CHAPTER XXIV
BEFORE THE DAWN
The window through which Tom Hallaway had been shot faced the opencountry. The other two windows in the room flanked the front door.The thoughtful Laguerre had brought Loudon's rifle in with him, and thetwo men squatted down behind the windows. Their view of Main Streetwas excellent. They could see almost the whole width of the streetfrom one end of the town to the other.
Far down the street the windows of Lainey's Hotel were smoking like thegunports of an old-time line-o'-battle-ship. The men in the hotelseemed to be devoting all their attention to the Happy Heart and thehouses between it and Piney Jackson's blacksmith shop.
Directly opposite the Happy Heart was a small store from which three orfour men were directing a heavy fire at the saloon. Next to the storewere four empty corrals, and then came some twenty houses, thetwentieth opposite the sheriff's shack. Of these houses all save thethree nearest the corrals were silent. The folk in these three werecarrying on a duel: with the defenders of the Blue Pigeon Store, whosefire had slackened somewhat.
"I hope they haven't got Mike," said Loudon, and drove a bullet closeabove a window-sill of the middle house of the three. "He's a goodfellah." Another bullet nicked the window-sill. "This can't go onforever." Again a bullet shaved the window-sill. "Somethin's going'to pop some soon."
Something did pop. The firing from the Happy Heart culminated in aterrific volley, and then ceased abruptly.
"That's funny," commented Loudon. "It can't---- They're sliding out!"
Which latter remark was called forth by a sudden outburst of firingfrom the corral where Johnny and Chuck were stationed. Loudon andLaguerre ran out the back way. The former's surmise was correct.
The Happy Heart defenders had broken cover and reached the big corralbehind the saloon. Four of them were down in front of the corral gate.They would never pull trigger again. But the others, in number a scoreor more, had reached their horses and were pouring out of the gate inthe far side of the corral.
Loudon perceived that the two riders in the lead were mounted on BrownJug and the gray. These two kept together. The remaining fugitiveswisely fled separately and in many directions.
Loudon and Laguerre did not fire. The range was a long six hundredyards; too long for accurate shooting when the target is astride aracing horse. Imbued with the same idea they ran to their horses,flipped the reins over their heads, and jammed their Winchesters intothe scabbards. Both ponies were galloping at full speed when the twowere settled in their saddles.
"We can not catch dem!" cried Laguerre ten minutes later.
"We'll try, anyhow," replied Loudon, standing up in the stirrups toease his horse, and wishing that he had ridden Ranger.
Half an hour later it became obvious that pursuit was useless. BrownJug and the gray had the legs of the pursuer's horses. The sun wassetting, too. Loudon and Laguerre pulled in their panting mounts.
"Here comes Johnny an' Chuck," said Loudon.
"Could yuh tell who they was?" demanded Johnny, breathlessly.
"They kept their backs to us," Loudon replied, drily, "an' they didn'tleave any cards."
"Ain't got no manners at all," said Johnny Ramsay. "They're headin'northwest, an' they shore ought to get there. C'mon back, I'm dry."
"They was seven 88 ponies in Block's corral," said Chuck Morgan."Let's hurry. Maybe we can get the owners yet."
"If they ain't already been got," said Johnny Ramsay.
"Seven 88 ponies," repeated Loudon. "I seen 'em in the corral, but Icouldn't see the brand. Seven. That means seven o' the outfit was inFarewell, an' more'n seven, maybe. I don't believe Blakely was there.He's been mighty cautious lately. Well, anyhow, countin' seven atFarewell, there'd ought to be eight more at the four line-camps.Rudd's quit, an' Marvin is hogtied, an' Shorty Simms is dead.Accordin' to my figurin', that makes eighteen."
"Yo're well educated, Mr. Loudon," said Johnny Ramsay.
"Correct. Well, then, unless Blakely has hired a bunch o' new men,which ain't likely, then eighteen from twenty-five leaves seven."
"First class in 'rithmetic will take the front seats," remarked Chuck,solemnly. "The little boys mustn't sit with the little girls.Attention, children, an' I'll interduce our new teacher, Mr. ThomasLoudon, a well-known---- Hi! you leave my cayuse alone, Tom! I'm theonly gent he allows to spur him. Damitall, he's goin' to buck, an' I'mall het up, anyhow. Oh, ----! I knowed it!"
"Chuck ought to ride pitchers for a livin'," commented Loudon. "Ain'the graceful? Go yuh ten, Telescope, he pulls leather."
Chuck returned to them ten minutes later. He sidled his now thoroughlychastened pony in between Ramsay and Laguerre.
"I'll have nothin' more to do with that long-legged feller on the lefto' the line," Chuck announced to the world at large. "He'd just assoon break a friend's neck as not. He ain't got no feelin's whatever.'Rithmetic's done locoed him."
"As I was sayin' before I was interrupted," said Loudon, grinning,"eighteen from twenty-five leaves seven. There oughtn't to be more'nseven men at the 88 ranch house an' they won't be expectin' callers.There's four of us. What's the answer?"
"Dat ees fine," Laguerre said. "We weel geet dere before Scotty un deodders come. I say we go."
"Me, too," said Johnny Ramsay.
"But no more 'rithmetic!" Chuck Morgan cried in mock alarm. "It shoremakes my head ache, 'rithmetic does."
They swung away from Farewell and entered a long draw, dark with thepurple shadows of the twilight.
"Wasn't there nobody at all in Block's shack?" queried Johnny Ramsay,rolling a cigarette one-handed.
"Three," replied Loudon.
"Huh!" Johnny Ramsay was startled.
"Two was dead an' the third was dyin'," explained Loudon. "He cashedbefore we come out. His name was Tom Hallaway. You remember aboutCutting stealin' my hoss. Well, him an' Block turned up in Rocket, an'Cutting was ridin' a blaze-face pinto. Come to find out, the pintobelonged to a fellah named Jim Hallaway, an' Jim was found murdered.The way I figure it: Cutting knowed better'n to ride in on my hoss, sohe killed Jim an' took his pony, leavin' my hoss back in the hillssome'ers. Later he went back after Ranger, an' sloped with the pair.
"This Tom Hallaway was Jim's brother. The two dead men in the shackwas the sheriff an' Cutting. Yeah, Rufe Cutting. It'd been better forhim if he'd gone south like the sheriff said he did. Rufe was carvedup tremendous, an' Block had been plugged three times. Hallaway got'em both. Two o' the Farewell boys got him though--through the window.But they didn't live long enough to tell about it. He got them plumbcentre. Yep, four was Hallaway's tally. He shore paid 'em in full forkillin' Jim."
"Which I should say as much," murmured Chuck Morgan, admiringly. "Hewas some man!"
"An' he had to die," said Loudon. "All on account o' them measlyskunks. Well, by the time Scotty an' that crowd get through withFarewell a Sunday-school won't be in it with the town."
"Yo're whistlin'," said Johnny Ramsay.
The four pushed their mounts almost to the limit of their strength. Atthree in the morning they dismounted in a grove of singing pines. The88 ranch buildings were a bare quarter-mile distant.
They tied their horses and went forward on foot. Their plan was toenter the ranch house and take Blakely prisoner while he slept. It wasa sufficiently foolhardy proceeding, for Blakely was known to be alight sleeper. And there might be more than seven men in thebunkhouse. If the scheme miscarried, and Blakely should give thealarm---- But the four men wasted little thought on that contingency.
Silently they approached the dark blots that were the ranch buildings.Foot by foot they edged along between the two corrals.
At the blacksmith shop they halted. To the right, and fifty or sixtyyards away, was the bunkhouse. In front of them stretched the squareshape of the ranch house. Loudon sat down and pulled off his boots.The others followed his example.
"I'm goin' down to the bunkhouse first,"
Loudon whispered. "I can tellby the snores, maybe, how many we've got to count in."
Loudon slid silently toward the bunkhouse. In ten minutes he was back.
"Not a snore," he whispered. "I listened at each window. There ain'ta sound in that bunkhouse. If the boys are gone, then Blakely's gone.There's only one window open in the ranch house. I didn't hear nothin'there, either."
Leaving Johnny on guard at the back door, Loudon and the others tiptoedaround the ranch house. They leaned their rifles against the wallbeside the door and Loudon laid his hand on the latch. Slowly helifted the latch and slowly, very slowly, so that it would not creak,he pushed the door open. Once inside they halted, nerves a-stretch,and ears straining to catch the slightest sound. But there was nosound.
Loudon knew that there were three rooms, an office, and a wide hall inthe ranch house, but where Blakely was in the habit of sleeping he didnot know. While Laguerre and Chuck Morgan remained in the hall, Loudonfelt his way from room to room.
Still hearing no sound he grew bolder and struck a match. He foundhimself in the office. In company with the others he visited everyroom in turn. Each was empty. In one room the flickering matchlightrevealed a bed. The blankets were tumbled. An alarm clock hanging ona nail above the bed had stopped at half-past two.
"Blakely left yesterday, all right," said Loudon. "It takes a day an'a half for them clocks to run down. Guess he must 'a' been at Farewellafter all."
"Maybe some o'the boys got him," Chuck said, hopefully.
"No such luck."
The match went out, and Loudon scratched another, intending to light alamp.
"Put out that light!" came in a hoarse whisper from the back door."Somebody's a-comin'."
Loudon crushed the match between his fingers and hurried to the backdoor. Laguerre and Chuck crowded against him.
"Listen!" commanded Johnny Ramsay.
"Sounds like two horses," said Loudon.
"Comin' the way we come," growled Loudon.
The hoof-beats, at first a mere ripple of distant sound, grew louderrapidly.
"If they're comin' here, they'll come in the ranch house, shore," saidLoudon. "They're only two, so they must be a couple o' the 88. We'lltake 'em alive. Telescope, you an' Chuck take this door, an' Johnnyan' I'll take the front. If they come yore way bend yore guns overtheir heads. Don't shoot till yuh know who they are for shore. It'sjust possible they may be friends."
Loudon and Johnny Ramsay ran through the hall, brought in the rifles,and closed the front door. Side by side they waited. The door waspoorly hung. Through the cracks they could hear quite plainly the drumof the galloping horses' feet. Suddenly a horse neighed shrilly.
"Our hosses in the grove!" breathed Loudon. "I forgot 'em, an'----"
But the approaching horsemen did not halt. As they came closer Loudonheard one call to the other and the latter make a reply, but the wordswere unintelligible. They were still talking when they pulled up infront of the ranch-house door.
"I tell yuh I don't like that whinnerin'!" one man was insisting,angrily. "Maybe, now----"
"Gittin' scared, huh!" sneered the other. "It's just some o' ourhosses strayed. They often go over in that bunch o' pines. You takethe hosses down to the corral, Pete, an' change the saddles, an' I'llrustle us some grub an' the cartridges. Skip now!"
The speaker lifted the door latch. The door crashed open. A bootscuffed the doorsill. The heavy barrel of Loudon's six-shooter smasheddown across hat and hair with a crunch.
Even as the man dropped, Loudon, taking no chances, flung his armsaround the falling body and went down with it. Johnny Ramsay, drawinghis own conclusions as to the friendliness of the man with the horses,sprang through the doorway, his six-shooter spitting. In mid-leap hechecked and fell flat, his six-shooter flying from his hand. He was upin an instant and feeling about for his gun. Panting and swearing, forin his ears was the tuckle-tuck-tuckle-tuck of a furiously riddenhorse, he found his six-shooter at last.
"Deed you heet heem?" called Laguerre from the doorway.
"I did not," replied Johnny. "Leastwise he didn't wait to tell me. IfI hadn't tripped over somebody's feet an' lost my gun in the shuffle,I'd have got him all right. He wasn't five yards away. By the time Igot hold o' the gun he was over the hills an' far away, so far ashittin' him was concerned. He left the other sport's hoss, though."
Johnny went up to the horse, a big light-coloured animal, and flung itsdragging rein over a post near the door. The horse stood quietly, legsspread, breathing heavily.
"Hey!" bawled Loudon. "Somebody gimme a match! I can't find mine, an'I want to look at Blakely!"
"So eet ees Blakely," said Laguerre. "I deed not know."
"Shore," Loudon said, "I knowed both voices instanter. The other partywas that Paradise Bender named Pete O'Leary. Ain't anybody got amatch?"
Johnny Ramsay pulled a match out of his hat-band and scratched it. Heheld the flame above the face of the unconscious man on the floor.
"It's Blakely. No mistake about that," said Loudon in a tone of greatsatisfaction.
A guttural exclamation from Laguerre drew Loudon's eyes to thehalf-breed. Laguerre was bending forward, his eyes fixed in a terribleglare on the face of Blakely. Laguerre's lips writhed open. His teethwere bared to the gum. His countenance was a mask of relentless hate.
"Pony George!" almost whispered Laguerre. "At las'!"
The match went out.
"Gimme them matches!" exclaimed Loudon, harshly.
He went into the office, found a lamp and lit it. He carried it intothe hall and placed it on a chair. Laguerre had squatted down on hisheels. His eyes, now mere slits, were still fixed on Blakely. JohnnyRamsay and Chuck Morgan covertly watched Laguerre. They did notunderstand. Laguerre's head pivoted suddenly.
"Dat man ees mine," he said, staring at Loudon.
"Of course. Yuh don't need to say nothin' more, Telescope."
"I weel tell why. Dese odders mus' know. My frien's," the swarthyface with the terrible eyes turned toward Chuck and Johnny, "myfrien's, long tam ago, ovair eas' on de Sweetwatair, I know dees man.She was not call Blakely den. Hees name was Taylor--Pony George, deycall heem. Pony George she keel my wife, my leetle Marie. Feefteenyear I have hunt Pony George. Now I have foun' heem. Un I weel keelheem, me."
Johnny and Chuck nodded gravely. The primitive code of the brokenlands is bluntly simple. Vengeance was Laguerre's.
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