by Grey, Zane
"Well, there must be something up," declared Jim, anxiously. "Listen!
That's Slinger shoutin'," rejoined Molly.
Jim did distinguish Slinger's voice, with its high ringing note, but only the sound carried so far. What meaning he could attach to the harangue he had to supply himself. But as Slinger kept on it was no great task to imagine the storm of violent backwoods profanity with which he was berating the brothers who had betrayed him.
"Just like I heahed once at a dance," said Molly, with a sigh. "There!"
She jerked spasmodically at the crack of a gun, and clapping her hands over her ears she sagged against Jim.
"Gosh!--That didn't sound like Slinger's gun!" ejaculated Jim, and all his being seemed suspended upon his hearing. Bang! "That was Slinger's," he went on, huskily, tightening an arm round Molly. Shots followed, three or four, so swiftly as to be hardly separated. Then again came the heavy boom and a volley of lighter reports. There was a pause that might have been a suspension of hostilities. Jim dared believe it was over. Then followed loud reports, a heavy one--more of the sharp rifle shots --another heavy, and quickly the boom. Silence! Smoke drifted out of the cabin, showing blue against the green pines. Hart Merriwell, who had evidently run off, appeared coming slowly back, halting, waiting, then approaching again. But there were no more shots.
"All--daid!" whispered Molly, lifting her head. She must have been able to hear the shots even with her ears covered.
"I--I'm afraid so," replied Jim, huskily. "I see Merriwell coming back... There. He's going in... Molly, I'll go, too."
"That's the end--of the Cibeque," she murmured. "Poor Arch!... He wasn't all bad."
"Stay here, Molly," admonished Jim. "I'll come back--if--" He squeezed her hand, and getting up he ran down the slope, leaped the brook, and soon reached the cabin. As he peeped peed round the post, against which he had sat not many minutes past, his hand came in contact with the place splintered by Jocelyn's bullet.
The iterior of the cabin was still smoky. Jim saw one of the men huddled in a heap. Then on the other side he espied Merriwell kneeling beside Slinger, whom he had propped up.
"Is he--alive yet?" called Jim, breathlessly, and he ran in.
"Hullo! Shore, Slinger's alive, but shot all up," replied Merriwell.
"Help me carry him out of this smoke."
They lifted the bleeding, broken body and carried it out to the shady side, where they laid it on a blanket. While Jim lifted Slinger's head Merriwell placed a saddle under it.
"Reckon you'll--cash in, Slinger, ole pard," he said, gulping. "Anythin'
I can do?"
"Where's Molly?" asked Dunn, faintly.
"She's across the brook. I'll call her," replied Jim, and he got up to go round the cabin. Molly was coming. She had seen them carry her brother out. Jim went out to meet her.
"Molly, he's alive. He asked for you." He had to run to keep up to her.
"Oh, Arch!" burst out Molly, dropping on her knees. "Are you--bad hurt?"
"Wal, Molly, I ain't hurt atall--but I reckon--I'm done fer," he said, feebly.
"Where there's life there's hope," interposed Jim, as he too knelt.
"Oh, cain't we do anythin'?" cried Molly.
"You don't happen--to have some--whisky?" replied Slinger.
"There's some here," said Jim, leaping up. "Where did I see it?... Jocelyn had it." Jim ran to the saddlebags, and procuring the flask he rushed back. Dunn took a stiff drink.
"Wal, Jim Traft, you're lucky--thet you're not layin' around heah full of bullet holes," he said, in stronger voice, not devoid of humour.
"I guess yes," said Jim, fervently.
"I was fer killin' you myself--till Molly made me--a promise."
"What promise?"
"Molly, air you goin' to keep it?"
"Yes, Arch," replied Molly, as she bent over him, her bright tears falling.
"Good! Reckon thet'll be aboot all," said Slinger, with satisfaction.
"Molly dear, tell me the promise," rejoined Jim, earnestly.
"Jim, he was shore set on killin' you. I begged him not to. An' he said he'd let you off--if I--I would make you ask me again--to marry you--an' take you up... So I promised."
Jim took Dunn's limp hand. "Slinger, she'd never have had to make me. I'd kept asking till doomsday."
"Ahuh. Then you're powerful fond of my kid sister... Wal, I cain't thank Gawd fer much--but I do fer thet."
"Oh, let's do somethin'," burst out Molly, in desperation. "Hart, where's he shot bad?"
"Lord! he's shot bad all over," declared Merriwell.
"Jim, I tell you bullet holes are nothin' to Slinger Dunn. He's not bleedin' at the lungs, because he'd be spittin' blood. This cut on his haid isn't bad. His left arm is broke. There's a hole in his right shoulder... Heah, low down is the bad one... Oh, my Heavens!--But let's tie it tight."
The practical Molly prompted the stricken men to get busy and do what was possible for the wounded one. Jim believed the gunshot in the abdomen would have killed any ordinary man. It had gone clear through. They padded that and bound it up. He had another dangerous wound in the hip, which, according to Merriwell, like the hole in his abdomen, had been made with a rifle.
While they washed and dressed his wounds, as best they could do it with limited means, Slinger talked.
"Sam throwed fust on me, when I was keepin' two eyes on Seth. An' he got me thet crack in the belly. It keeled me over, or the fight'd been short an' sweet... I nailed Sam. Then Seth showed his true colour at last. He dove fer the stall an' began shootin' from behind. He had a Colt an' a forty-four Winchester. An' he shore pumped lead into me... I sent a couple through the stall. Hit him, fer he cussed hard. But he come back at me.
Then I flopped over along the wall, where he couldn't see me onless he come out. He'd used up all his shells fer the Colt. Anyway, he didn't take risk to load, an' stuck to the rifle. Reckon thet beat him. I got to the corner by the stall--leaned over quick--an' bored him--when he was tryin' to shift the rifle round."
Beyond a slight huskiness Dunn's voice did not depart radically from a tone of ordinary conversation. There was no trace of emotion, unless the mere fact of lengthy recital of the fray was one. He had a remarkable vitality. Jim knew that in case of injury, especially from gunshots, the next perilous thing to the wound itself was the shock to the consciousness. This probably had not occurred in Dunn at all.
"Now, Merriwell, what more is to be done?" queried Jim.
"I reckon nuthin', onless he wants us to pray. How aboot it, Slinger?
"Nope," was the laconic reply. He lay still, with closed eyes, a limp and ghastly sight. Molly sat beside him, supporting his head.
"I heah hosses," suddenly spoke up Dunn, opening his eyes.
They all listened, and Jim shook his head.
"You ain't close enough to the ground. I shore heah hosses," added Dunn.
Merriwell got up to walk away from the cabin.
"Bunch of cowboys comin'," he said, excitedly. "Reckon I'd better make myself scarce."
Jim joined him. "No need to run, Merriwell. That's Curly Prentiss and some of my outfit."
"By gum! An' they've ketched Matty an' Fletch," ejaculated the other.
So it appeared to be, and presently Jim made certain of it. Curly rode down the slope, followed by Bud and Lonestar and Jackson Way, who had in tow the late fleeing members of the Cibeque.
Curly threw his bridle and made one sweep of his long leg and slid to the ground. A blue flash of keen eyes took in the situation.
"Howdy, boss! Mawnin', Miss Molly!" he said, and lifted his sombrero from his bright hair. Then he bent his gaze upon the prostrate Dunn.
"Prentiss, you're a little late in the day," said Dunn. "But I'm recommendin' you let Matty an' Fletch go. I did... It was Jocelyn an' Seth an' Sam. Take a look in the cabin."
Curly did as he was bidden, returning promptly, a queer cold look in his eyes.
"Wal, Slinger, it shore was a goo
d job. But I'm sorry they got you."
"Wal, I ain't cashed yet, an' if I do it shore won't be owin' to Seth or Jocelyn. Sam's the one who bored me. I wasn't lookin' fer it from him."
Bud Chalfack and the cowboys came riding down, to halt before the group.
"Dog-gone, Jim, if it ain't fine to see you on yore feet," said Bud, heartily. "How do, Molly!... Somebody tell me what's come off."
Whereupon Jim briefly related the circumstances leading up to the stop at this cabin, the wrangle over the conditions of the ransom, the blackguard conduct of Jocelyn, and the several fights that succeeded. If Jim emphasized anything it was the wit and courage and ferocity of Molly.
"Dog-gone me!" burst out Bud, with worshipful eyes on the girl. "Molly, I always knowed you was the sweetest an' wonder-fullest little devil in Arizonie, but now I jest haf to take off my hat to you."
And he did it, quite gallantly.
Curly's encomium was directed at Jim. "You lucky son-of-agun! To come out heah an' steal her from us!"
Slinger had missed nothing of all this. He seemed not only incredibly tenacious of life, but singularly possessed of receptive faculties.
"Wal, fellars, she's Molly Dunn of the Cibeque," he drawled.
Molly took exception to compliments on the moment. "You heartless cowpunchers! Heah's daid men all aboot an' Slinger dyin'--yet you talk an' make eyes at me. Jim, you're as bad. Curly, haven't you got some sense?"
"Molly, I'm shore beggin' your pardon," replied Curly, contritely, as he threw off his gloves and knelt by Slinger. "Tell me jest where he's shot."
Molly and Merriwell together gave him the desired information. Curly got up, decisive though grave. "Mebbe he's a chance. You cain't kill some fellars... Jack, ride to Flag an' fetch back the doctor. He can drive a buckboard clear to Cottonwood. You lead an extra saddlehoss, an' then come rustlin' across country... Holliday, you an' Bud go back to camp an' pack some of our outfit over heah. Fetch the boss's pack an' don't fergit everythin' to make Miss Molly comfortable... Boss, do you want to hold these Cibeque men heah? I reckon if we let them go they'll haid Flick off with thet ransom money. An' we shore don't want to lose thet."
"Hold them, then, till Flick comes back," replied Jim. "You and I can take turns on guard."
"Wal, Traft," spoke up Matty, "if you'd like to know, we're so darn glad the way things hey come off thet we won't need watchin'."
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Slinger Dunn sank into a pallid insensible state that Jim believed was the coma preceding death. Molly, too, succumbed to a fear that every moment would be his last. But the hours passed; the three prisoners played cards and made no trouble whatever; Curly and Jim erected a tarpaulin shelter over Dunn, and a spruce-bough bed for Molly beside him; they got supper from the coarse stores they found in Haverly's packs; the setting sun filled the forest with a mellow glory; the heavy buffeting wings of wild turkeys going to roost in the pines broke the silence. And Slinger Dunn still lived.
Night fell, and the wind moaned the threatening storm. Coyotes ranged the park and yelped a staccato whining protest at the camp fire. Weird flickering shadows played on the cabin and the improvised tent. Molly sat close to her brother, leaning against the wall, silent and watchful. The only way she could ascertain that Dunn still lived was by touch, and when his pulse grew imperceptible and his hands cold she laid her head on his breast to listen to his heart.
Jim stayed up with her, and seldom left her, except to replenish the fire and take a look at the inside of the cabin, where the prisoners slept.
Curly lay across the opening and every time Jim stepped near, though ever so noiselessly, he would awaken. The dead men had been moved to a corner of the cabin and covered with canvas.
Sometimes Jim paced up and down, finding action helpful to the surcharged condition of his mind. He never closed an eye, and seldom indeed was there an interval of any length when he was not watching Molly. In the dead of night there in that lonely forest he came to full appreciation of her sterling worth and a deep respect for the primitive life that had developed her. Many things considered by civilized people as necessary were merely superficial. Molly had the great qualities, virtue, courage, and love.
When he would approach her, as he did often, and sink down on one knee to peer at the pale Slinger, Molly would take hold of him. By the firelight he could see the big eyes, black as night, rest upon him with a glance that made him wonder how life had come to reward him so beautifully.
Towards dawn the wind ceased and, despite the overhanging clouds, the air chilled until it grew bitter cold. Jim wrapped his coat round Molly and laid his saddle blanket over Slinger. He kept the fire going, and stood close to it, burning his palms, turning from front to back.
It grew very black and still, the formidable hour before dawn when even the life of the forest seemed at lowest ebb. Slinger would go soon, Jim thought.
Molly called him. "He whispered somethin' just now," she said. "I think he called for Seth's sister. He was sweet on her... She'll hate even his memory now."
Jim sat with her then, silently awaiting the end, holding her against him. It seemed the most melancholy and poignant of all the long night hours. How welcome the first gray streaks! Something ghastly and ghostly stole away into the forest. A fine misty rain began to fall. Daylight at last with Slinger Dunn still not dead!
Curly appeared around the corner of the cabin, yawning, and stretching his lithe length.
"Mawnin', you babes in the woods," he said, and dropped beside them, to lean over Dunn. "Wal, Slinger, old man, I reckoned you'd belong where the blue flags an' the cornflowers blow."
"Curly, not yet," replied Jim. "All night we've been expecting him to die. And every moment the last hour."
"It takes so long," said Molly, sadly.
Curly placed his ear over Dunn's heart and listened.
"Wal, you both got the willies," he declared, as he rose with a glad smile. "He ain't goin' to croak."
"What!" ejaculated Jim.
"Oh, Curly!" cried Molly, in an agony of hope.
"Shore he'll live. I ain't no doctor, but I've seen a heap of fellars pass out. An' Slinger don't show no earmarks of thet this mawnin'."
Molly's little remaining strength eked out here and she collapsed in Jim's arms. He let her gently down on the bed of spruce and covered her over. "Go to sleep, honey," he said.
"Boss, it's goin' to rain," announced Curly, when indeed it was raining already. "Let's rig up another tarp heah fer Slinger... Look! Molly asleep all in a jiffy. Poor kid!... I don't see how I kin give her up to you."
"Don't you? Well, please be reasonable about it," replied Jim, dryly.
They stretched a tarpaulin over the makeshift canvas shelter. "Thet'll do fer a spell. Mebbe we kin move him into the cabin after Doc Shields looks him over... But say, boss, how aboot them stiffs in there?"
"They'll have to be buried, of course."
"Wal, the Haverlys ought to have decent burial, I s'pose, but thet Hack Jocelyn, ----, he ought to be throwed to the coyotes."
Jim followed Curly inside. He stripped the scant covering off the bodies.
It was not a pretty spectacle. Jim recoiled. But Curly viewed it differently.
"Daid centre on thet left vest pocket," he muttered, bending over Jocelyn. "Slinger's fancy shot, I've heahed say. Wal, I'm durned if I want the jasper slingin' one at me."
Jim went back to rouse the three prisoners.
"Roll out, you buckaroos, and help get breakfast."
Matty lumbered up cheerfully, and the others followed with an alacrity that presupposed a desire to please. Probably they did not hold themselves guilty of the deal hatched by the Haverlys and Jocelyn.
"Say, you Cibeque duffers," said Curly, facetiously, "I fell asleep purpose last night so you could sneak off."
"Prentiss, I'd hate to of tried it. But all we own in the world is this pack outfit," explained Matty.
"Wal, thet ain't a hell uv a lot."
; While they ate breakfast the rain ceased and blue sky showed overhead, soon to be obscured, however, by fast scudding clouds out of the south-west.
Molly slept on, and even the bells of the Diamond pack-horses ringing down the slope did not wake her. Jim did not recall ever being so glad to see cowboys as then.
"The whole night long!" sang out Bud. "The whole night long!"
"Say, Bud, if it was long for you, what do you suppose it was for Molly and me?" retorted Jim.
"I see you haven't covered Slinger's face, so he mustn't hey croaked yet," replied Bud, practically.
"Howdy, boys! Sure glad to see you," said Jim, running his eye over the group. "Where's Hump and Uphill?"
"Don't know. Cherry will tell you What he thinks, an' it ain't no cheerful news," announced Bud. "We left some uv the hosses an' packs.
Jeff is comin' somewhere back. He shore hates a saddle."
"What's up, Cherry?" queried Jim, approaching Winters, who was dismounting.
"Boss, I reckon Stevens an' Frost hey struck somethin' out at the head of Derrick. We left a note fer them to hit our trail. An' I reckon they'll be along, mebbe tonight."
Jim did not see in Cherry's words much to be worried about. But still less did he like Cherry's expression than the hint in Bud's remark.
"Well, unpack and make camp," he ordered. "If Dunn pulls through we'll have to stay here for days. Put up the little tent for Molly, if you fetched it. But first thing after you unpack bury these dead men."
One by one, Bud leading, the cowboys went up to have a look at Slinger and Molly. Strange to say, no remarks were forthcoming, which was probably owing to solicitude for the girl. Then, after the fashion of cowboys, they set to work. Jeff Davis rode down into camp, and added his efficient hands to the task.
The rain held off till early in the afternoon, when it began to fall in earnest. Molly slept on through it all, dry and snug under shelter and blanket. Slinger showed no change. The three Cibeque men had been unceremoniously moved out of the cabin, which the cowboys had thoroughly cleaned. Jim, after a short stay beside Molly and her brother, watchful to see any change in the latter, went inside the cabin to wait. There was nothing much to do now but wait.
