The ascent was so steep that the last bit had to be done on all fours. It was a rock face, though by no means an impossible one, since projecting ledges and knobs offered a foothold all the way. From the summit, the trail edged its way down so precipitously that twice fallen pines had to be used as ladders for the descent.
As soon as they were off the rocks, the big blonde gave the signal for silence. "Ay bane t'ink we might meet up weeth some one," he whispered, and urged Steve to follow him as closely as possible.
It was half an hour later that Sig pointed out a small clearing ahead of them. "Cabin's right oop on the edge of the aspens. See it?"
The ranger nodded assent.
"Ay bane go down first an' see how t'ings look."
When the Norwegian entered the cabin, he saw two men seated at a table, playing seven up. The one facing him was Tommie, the cook; the other was an awkward heavy-set fellow, whom he knew for the man he wanted, even before the scarred, villainous face was twisted toward him.
Struve leaped instantly to his feet, overturning his chair in his haste. He had not met the big Norseman since the night he had attempted to hang Fraser.
"Ay bane not shoot yuh now," Siegfried told him.
"Right sure of that, are you?" the convict snarled, his hand on his weapon. "If you've got any doubts, now's the time to air them, and we'll settle this thing right now."
"Ay bane not shoot, Ay tell you."
Tommie, who had ducked beneath the table at the prospect of trouble, now cautiously emerged.
"I ain't lost any pills from either of your guns, gents," he explained, with a face so laughably and frankly frightened that both of the others smiled.
"Have a drink, Siegfried," suggested Struve, by way of sealing the treaty. "Tommie, get out that bottle."
"Ay bane t'ink Ay look to my horse first," the Norwegian answered, and immediately left by way of the back door not three minutes before Jed Briscoe entered by the front one.
Jed shut the door behind him and looked at the convict.
"Well?" he demanded.
Struve faced him sullenly, without answering.
"Tommie, vamos," hinted Briscoe gently, and as soon as the cook had disappeared, he repeated his monosyllable: "Well?"
"It didn't come off," muttered the other sulkily.
"Just what I expected. Why not?"
Struve broke into a string of furious oaths. "Because I missed him— missed him twice, when he was standing there naked before me. He was coming down to the creek to take a bath, and I waited till he was close. I had a sure bead on him, and he dived just as I fired. I got another chance, when he was running across, farther down, and, by thunder, I missed again."
Jed laughed, and the sound of it was sinister.
"Couldn't hit the side of a house, could you? You're nothing but a cheap skate, a tin-horn gambler, run down at the heels. All right. I'm through with you. Lieutenant Fraser, from Texas, can come along and collect whenever he likes. I'll not protect a false alarm like you any longer."
Struve looked at him, as a cornered wolf might have done. "What will you do?"
"I'll give you up to him. I'll tell him to come in and get you. I'll show him the way in, you white-livered cur!" bullied the cattleman, giving way to one of his rages.
"You'd better not," snarled the convict. "Not if you want to live."
As they stood facing each other in a panting fury the door opened, to let in Siegfried and the ranger.
Jed's rage against Struve died on the spot. He saw his enemy, the ranger, before him, and leaped to the conclusion that he had come to this hidden retreat to run him down for the Squaw Creek murders. Instantly, his hand swept to the hilt of his revolver.
That motion sealed his doom. For Struve knew that Siegfried had brought the ranger to capture him, and suspected in the same flash that Briscoe was in on the betrayal. Had not the man as good as told him so, not thirty seconds before? He supposed that Jed was drawing to kill or cover him, and, like a flash of lightning, unscabbarded and fired.
"You infernal Judas, I'll get you anyhow," he cried.
Jed dropped his weapon, and reeled back against the wall, where he hung for a moment, while the convict pumped a second and a third bullet into his body. Briscoe was dead before Fraser could leap forward and throw his arms round the man who had killed him.
Between them, they flung Struve to the ground, and disarmed him. The convict's head had struck as he went down, and it was not for some little time that he recovered fully from his daze. When he did his hands were tied behind him.
"I didn't go for to kill him," he whimpered, now thoroughly frightened at what he had done. "You both saw it, gentlemen. You did, lieutenant. So did you, Sig. It was self-defense. He drew on me. I didn't go to do it."
Fraser was examining the dead man's wounds. He looked up, and said to his friend: "Nothing to do for him, Sig. He's gone."
"I tell you, I didn't mean to do it," pleaded Struve. "Why, lieutenant, that man has been trying to get me to ambush you for weeks. I'll swear it." The convict was in a panic of terror, ready to curry favor with the man whom he held his deadliest enemy. "Yes, lieutenant, ever since you came here. He's been egging me on to kill you."
"And you tried it three times?"
"No, sir." He pointed vindictively at the dead man, lying face up on the floor. "It was him that ambushed you this morning. I hadn't a thing to do with it."
"Don't lie, you coward."
They carried the body to the next room and put it on a bed. Tommie was dispatched on a fast horse for help.
Late in the afternoon he brought back with him Doctor Lee, and half an hour after sunset Yorky and Slim galloped up. They were for settling the matter out of hand by stringing the convict Struve up to the nearest pine, but they found the ranger so very much on the spot that they reconsidered.
"He's my prisoner, gentlemen. I came in here and took him— that is, with the help of my friend Siegfried. I reckon if you mill it over a spell, you'll find you don't want him half as bad as we do," he said mildly.
"What's the matter with all of us going in on this thing, lieutenant?" proposed Yorky.
"I never did see such a fellow for necktie parties as you are, Yorky. Not three weeks ago, you was invitin' me to be chief mourner at one of your little affairs, and your friend Johnson was to be master of ceremonies. Now you've got the parts reversed. No, I reckon we'll have to disappoint you this trip."
"What are you going to do with him?" asked Yorky, with plain dissatisfaction.
"I'm going to take him down to Gimlet Butte. Arizona and Wyoming and Texas will have to scrap it out for him there." "When, you get him there," Yorky said significantly.
"Yes, when I get him there," answered the Texan blandly, carefully oblivious of the other's implication.
The moon was beginning to show itself over a hill before the Texan and Siegfried took the road with their captive. Fraser had carelessly let drop a remark to the effect that they would spend the night at the Dillon ranch.
His watch showed eleven o'clock before they reached the ranch, but he pushed on without turning in and did not stop until they came to the Howard place.
They roused Alec from sleep, and he cooked them a post-midnight supper, after which he saddled his cow pony, buckled on his belt, and took down his old rifle from the rack.
"I'll jog along with you lads and see the fun," he said.
Their prisoner had not eaten. The best he could do was to gulp down some coffee, for he was in a nervous chill of apprehension. Every gust of wind seemed to carry to him the patter of pursuit. The hooting of an owl sent a tremor through him.
"Don't you reckon we had better hurry?" he had asked with dry lips more than once, while the others were eating.
He asked it again as they were setting off.
Howard looked him over with rising disgust, without answering. Presently, he remarked, apropos of nothing: "Are all your Texas wolves coyotes, Steve?"
He would have liked
to know at least that it was a man whose life he was protecting, even though the fellow was also a villain. But this crumb of satisfaction was denied him.
CHAPTER XVII
ON THE ROAD TO GIMLET BUTTE
"We'll go out by the river way," said Howard tentatively. "Eh, what think, Sig? It's longer, but Yorky will be expecting us to take the short cut over the pass."
The Norwegian agreed. "It bane von chance, anyhow."
By unfrequented trails they traversed the valley till they reached the cañon down which poured Squaw Creek on its way to the outside world. A road ran alongside this for a mile or two, but disappeared into the stream when the gulch narrowed. The first faint streaks of gray dawn were lightening the sky enough for Fraser to see this. He was riding in advance, and commented upon it to Siegfried, who rode with him.
The Norwegian laughed. "Ay bane t'ink we do some wadin'."
They swung off to the right, and a little later splashed through the water for a few minutes and came out into a spreading valley beyond the sheer walls of the retreat they had left. Taking the road again, they traveled faster than they had been able to do before.
"Who left the valley yesterday for Gimlet Butte, Sig?" Howard asked, after it was light enough to see. "I notice tracks of two horses."
"Ay bane vondering. Ay t'ink mebbe West over——"
"I reckon not. This ain't the track of his big bay. Must 'a' been yesterday, too, because it rained the night before."
For some hours they could see occasionally the tracks of the two horses, but eventually lost them where two trails forked.
"Taking the Sweetwater cutout to the Butte, I reckon," Howard surmised.
They traveled all day, except for a stop about ten o'clock for breakfast, and another late in the afternoon, to rest the horses. At night, they put up at a ranch house, and were in the saddle again early in the morning. Before noon, they struck a telephone line, and Fraser called up Brandt at a ranch.
"Hello! This Sheriff Brandt? Lieutenant Fraser, of the Texas Rangers, is talking. I'm on my way to town with a prisoner. We're at Christy's, now. There will, perhaps, be an attempt to take him from us. I'll explain the circumstances later. ... Yes.... Yes.... We can hold him, I think, but there may be trouble.... Yes, that's it. We have no legal right to detain him, I suppose.... That's what I was going to suggest. Better send about four men to meet us. We'll come in on the Blasted Pine road. About nine to-night, I should think."
As they rode easily along the dusty road, the Texan explained his plan to his friends.
"We don't want any trouble with Yorky's crowd. We ain't any of us deputies, and my commission doesn't run in Wyoming, of course. My notion is to lie low in the hills two or three hours this afternoon, and give Brandt a chance to send his men out to meet us. The responsibility will be on them, and we can be sworn in as deputies, too,"
They rested in a grassy draw, about fifteen miles from town, and took the trail again shortly after dark. It was an hour later that Fraser, who had an extraordinary quick ear, heard the sound of men riding toward them. He drew his party quickly into the shadows of the hills, a little distance from the road.
They could hear voices of the advancing party, and presently could make out words.
"I tell you, they've got to come in on this road, Slim," one of the men was saying dogmatically. "We're bound to meet up with them. That's all there is to it."
"Yorky," whispered Howard, in the ranger's ear.
They rode past in pairs, six of them in all. As chance would have it, Siegfried's pony, perhaps recognizing a friend among those passing, nickered shrilly its greeting. Instantly, the riders drew up.
"Where did that come from?" Yorky asked, in a low voice.
"From over to the right. I see men there now See! Up against that hill." Slim pointed toward the group in the shadow.
Yorky hailed them. "That you, Sig?"
"Yuh bane von good guesser," answered the Norwegian.
"How many of you are there?"
"Four, Yorky," Fraser replied.
"There are six of us. We've got you outnumbered, boys."
Very faintly there came to the lieutenant the beat of horses' feet. He sparred for time.
"What do you want, Yorky?"
"You know what we want. That murderer you've got there— that's what we want."
"We're taking him in to be tried, Yorky. Justice will be done to him."
"Not at Gimlet Butte it won't. No jury will convict him for killing Jed Briscoe, from Lost Valley. We're going to hang him, right now."
"You'll have to fight for him, my friend, and before you do that I want you to understand the facts."
"We understand all the facts we need to, right now."
The lieutenant rode forward alone. He knew that soon they too would hear the rhythmic beat of the advancing posse.
"We've got all night to settle this, boys. Let's do what is fair and square. That's all I ask."
"Now you're shouting, lieutenant. That's all we ask."
"It depends on what you mean by fair and square," another one spoke up.
The ranger nodded amiably at him. "That you, Harris? Well, let's look at the facts right. Here's Lost Valley, that's had a bad name ever since it was inhabited. Far as I can make out its settlers are honest men, regarded outside as miscreants. Just as folks were beginning to forget it, comes the Squaw Creek raid. Now, I'm not going into that, and I'm not going to say a word against the man that lies dead up in the hills. But I'll say this: His death solves a problem for a good many of the boys up there. I'm going to make it my business to see that the facts are known right down in Gimlet Butte. I'm going to lift the blame from the boys that were present, and couldn't help what happened."
Yorky was impressed, but suspicion was not yet banished from his mind. "You seem to know a lot about it, lieutenant."
"No use discussing that, Yorky. I know what I know. Here's the great big point: If you lynch the man that shot Jed, the word will go out that the valley is still a nest of lawless outlaws. The story will be that the Squaw Creek raiders and their friends did it. Just as the situation is clearing up nicely, you'll make it a hundred times worse by seeming to indorse what Jed did on Squaw Creek."
"By thunder, that's right," Harris blurted.
Fraser spoke again. "Listen, boys. Do you hear horses galloping? That is Sheriff Brandt's deputies, coming to our assistance. You've lost the game, but you can save your faces yet. Join us, and kelp escort the prisoner to town. Nobody need know why you came out. We'll put it that it was to guard against a lynching."
The men looked at each other sheepishly. They had been outwitted, and in their hearts were glad of it. Harris turned to the ranger with a laugh. "You're a good one, Fraser. Kept us here talking, while your reënforcements came up. Well, boys, I reckon we better join the Sunday-school class."
So it happened that when Sheriff Brandt and his men came up they found the mountain folk united. He was surprised at the size of the force with the Texan.
"You're certainly of a cautious disposition, lieutenant. With eight men to help you, I shouldn't have figured you needed my posse," he remarked.
"It gives you the credit of bringing in the prisoner, sheriff," Steve told him unblushingly, voicing the first explanation that came to his mind.
CHAPTER XVIII
A WITNESS IN REBUTTAL
Two hours later, Lieutenant Fraser was closeted with Brandt and Hilliard. He told them his story— or as much of it as he deemed necessary. The prosecuting attorney heard him to an end before he gave a short, skeptical laugh.
"It doesn't seem to me you've quite lived up to your reputation, lieutenant," he commented.
"I wasn't trying to," retorted Steve.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I have told you how I got into the valley. I couldn't go in there and betray my friends."
Hilliard wagged his fat forefinger. "How about betraying our trust? How about throwing us down? We let you escape, after you
had given us your word to do this job, didn't we?"
"Yes. I had to throw you down. There wasn't any other way."
"You tell a pretty fishy story, lieutenant. It doesn't stand to reason that one man did all the mischief on that Squaw Creek raid."
"It is true. Not a shadow of a doubt of it. I'll bring you three witnesses, if you'll agree to hold them guiltless."
"And I suppose I'm to agree to hold you guiltless of Faulkner's death, too?" the lawyer demanded.
"I didn't say that. I'm here, Mr. Hilliard, to deliver my person, because I can't stand by the terms of our agreement. I think I've been fair with you."
Hilliard looked at Brandt, with twinkling eyes. It struck Fraser that they had between them some joke in which he was not a sharer.
"You're willing to assume full responsibility for the death of Faulkner, are you? Ready to plead guilty, eh?"
Fraser laughed. "Just a moment. I didn't say that. What I said was that I'm here to stand my trial. It's up to you to prove me guilty."
"But, in point of fact, you practically admit it."
"In point of fact, I would prefer not to say so. Prove it, if you can."
"I have witnesses here, ready to swear to the truth, lieutenant."
"Aren't your witnesses prejudiced a little?"
"Maybe." The smile on Hilliard's fat face broadened. "Two of them are right here. Suppose we find out."
He stepped to the door of the inner office, and opened it. From the room emerged Dillon and his daughter. The Texan looked at Arlie in blank amazement.
"This young lady says she was present, lieutenant, and knows who fired the shot that killed Faulkner."
The ranger saw only Arlie. His gaze was full of deep reproach. "You came down here to save me," he said, in the manner of one stating a fact.
"Why shouldn't I? Ought I to have let you suffer for me? Did you think I was so base?"
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