend.
As he whipped up his gun Molly stepped in front of him, to shield Jim.
"You'll have to kill me first," she declared, resolutely. Certain it was, however, that she knew he would not shoot her.
Jocelyn was in no hurry now. He had a gun in his hand. He would torture as well as slay.
Seth Haverly, however, took him as seriously menacing Molly. "My Gawd, Jocelyn--put thet down!"
"Nope. I feel too much at home with my gun stickin' out in front."
Molly seemed to Jim to be at the end of her rope. Slowly Jocelyn backed her toward where Jim sat, his head against the post, still holding the broken whisky bottle.
"Oh, Seth Haverly, but you're a rotten coward!" cried Molly. "You leave it for a girl to face this devil."
"But, Molly, devil or not, I'm in a deal with him," expostulated Seth, as if stung. "An' it ain't no call fer me to risk my hide."
"Deal, yes--a dirtier deal than you know. He's--"
"Molly Dunn," cut in Jocelyn, "shet your jaw--or it'll be too late."
"Too late! Why, you poison-tongued snake--do you think I'd believe you again?... You can kill me an' Jim--an' this yellow bunch, for all I care.
But, by God! I'm givin' you
away."
Jocelyn made a fierce reach for her. But he did not quite lose himself in the passion of the moment. He had to stand clear, to be free, to watch the Haverlys. So he dared not close in with her.
"I'm warnin' you onct more."
Molly must have kept her burning eyes on him, at bay, while she denounced him to the Cibeque.
"Seth, he cut the drift fence, even while he was workin' on the Diamond.
An' after. He aimed to get you an' Slinger blamed for that. He's double-crossed you as he did Jim. He means to take all the ransom money... To murder Jim an' lay that on to you... Oh, I know. I see through him--now... He got me up heah--by swearin' he'd save Jim's life if--if I'd give in to him. I agreed. An' then he kept at me--all night long--an' once I had--to fight him. But I--I wouldn't give in--"
"You pop-eyed cat," yelled Jocelyn, stridently. "Who wants you to give in? I'll rope you like I would a mean hawse!"
Suddenly the gun banged. Jim felt the bottle blown off his head. Molly screamed.
"Right under your arm, Molly," said Jocelyn. "How's thet fer shootin'?"
And he began to step from one side to the other, the gun extended about even with his hip.
Molly did not back away from his formidable advance. She blocked his every move, interposing her body between the gun and Jim. Then like a cat she pounced upon Jocelyn's hand, shoving it out of line. Bang! The bullet scattered dust and gravel over Jim. Both her hands and then her teeth were locked on Jocelyn's wrist.
"Leggo!" he yelled, lustily, westling to get free. But he could not free himself. With left hand he lifted Molly by her hair. He swung her clear of the ground, her weight nothing to his powerful arms. But he could not shake her grip. Blood began to drip from his wrist.
"Bite, ----!" he cursed. And, lifting her, he tried to get the gun on Jim. But as he pulled the trigger she swung desperately, spoiling his aim. The gun roared and a bullet tore splinters out of the post beside Jim's ear, and whirred away into the forest. The recoil of the heavy Colt loosened Molly's teeth, but not her hands. She screeched like a wild creature. Before Jocelyn could take advantage of this, she again buried her teeth in his wrist. He swung her aside, but she alighted on her feet.
He fought her to and fro, until they entered the cabin. Haverly and his men were caught in a trap. Like rats they ran to dodge behind the stall, yet to peep out at this extraordinary encounter.
Jocelyn took another snap shot at Jim, narrowly missing him. The shock of this explosion, right at her ear, appeared to weaken Molly, for she let go with her teeth, and her weight sagged on Jocelyn's arm. He shifted his left hand from her hair to her neck, where his long fingers shut like a vice. Yet on the instant he could not get loose. His malignant cry, however, hoarse and exulted, attested to the victory he saw. Molly could no longer move. He was lifting her, and the gun.
Jim's distended sight caught a shadow of something passing him. He could not move, even his eyes, but out of the tail of his right he saw a buckskin-clad figure that had appeared as if by magic.
"Hey, cowpuncher!" rang out the voice of Slinger Dunn.
Jocelyn jerked up his head and a fleeting consternation showed on his convulsed face. He let go of Molly's neck. And as her hands slipped loose she slid down.
Like a whipcord Jocelyn's gun leaped. But as it leaped Dunn's crashed.
Jocelyn appeared to be arrested. Then, shot through the heart, he staggered forward, with an awful look that set blankly, and plunged step by halting step, to fall clear outside of the cabin.
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
A heavy breath escaped Slinger Dunn as he removed his gaze from the twitching Jocelyn to Molly and then to the bound Traft. His battered face was scarcely recognizable, but his eyes were wide open.
"'Pears like I didn't get heah none too soon," he drawled. "Slinger!
Just--in time!" gasped Jim.
Molly sat up dazedly, her hair disordered, blood on her chin and nerveless hands. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" she moaned.
"Air you hurted. Molly?" asked Dunn.
She stared wildly. "Arch!" she cried, in recognition. "Is--he daid?"
"Wal, I reckon, onless he wears a big watch in his breast pocket."
Molly got shakily to her feet and ran unevenly to Jim, where she fell, still game, still proof against the collapse that had taken her strength.
"Cut--this--rope," she whispered, huskily, plucking at Jim's bonds.
Dunn, with a wary glance at the back of the cabin, dropped a knife in front of Molly.
"Jim--did he--hit you?" she asked, fearfully, as she freed his hands.
"No. But I sure know what a bullet sounds like... Let me have the knife... Molly!"
"I cain't heah you," she said. "His gun deafened me."
Jim severed the knotted rope and got up, lifting Molly with him, which action assured her that he was uninjured.
"Oh--thank heaven!" she cried, sinking against him. "Jim! Jim! I thought--he'd hit you."
Jim held her tight, and probably no other moment of his life could ever equal that one. Following it he became aware of Dunn sheathing his gun.
"Come out heah!" he called, and his voice was piercing enough to penetrate more than a board stall.
Seth Haverly came out first, livid of face, and Matty followed, visibly shaken, but unafraid.
"Slinger, he had us buffaloed," explained Seth.
"Who else back there?"
Sam slouched out, then Hart Merriwell, and lastly Fletch. "Where's Boyd?"
"Jocelyn sent him with a letter to old Jim Traft."
"Ahuh." Then Dunn turned to his sister.
"Molly, you was shore fightin' thet skunk, an' I needn't ask if he got the best of you. But Seth, heah, an' Sam--did they stand around an' let thet hombre bulldog you?"
The moment was critical and Molly reacted to it as might have been expected from Slinger Dunn's sister. If Jim had had the impulse to check her, he suppressed it.
"They shore did," she cried, lifting her pale face from Jim's arm. "An' what is wuss, Arch, they believed him... Believed I'd got thick with him an' come up heah, a willin' hussy... I agreed to give in to Jocelyn--if he saved Jim's life. No use lyin'--I'd have done it... But I never trusted him. I lay back there in the stall--listenin' an' watchin'. An' pretty soon I knew his game... Arch, I was 'most crazy. I prayed--an' I peeped out through a chink between the logs. An' I saw you comin' under the pines!... Oh! then I had to brace an' keep Jocelyn off his guard--till you--could get heah."
"Wal, I reckon it's aboot good fer Jim Traft thet you air Slinger Dunn's sister," drawled Dunn.
"Good and fine and wonderful," declared Jim, fervently. "I'm thanking God she is Molly Dunn of the Cibeque!"
"Thet squares you with me, Jim Trait," replied Slinger, gruffly. "Take her away from the cabin... An' wash the blood offen her."
Jim was not loath to lead Molly away, half supporting her in his arm. He lifted her across the brook, surprised and pleased to find she was a pretty heavy little chunk. He led her on, across the open grassy flat and up the first gentle slope to a pine tree, where a fragrant brown matt, and shade, invited a stop.
"This is far enough," he said, letting her down. "I'll run--back--"
"Don't leave me. There'll be a fight," she cried, clinging to him. "But only to the brook to wet my scarf... You're all bloody."
"Then hurry."
Jim made short work of the trip down to the brook, and while soaking his silken scarf he heard a loud angry protest of Haverly in the cabin, and the cold ring of Slinger's voice. He ran back to Molly. She was spitting like an angry cat.
"I bit him, Jim, I bit him! I'd have chewed him to pieces... But now it's over I'm sick--sick with the taste an' smell an' sight of his blood."
And as she spat out she did look sick.
"Never mind, darling. Your biting saved my life... My God! how wonderful you were--how I love you!" And he kissed her passionately, stained lips and chin and hands.
Evidently this treatment effectually checked he
r nausea.
"Oh--Jim--somebody'll see," she whispered.
"Who cares?--But let me scrub you good," laughed Jim, and he did scrub her mouth inside and outside, and nearly washed the skin off her chin, and likewise the little strong brown hands.
"There goes one. Slinger's let him off. Look!" said Molly.
"That's Matty," replied Jim, recognizing the tall member of Seth's outfit. He was in a hurry, and snatching up a saddle and bridle he strode off up the park, looking back over his shoulder. "He didn't seem a bad sort of fellow."
"I'm glad. Slinger is hell when he's--like you saw him... Oh, but wasn't Hack Jocelyn the dastardliest--"
"Sweetheart, don't think of him," entreated Jim.
"But he's daid! An' Slinger killed him--all on my account."
"No, not all. Some on mine, and some on his own... Honey, did you really mean you'd accepted me--when you threw it up to Jocelyn--that we were engaged?"
"Yes, Jim--but, man alive, you cain't make love to me now! I tell you Slinger will kill Seth Haverly, an' like as not Sam, too."
"I'm afraid, but I hope not," declared Jim. "All the same, Molly Dunn, while they're palavering I can make love to you."
"Funny tenderfoot from Missourie you are--I guess not," she declared.
"You're almost another Curly Prentiss."
"Thanks. You couldn't pay me a compliment that'd please me more."
"Jim, I'd have liked Curly if he hadn't the cowboys' weakness," said Molly, thoughtfully.
"And what's that?"
"Bein' too gay with a girl--the very first thing--all same like an Easterner I met once."
"Ha! Ha!--Where'd you meet him. Molly?"
"I reckon it was in Flag... Oh--Jim--" She was surrendering to his arm, when suddenly she started up. "Look! Another leavin'."
"That's the cook. Fletch, they called him," said Jim, watching the man, who lost no time in imitating Matty's example in making tracks from the cabin, burdened by his saddle.
"Hart Merriwell left, besides Seth an' Sam. Slinger will let Hart go. Now you watch."
Presently Jim espied Merriwell come out, in no great hurry, and instead of striding away he slipped round to the back of the cabin and peered through a chink.
