Even if the young fellow had decided not to reply, Wayne would have known by the momentary startled expression in his eyes that he had hit a verbal bull’s-eye. His visitor looked about hastily, and then murmured: “Tomorrow.”
Wayne nodded and his smile flashed. “Thanks … for the supper.” He added the last three words quickly as a shadow slanted across the floor from the open doorway. It was Boyd.
“Has he got his grub?” demanded the big man with a heavy frown. “Yes? Well, what you goin’ to do? Stay here and watch him eat it? He’s old enough to eat alone.”
“And then some.” Wayne nodded, forestalling any reply from the young fellow. “If you were so interested in my supper, why didn’t you bring it yourself? Your man, here, just got the things on the table.”
“Yeah? Well, then, he can beat it.” Boyd signaled with a thumb for the young fellow to leave. When they were alone, he turned on Wayne, his face dark, his eyes narrowed.
“You’re getting’ away with a lot,” he shot through his teeth, “because, like you said without knowin’ you hit the nail on the head, I’ve got my orders. If I didn’t know you was goin’ to get yours, and plenty of it, I’d hand you a package myself. You’ve played a high hand over on the west range, but you’re east of the butte now, you sap, and you’re just plain dirt, see?”
“Throw your gun on the table and I’ll slap that big mouth of yours,” said Wayne.
Boyd fumed. The words he wanted to get out choked in his throat. Then, realizing the futility and foolish stupidity of his situation, he turned to the door.
“Maybe you’d rather shoot it out,” Wayne taunted, “especially since I haven’t got a gun.”
Boyd stepped out and pulled the door shut, snapping the padlock. Wayne had a feeling that he would see no more of him until Jake Barry arrived. He turned to his supper and ate a hearty meal. When he had finished, the shades of twilight had deepened so that a light was necessary. He lighted two of the candles and lay back upon the bunk to smoke.
After a time he again heard the rattle of the padlock, and, when the door swung open, he saw the third member of the trio. He was not as young as the man who had brought his supper and he had a harder look. “Had enough?” he asked gruffly as he stepped to the table.
Wayne had noticed that the man’s holster was empty, and remembered that the young fellow’s holster also had been empty. He had laid this to the probability that he had been working in the kitchen or wherever the meals had been prepared. But now he realized that Boyd was taking no chance of having a man attacked and his weapon taken from him. As a matter of fact, Wayne hadn’t thought of this, for he knew the trail would be guarded, and, in any event, he would not leave the place without his horse.
“Where’s your gun?” he asked, ignoring the other’s question.
“It’s handy enough, if I need it. Don’t worry.”
“Nice sociable bunch Jake trails with,” Wayne said pleasantly.
If he expected the man to betray any interest in this remark, he was mistaken. Gathering up the dishes, the man left without a word, and Wayne heard the padlock snap for the last time that night.
The wind moaned dolefully in the firs and stunted pines as he lay down to sleep. But the sleep that had come so easily that afternoon with the warmth of the sun about him failed to come this night. His thoughts continually reverted to Henseler and the gambler, Green, in Rainbow. He could not bring himself to believe that Henseler had not seen Hunter. He remembered the mysterious rapping on the partition of the former’s office. It could not have been Hunter who had given that signal, for he had left the resort immediately and had found Hunter in the hotel lobby. If Hunter had seen Henseler, it was possible that he had refused to meet Wayne. Green’s warning had not been idle talk. Just what Barry intended to do, now that he had him in his grasp, Wayne could only conjecture. He remembered, too, that Jack McCurdy, the foreman of the Whippoorwill, had said he would start a search for him if he wasn’t back in three days. Wayne smiled at this recollection. McCurdy would have scant chance of finding him, even if he tried. Then Wayne thought of his father’s queer instructions. And why did he want to see Hunter, who, by all indications, was mixed up with the Darling gang? He thought of Polly Arnold.
It was midnight before he slept.
Wayne woke at dawn in an altogether different frame of mind than had possessed him the night before. He got up and looked out the window until the dazzling sunlight filled the meadow. He was in a dangerous mood. Not for a moment did he feel the slightest fear about the coming of Barry. He was eager for the man’s arrival.
He whirled as the padlock rattled. The same man who had taken the dishes the night preceding brought his breakfast.
“Have a good sleep?” he asked with a grimace meant for a grin.
“Put those things on the table and cut the talk,” was Wayne’s sharp reply. “And tell Boyd I want some water to wash with.”
“Sure,” sneered the other, putting the food and coffee on the table. “Soap and a towel, too?”
“Get out before I break your neck!” Wayne stepped quickly toward the man, who retreated to the door. As he pulled it shut, Wayne laughed. “Yellow!” he exclaimed aloud. He felt that the young fellow was not altogether against him, and now, with the second man showing plainly that he was afraid of him, he decided he would have only Boyd to reckon with in event that he made a break to get away.
As he was eating breakfast, he formulated a plan to get on the outside of the cabin. It was to be the simple expedient of knocking the man out when he came for the dishes, and dashing out the door. Almost under the window outside was a stout stick. It was all he needed for an attempt to take Boyd unawares.
But the opportunity to put this plan into effect did not materialize. No one came for the empty dishes. The morning wore away to noonday with Wayne fretting and pacing the floor. Boyd had ignored his request for water, or the message had not been delivered. The afternoon slipped slowly along until the sun was low in the west. Wayne was at the window when three riders cantered into the meadow. His lips tightened as he recognized the huge form of Jake Barry in the lead.
When they rode up to the cabins, Wayne saw that Barry’s eyes were much improved. Both were discolored, but the swelling was down, so that he could see clearly. The two men with him had been in Riverdale, as Wayne quickly made out. They passed from view as they drew up at the larger cabin, and shortly afterward the horses were led past to the corral.
Within half an hour the padlock sounded its message, and the door swung open to reveal Barry’s bulk against the light. He was wearing his gun, as Wayne instantly noted. His face was bruised and swollen, but the eyes shot an unflickering flame of hatred. He stepped inside the cabin.
Wayne didn’t give him a chance to speak first. “Let’s have it,” he said curtly. “What do you want with me? You must know you’re taking a big chance, so you must be willing to take it. How’ll you have it?”
“You’re the one that’s taking chances,” said Jake in a thick voice, husky with anger. “You took your biggest one when you edged over into my territory. I suppose you thought your friend, Green, could keep you out of trouble till you had your own lay set. I’m goin’ to give you trouble, and give it to you so you can’t dance away from it.”
“All right,” said Wayne sharply, “let’s have it.”
“I just want to tell you …”
“Cut the mouth warbling,” Wayne broke in. “You haven’t got anything to tell me that I want to hear. I’m not listening to any of your bellyaching. Bring on your trouble and let’s have it over with, but I’ll tell you one thing. You can’t get away with this. Let’s have the bad news.”
Jake was boiling mad. If he had intended to postpone what he had in mind another day or two, that intention fled before the look in Wayne’s eyes and the contempt in his voice.
“All right,” he managed to get out with an oath and a vile name directed at Wayne. He stepped out the door. “Come and get it!”<
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Wayne was through the door in two bounds, but he didn’t reach Barry. As he made the open, Boyd flung himself upon him, and the two men who had accompanied Jake helped hold him.
“This way,” Barry told the men.
Holding Wayne by either arm, they followed Barry to a thin trail that entered the timber on the side of the meadow toward Devil’s Hole. Wayne walked behind Barry with a gun pressed against his back. A few beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. They were going toward the edge of the precipice, the sheer wall of rock that fell away into the Hole. Did Barry intend to throw him over? It could be done, and his body probably never would be found. He had never heard of anyone having been down in the Hole. A man could be thrown in there and he would pass out of the picture, leaving no trace as to the manner of his disappearance.
They had not gone far when they came out into an opening. The clear space was in the shape of a semicircle, with the trees about, except in the front. Before them was the awesome edge of the precipice and the void above Devil’s Hole. It was small, this open space, so small that a man could cross it in any direction in a score of steps.
The gun was withdrawn from Wayne’s back, and the men stood back, spreading out fanwise. Jake Barry was taking off his gun belt. A mean grin was on his swollen lips and his eyes were flaming with malice. Tossing the belt to one of the men, he strode toward Wayne.
But Wayne stepped quickly aside. His own eyes were darting a greenish flame. Barry intended to throw him over the cliff into the Hole. He could see it in the larger man’s eyes, in the very manner in which he walked. His intention fairly shrieked its menacing message.
Barry laughed. “Not much room to dance here, eh, boys?” he called. Then he made a lunge at Wayne.
Wayne knew the only chance he had was to get in some telling blows to Barry’s eyes for the second time. But the man was right in that there wasn’t sufficient room for anything approaching expert boxing. Barry could rush him, taking the blows as they came and, in that narrow space, succeed, more than likely, in getting a hold on him. Once in the grasp of those arms of steel, Wayne wouldn’t have the ghost of a chance.
The ruby glow of the sunset was staining the rock walls, and a pink mist seemed to float above the yawning depth of the Hole. Wayne realized he was about to fight for his life. He avoided Barry’s rush and, in doing so, stepped close to the edge of the timber. His best chance seemed on the instant to plunge into the shelter of the trees. But a hand caught him and threw him back. He staggered, and recovered just in time to sidestep another vicious rush and to take a glancing blow on the left side of his head.
“You rat!” he cried. “Six to one! Barry, you’re yellow!”
He leaped in as Barry poised for another rush. Wayne had his back to the precipice now. He wasn’t six feet from the edge. He could go over in dodging Barry’s blow or in avoiding his rush. He could wait. Barry lunged forward just as Wayne made his leap. But instead of landing a blow, or clutching Wayne, he went down on his hands and knees. For Wayne had dropped to the ground and Barry had stumbled over his body.
Wayne knew any attempt to wrestle with the big man would be folly, for Barry was more than a match for him in strength. In the instant of a mind picture he saw Jake lifting him aloft and hurling him over the cliff. He was on his feet before Barry could get up, and, as the latter rose, Wayne drove a blow behind the ear with every ounce of strength he possessed. But Barry merely shook it off and rose to his full height. But not before Wayne had succeeded in getting in a second blow. This caught Barry fully in the face, and the blood spurted. But Wayne now was away from the edge of the precipice.
Barry walked slowly around the outer ring of the clear space with Wayne in the center. The big man was recovering from the pain of Wayne’s last blow. Wayne expected to hear any minute the order for the men to close in on him. He didn’t think for a minute that Barry would continue the struggle any length of time unless he felt sure of getting his hands on him.
As he walked about, Barry slowly closed in, then, when he was opposite the rim of the Hole, he made another rush. Wayne leaped aside as Barry made a grasp near the ground, expecting his adversary would try another trick. This time, Wayne’s sidestep carried him to the trees, and he whirled on the man who reached for him, landing a straight right to the jaw. The ferocity of the blow, as powerful, almost, as Wayne could deliver, seemed to lift the man off his feet. Then he went down in a heap.
But this had taken time, and before Wayne could square away for his dash into the trees, one of the others hurled himself upon Wayne’s shoulders, sending him to his knees, almost over the man he had knocked out. As the crushing weight came down upon him again, Wayne glimpsed the butt of the gun in the holster of the man on the ground beside him. With a violent heave and twist he wrenched himself free and came to his feet with the gun in his hand.
Boyd came on the run as Wayne backed to the edge of the trees. Barry was shouting, but no one seemed to hear. Then Boyd’s right hand darted low and his gun cracked from his hip. The weapon’s report seemed long-drawn, for Wayne’s gun spoke almost at the same instant as he went down on his left knee and hand. Boyd went backward as if he had been struck with a club. He fell on his back on the grass.
Another bullet whistled past Wayne’s head as he leaped forward to meet Barry. He had the big bruiser covered, and called sharply: “Put ’em up, Barry, or down you go for keeps!”
Barry raised his hands. He had gone into the fight unarmed and, in the excitement of what had happened so swiftly, he had not secured his gun.
Wayne stepped behind him. At his rear was the edge of the yawning chasm. Just in front of him was Barry, holding his hands aloft, and beyond him the four others were grouped, all holding their guns in their hands, staring stupidly at Wayne and their helpless leader. Boyd lay still upon the grass with a bullet in his heart.
“Tell your men to drop their guns, Barry,” Wayne commanded sternly. “You were six to one against me. Now you’re five to one. I’m taking no chances. You’ll do as I tell you to do, or I’ll bore you in the drop of a hat and make it four to one and shoot it out!”
“Drop ’em,” snarled Barry.
The guns fell from the hands of the quartet in front.
“All right, you.” Wayne motioned to the young fellow who had brought his supper the night before. “Pick up those guns, one at a time, and carry ’em that way to the edge of the Hole and throw ’em over. I’ve got Jake, here, covered, and I can get the two of you if you try any kind of a trick. Stick up your paws, the rest of you!”
Wayne stepped a little to one side of Barry, where he could keep an eye on him, on the young fellow, and on the other three. He had picked the youngest member of the gang because he didn’t believe he would attempt to evade the order. In the present situation, however, none in the clearing had a chance against Wayne’s gun if he should have to open fire. The young fellow did as he had been told, carrying the guns, one by one, to the edge of the precipice and tossing them over.
“Don’t forget Boyd’s,” said Wayne grimly. “He won’t need it anymore. He has Jake’s gun, too, if I am not mistaken. Throw ’em over.”
Wayne was not forgetting the rifle Boyd had carried at the time of the capture, or the probability that there were more guns in the large cabin. But he didn’t intend to let any of the gang reach the large cabin. As the young fellow threw the last gun away and returned to his place in line with the others in front of Barry, with his hands elevated, Wayne spoke again. His words were crisp, the tone icy: “Barry, you’re still five to one, due to what common sense you’ve got. I’m going to herd you into the cabin where you had me penned up. Those four men out there are going to walk single file ahead. You’re going to walk just in front of me. If any of ’em makes a break, I’ll drill you and take my chances. I’ve got too much at stake and the odds are too big against me. I’m going out of here, one way or the other. By the trail or on the road to kingdom come. If I have to take the road, I’ll take you wi
th me! Now, you tell ’em.”
Barry gulped. “Accidents’ll happen,” he said hoarsely. “Go ahead as he says, you fellows.”
As Wayne stepped behind Barry, there came a startling interruption. A tall man, with the lower part of his face covered by a black silk handkerchief, stepped out from the entrance to the trail. His gun was in his holster, but Wayne had leaped from behind Barry to cover him at first sight.
The mysterious newcomer held up a hand and stepped to one side of the trail. “March!” he said curtly to the gaping five. Then he leisurely drew his gun, without looking at Wayne, and backed along the trail ahead of the men, covering them from the front.
Chapter Ten
Barry and his four companions marched slowly through the aisle in the forest with the mysterious stranger ahead and Wayne bringing up the rear. The latter could not imagine who had come to his rescue. The masked man was about Jack McCurdy’s build, but Wayne knew it was not Jack. There were certain characteristics he would have recognized in the Whippoorwill foreman, and the latter’s eyes were dark, not a cold gray such as those that looked out over the black handkerchief. The man wore a black sateen shirt. These were seldom, if ever, worn by the WP outfit. Wayne was more than partly inclined to believe that this was a ruse. But if the man was one of Barry’s crowd, he could have shot from the trail, and have wounded Wayne, if he didn’t want to kill him.
When they came into the meadow, the stranger stepped aside, sheathing his gun, and looked askance at Wayne.
“Into the small cabin,” Wayne ordered.
The stranger fell in with him as he followed the men to the cabin. When the four ahead of Barry were inside, the masked man drew Barry aside with a jerk, and pulled the door shut.
“Keep him covered,” he said sharply to Wayne as he snapped the padlock. But as he turned, Barry, who had watched him closely from the start, pulled down the handkerchief with a lightning move. Barry laughed derisively and Wayne was too startled to move or say a word. The man before him was Jim Hunter, smilingly untying the handkerchief at the back of his neck.
Rainbow Range Page 7
