CHAPTER XVIII
THE IMMORTAL TEN
Jimmie Welsh threw his hand into the discard and grinned sheepishly.
"Yuh got me this time," he said.
Billy Speaker, who held a full house, kings up, smiled pleasantly.
"I allow yuh'll have to put yore gun in the next pot if you want to stickalong," he said. "An' if yuh do I'll win it off yuh and get away fromhere."
"No," said Jimmie regretfully, "if it was any other time I might resk it,but not now."
Red Tarken, who had been shuffling the single greasy pack of cards, beganto deal. In the game beside these three were two more sheepmen and anothercattle-raiser.
The six sat in the shade of a huge bowlder that had broken off and rolleddown the side of the red scoria butte. The game had been going on forhours, and captors and captives alike played with all the cowboys' ferventlove of gambling. Tarken, Speaker, and their companion were free to moveas they liked, but were on parole not to try to overpower theirguardians.
Others of the eleven owners sat about in the shade of rocks, playingcards, or talking and doing their best to pass away the time. It was astrange gathering. Only one man remained sitting by himself with bent headand his hands bound behind him. This was Beef Bissell, the cattle-king,who had steadfastly refused to give his word to remain peaceable, andfumed his life away hour after hour with vain threats and recriminations.
At either end of the small inclosure that backed against the butte, twomen with Winchesters in their hands bestrode motionless horses.
This perpetual guard, kept night and day, though invisible from all butone small point, was the only sign that there was anything but thekindliest relations among all the members of the party.
When the cowmen had found that no personal harm was to be done them, allbut Bissell and one other had resigned themselves to making the best of alaughably humiliating situation. It was Billy Speaker himself who hadsuggested the idea of the paroles, and as Jimmie Welsh knew the word of aWesterner was as good as his bond, the pact was soon consummated.
It was a remarkable formation in a desolate spot that the sheepmen hadtaken for a prison. It is a common fact that on many of these high buttesand mesas the pitiless weather of ages has chiseled figures, faces, andforms which, in their monstrous grotesquery, suggest the discarded claymodelings of a half-witted giant.
This place was a kind of indentation in the side of a precipitous butte,above which the cliff (if it may be so called) arched over part way like acanopy. The floor was of rock and lower than the plain, but over it werescattered huge blocks of stone that had fallen from above. Other stoneshad, in the course of time, made a sort of breastwork about this levelflooring so that the retreat was both a refuge and a defense.
Better even than its construction was its situation. This particular spotwas a corner of real "bad lands," and lumpy ridges, hogbacks, and barrenbuttes arose on all sides like waves in a sea. So numerous were they thatunless riders passed directly by the sheepmen's hiding place the chancesof discovery were almost nil. At one spot only was it visible, and thatwas a place where the edges of two hogbacks failed to lap and hide it.
The sheepmen were aware of this, and their two guards were placed out ofrange of that single opening. The distance to it was almost half a mile.
The game of poker went on. Billy Speaker sat with his back to thisopening, and after a while, in the natural progress of things, the suncrept over the top of the rock and smote him. It was a hot sun, althoughit was declining, and presently Billy gave warning that he was about totake off his coat.
When he did so without an alarming display of hidden weapons, the fancysuspenders he wore came in for considerable attention. Now cowmen orcowboys almost never wore braces; either their trousers were tight enoughat the waist to stay up, or they wore a leather strap to hold them.Suspenders hampered an active man.
But Billy Speaker, who had originally come from Connecticut fifteen yearsago, wore these braces and treasured them because his mother had givenmuch light from her aging eyes and many stitches from her faltering needleto the embroidery that traveled up and down both shoulder straps. She hadembroidered everything he could wear time and again, and at last hadfallen back on the braces as something new.
After free and highly critical comment regarding this particular aid topropriety, the game was permitted to go on. It happened to be BillySpeaker's lucky day, and he had nearly cleaned the entire six of all theirmoney and part of their outfits. In the exhilaration of raking in hisgains he moved about really lively, forgetful of the brilliantly polishednickel-plated buckles that decorated his shoulder-blades and denoted theheight to which his nether garment had been hoisted.
Out in the bad lands a troop of horsemen moved slowly forward, detachedbodies scouring the innumerable hogbacks for signs of their prey. Therewere a few more than a hundred in this body, and it represented the pickof ten ranches. At the head of it rode a stolid, heavy-faced man, whoappeared as though he were in constant need of a shave, and whose featuresjust now were drawn down into a scowl of thought and perplexity.
This man's body remained quite motionless as his horse plodded on withhanging head, but his small black eyes darted from side to sideceaselessly.
It was in one of these quick glances that he experienced a blinding flashupon his retina. A second later it occurred again, and then a third time.Suspiciously the man drew his horse to a stand, and those behind him didlikewise.
Stelton thought for a moment that there must have been an outbreak fromthe near-by Wind River or Shoshone Reservation, and that the Indians wereheliographing to one another. Presently, in an open space between theedges of two buttes he caught the flash close to the ground.
It probably was a tin can left by a herder--they often flashed thatway--but he would prove it before he went on. He took from their case thepair of field-glasses that swung from his shoulder and raised them to hiseyes.
What he saw caused him to swear excitedly and order the company to backout of sight.
At the same instant Jimmie Welsh, holding a straight flush, looked uptriumphantly at Billy Speaker who had just raised him. He looked overBilly's shoulder and the smile froze on his face. He continued to look,and the cards dropped one by one out of his hand. Then his face becamestern and he jumped to his feet.
"No more of this," he ordered. "We're discovered. You fellows get back outof sight," he added to the cowmen. "Here, Harry, Bill, Chuck, searchthese fellers again an' see they ain't got nothin' in their shoes."
"What ails yuh, Jimmie? Are yuh locoed?" asked a man who had notunderstood the sudden change in Welsh.
"I plenty wish I was," came the reply, "but I ain't. We've beendiscovered, an' we've got to fight. I don't know how many there was in theother party, but I 'low we ain't in it noways. Red an' Plug, you take yorehorses round the butte to where the others are tethered, an' help Jimmieand Newt bring in them casks o' water. They ought to be back from thespring by this time. Tip, Lem, and Jack, help me put our friends here inthe most-sheltered places."
In a moment the camp that had been sleepy and placid was bustling with asilent, grim activity. From secret places men produced Winchesters,revolvers, and knives, if they carried them. In half an hour all the foodhad been brought in, and the casks of water laboriously filled at abrackish pool five miles away.
"That flush excited yuh so you seen a mirage, Jimmie," bantered Speaker,whose ready wit and genial manner had won their way into the sheepman'saffection.
"I hope so," was the curt response. But Welsh had seen no mirage, and hewas aware of the fact, knowing that a council of war was delaying theaction of the other party.
His chief concern was the disposal of his prisoners. Excepting for thefirst line of breastworks, the only protection in the flat area of thecamp was derived from the masses of stone that had fallen into it, andbehind which one or two men could hide. At last it was decided that theprisoners, unarmed as they were, should lie down behind the wall out ofdanger's way, while th
e sheepmen should take their chances behind therocks. Another reason for this was, that it would never do to have theprisoners behind the men who were doing the fighting, ready to attack fromthe rear at first chance.
Each man had fifty rounds of ammunition, and was a fairly good shot, not,of course, equaling the cowboys in this respect. The prisoners had hardlybeen placed when, from behind a neighboring hogback, rode a man waving awhite handkerchief.
Welsh stepped out of the camp and drove him back before he could talk,realizing the fellow's clever idea of spying on the defenders' position.
The cowboy had little to say except to demand the immediate surrender ofthe cattle-owners and the delivery up to court martial of half thesheepmen. Jimmie laughed in the messenger's face, and told him to tellwhoever was boss of that outfit to come and take anything he wanted, andto come well heeled.
Then he went back to the rocky camp and stood his men up in a row.
"We got to keep our guests another week yet, boys," he said. "Mr. Larkinwon't be up the range till that time, and our job is to keep them cowboysoccupied so as to hold the range open for the sheep. Now anybody whatdon't want to take chances with lead can go from here now and get hung bythe punchers. If there's many of 'em I allow we won't see Montana ag'intill we're angels; if there ain't, they won't see the Bar T. Now that'sthe story. One other thing.
"Our guests are out in front. If yuh see any of 'em actin' funny or tryin'to get away, put a hole in 'em an' end that right off. Hear that, boys?"he yelled to the cowmen who were on the ground behind the defense.
"Yep," they shouted, and continued to chaff one another unmercifully inthe greatest good-humor.
The old story states that the Spartans prepared for the battle ofThermopylae by oiling their bodies and brushing their hair, much to thesurprise of the Persians, who were forever wailing to their gods. Thisstory has come down to us to illustrate solid, supreme courage in the faceof certain death.
No less inspiring, though in a different way, was the preparation ofJimmie Welsh and his nine sheepmen. They cracked jokes on the situation,reminded one another of certain private weaknesses under fire, recalledfamous range yarns, and enumerated the several hundred things that weregoing to happen to the enemy during the next few hours.
In all this banter the cowmen joined with their own well-flavored wit.
These facts have been given to show the natures of these men who made theWest; who carved, unasked, an empire for the profit of us who live now,and who, in a space of less than forty years, practically passed from theface of the earth. Trained by their environment, they finally conquered itand left it to a more-civilized if softer generation.
At four o'clock of that afternoon came the first attack.
Stelton and his men were under a great disadvantage. In front of thesheepmen's defense was a little plain some three hundred yards acrosswhich was bare of any protection. The canopy of rock that overshadowed thecamp prevented attack from above or behind. There was nothing for it butan onslaught in the face of a deadly fire.
Suddenly from around the butte that faced the camp poured the charge ofthe cowboys. Instantly they scattered wide, adopting the circling Indianmode of attack. On they raced to a distance of a hundred, then fiftyyards.
Then, as though by preconcerted word, the Winchesters of both partiesspoke, and the cowboys, turning at a sharp angle, galloped off out ofrange with one riderless horse, and two men, clinging, desperatelywounded, to their pommels.
Jack Norton, one of the sheepmen, who had exposed himself for a bettershot, dropped dead where he stood.
Now there was no word spoken. The helpless cowmen huddled against the wallwhile the hail of bullets swept over them in both directions, cursedsoftly to themselves, and smoked cigarettes. The punchers, having learnedthe lay of the land, drew off for consultation. Half of them weredispatched around the butte that protected the defenders and the plan ofattack was changed.
On signal, the parties from both sides charged along the face of the buttetoward each other, this movement being calculated to bring them out closeto the enclosure without the danger of an attack in front, and at the sametime give them the chance to fire upon the sheepmen from a destructiveangle at either side.
The maneuver resulted in concentrating the fire within a zone oftwenty-five yards, and it was fire so murderous that, before the cowboyscould get out of range, ten were dead or wounded, while two of thesheepmen were killed outright and a third was disabled and rolled out intothe sun to writhe in agony until his pal ran from cover and dragged himback.
The result was now a foregone conclusion, for the cowboys had solved thedifficult problem of attack. Mushrooming out on either side at a distanceof three hundred yards, they formed again in the shelter on either sideand charged once more.
The wounded man, hearing the drumming of hoofs, seized his revolver,rolled out into the sun, and sat up on the ground. And from this positionhe emptied his gun at the yelling cowboys until another shot put him outof his misery.
More cowboys fell, and now, in front of the stone breastworks, a dozenbodies lay, some twitching, and others still. The number of the defenderswas reduced to five capable of holding and using a weapon, for suchmarksmen were the punchers that, if they did not kill outright, theirbullets inflicted mortal wounds.
Jimmie Welsh was undisturbed and unhurt. He and Newt were sheltered behindone rock, while Tip and Lem defended another, and Chuck Durstine held athird by the side of his dead partner, Red. The fourth charge found themlying on the ground, contrary to their former practice of standing, andthey escaped unhurt, although their ability to shoot the mounted punchersabove the wall was not diminished. Again they wrought terrible havoc.
"I sure wish I could've cleaned up on that straight flush, Billy,"remarked Jimmie Welsh to Speaker.
"So do I, Jimmie," returned the other; "yore bad luck was just breakin'.But, look here. Suppose you fellers quit this business now. I don't relishyore all bein' slaughtered this-a-way, and it's shore a comin' to yuh ifyuh don't quit."
"Yuh talk like a Sunday-school class had stampeded on yuh, Billy. I'msurprised!" gibed Welsh. "Mebbe yuh don't like yore flowery bed of easeout there, what?"
"All horsin' aside, I mean it," insisted Speaker. "Yuh better quit nowbefore they come ag'in."
"Yeah, an' get strung up to the nearest tree fer my pains, eh? Oh, no; Ilike this better; but, of course, if any o' the boys--"
"Naw! What the deuce are yuh talkin' about?" demanded an aggrieved voice,instantly joined by the other three.
"You're wrong, Jimmie; of course, I don't mean that. If yuh'll quit I'llsee that yuh don't get strung up."
"You're shore some friendly, Billy," said Jimmie, shaking his head; "but Icouldn't never look my boss in the face if I even thought o' quittin'.That ain't what he pays me fer."
"I'll give yuh a job as foreman on the Circle Arrow. I see one of youhellions got my foreman; he's layin' out there kickin' still. What d'yesay?"
"I'm plumb regretful, Billy," returned Welsh, without hesitation; "but Ican't do it. Mebbe one o' the boys--"
"Naw!" said the boys in unified contempt.
"Well, yuh pig-headed sons o' misery, go on an' die, then!" criedSpeaker, quite out of patience.
"Jest a minute an' we'll oblige yuh, Billy," rejoined Welsh, as thedreaded drumming of hoofs foretold the next charge.
There was a tense moment of waiting, and then the fusillade began again,pitifully weak from the sheepmen. When the horsemen had whirled out ofsight Lem and Newt lay groaning on the ground, while Tip O'Niell laystrangling in a torrent of blood that rushed from what had once been hisface.
Welsh took one look at the tortured man, and with a crack over the headfrom the butt of his pistol, rendered him unconscious and stilled hisblood-curdling agonies. Then he walked over to the cowmen.
"Anybody got the makin's?" he asked. "One o' them punchers spilt mine outo' my pocket last time."
Nonchalantly he showed the clean rent on the left side of his
flannelshirt, just over his heart, where his pocket had been.
Somebody handed up the paper and tobacco, and he rolled a cigarette,tossing the materials back to Chuck Durstine, who sauntered up, examininghis gun curiously.
Durstine, from his appearance, had no right to be alive. His cheek bledwhere a bullet had grazed him, his left arm was scratched, and there werethree holes in his clothes. His revolver was so hot he could hardly holdit.
When they had finished their smoke they started back to their shelter, themiddle rock of the enclosure.
"Well, good-by, boys," said Jimmie. "I allow it's pretty near my turn an'Chuck's."
"Good-by!" came the chorus from the owners, all of whom had pleadedsteadily with the two to give up the unequal struggle. These men were hardand brave men, and they appreciated genuine grit as nothing else in theworld, for it was a great factor in their own make-up.
"I'll tell yuh this, Jimmie," called out Beef Bissell, whose conceptionshad been undergoing a radical change for the last two hours, "if you an'Chuck are sheepmen, I take off my hat to yuh, that's all! I never seenbetter fighters anywhere."
"Yuh ought to see us when we ain't dry-nursin' a dozen cattle-owners,"retorted Welsh, amid a great guffaw of laughter.
Suddenly again sounded the roar of the galloping horses.
"Well, so-long, boys!" yelled Chuck, his voice barely audible.
"So-long."
The chorused response was cut short by the spitting of weapons. Chuckfaced to the left, Welsh to the right. Both pumped two guns as fast asthey could. Presently Chuck dropped one and leaned against the rock, hisface distorted, but the other gun going. Jimmie felt a stab of fire, andfound his weight all resting on one foot. Dropping their pistols, theydrew others from holsters and fought on.
A bullet furrowed Chuck's scalp, and the blood blinded him so that hecould not shoot. He stepped out from behind the rock, "fanning" one gunand clearing his eyes with the other hand. Three bullets hit him at once,and he dropped dead, firing three shots before he reached the ground.
He had scarcely fallen when Welsh's other leg and both arms were broken,and he tumbled in a heap just as the last of the charging cowboys sweptpast. When they had gone there was a moment's silence. Then:
"Hello, anybody!" called Speaker.
There was a pause.
"Hello!" came a muffled voice. "Come an' git me. I cain't fight no more."And with a great shout the owner of the Circle Arrow outfit ran to whereJimmie Welsh, the indomitable, lay helpless, disabled by six bullets, butstill full of fight.
"Stick me up on that wall, Billy," he said faintly, "an' put a gun in eachhand. I can't shoot 'em, but them punchers'll think I can and finish me."
"You go to Hell!" remarked Speaker joyfully.
"Don't call yore ranch names," admonished Jimmie with a grin, and fainted.
The Free Range Page 18
