CHAPTER XXI: THE MARSHAL PLAYS A HAND
Neither man had anticipated this; neither had the slightest conceptionthat any suspicion of this kind pointed at them. The direct questionwas like the sudden explosion of a bomb. What did Westcott know? Howhad he discovered their participation in the affair? The fact thatWestcott unhesitatingly connected Matt Moore with the abduction was initself alone sufficient evidence that he based his inquiry on actualknowledge. Enright had totally lost power of speech, positive terrorplainly depicted in his eyes, but Lacy belonged to another class of the_genus homo_. He was a Western type, prepared to bluff to the end.His first start of surprise ended in a sarcastic smile.
"You have rather got the better of me, Westcott," he said, shrugginghis shoulders, as though dismissing the subject. "You refer to the NewYork newspaper woman?"
"I do--Miss Stella Donovan."
"I have not the pleasure of that lady's acquaintance, but Timmonsinformed me this morning that she had taken the late train last nightfor the East--isn't that true, Enright?"
The lawyer managed to nod, but without venturing to remove his gazefrom Westcott's face. The latter never moved, but his eyes seemed toharden.
"I have had quite enough of that, Lacy," he said sternly, and thewatchful saloon-keeper noted his fingers close more tightly on the buttof his revolver. "This is no case for an alibi. I know exactly what Iam talking about, and--I am going to have a direct answer, either fromyou or Enright.
"This is the situation: I was the man listening at the window of yourshack last night. Moore may, or may not have recognised me, but,nevertheless, I was the man. I was there long enough to overhear alarge part of your conversation. I know why you consented to closedown La Rosita for the present; I know your connection with this gangof crooks from New York; I know that Fred Cavendish was not murdered,but is being held a prisoner somewhere, until Enright, here, can stealhis money under some legal form. I know you have claimed, and beenpromised, your share of the swag--isn't that true?"
"It's very damn interesting anyway--but not so easy to prove. Whatnext?"
"This: Enright told you who Stella Donovan was, and what he suspectedher object might be. Force is the only method you know anything about,and no other means occurred to you whereby the girl could be quicklyput out of the way. This was resorted to last night after you returnedto Haskell. I do not pretend to know how it was accomplished, nor do Igreatly care. Through some lie, no doubt. But, anyway, she wasinveigled into leaving the hotel, seized by you and some of your gang,forced into a wagon, and driven off by Matt Moore."
"You are a good dreamer. Why not ask Timmons to show you the lettershe left?"
"I have already seen it. You thought you had the trail well covered.That note was written not by Miss Donovan, but by the blonde in youroutfit. The whole trouble is that your abduction of Stella Donovan waswitnessed from a back window of the hotel."
Lacy leaped to his feet, but Westcott's gun rose steadily, and the manstood with clenched hands, helpless in his tracks.
"Who says that?" he demanded.
"I am mentioning no names at present, but the very fact that I knowthese things ought to be sufficient. You better sit down, Lacy, beforeyou forget yourself and get hurt. If you imagine this gun isn'tloaded, a single step forward will test it. Sit down! I am notthrough yet."
There was a quiet, earnest threat in the voice which Lacy understood,the sort of threat which meant strict attention to business, and herelaxed into his chair.
"I'll get you for this, Westcott," he muttered savagely, hate burningin his eyes. "I haven't played my last cards--yet."
The miner smiled grimly, but with no relaxation of vigilance. He wasinto it now, and proposed seeing it through.
"I have a few left myself," he returned soberly. "Your man Moore drovesouth, taking the road leading into the Shoshone desert, and he hadanother one of your gang with him. Then you, and two others, went backinto the hotel, using the outside stairs. I take it the two otherswere Enright, here, and Ned Beaton."
He leaned forward, his face set like flint.
"Now see here, Lacy. I know these things. I can prove them by aperfectly competent witness. It is up to you to answer my questions,and answer them straight. I've got you two fellows dead to rightsanyway you look at it. If you dare lay hands on me I'll kill you; ifyou refuse to tell me what I want to know, I'll swear out warrantsinside of thirty minutes. Now what do you choose?"
For the first time Lacy's eyes wavered, their defiance gone, as heglanced aside at Enright, who had collapsed in his chair, a mereheavily breathing, shapeless thing. The sight of the coward seemed tostiffen him to a species of resistance.
"If I answer--what then?" he growled desperately.
"What is offered me?"
Westcott moistened his lips. He had not before faced the situationfrom this standpoint, yet, with only one thought in his mind, heanswered promptly.
"I am not the law," he said, "and all I am interested in now is therelease of Fred Cavendish and Stella Donovan. I'll accomplish that ifit has to be over your dead bodies. Beyond this, I wash my hands ofthe whole affair. What I want to know is--where are these two?"
"Would you believe me if I said I did not know?"
"No, Lacy. It has come down to the truth, or your life. Where isPasqual Mendez?"
He heard no warning, no sound of movement, yet some change in theexpression of the man's eyes confronting him caused him to slightlyturn his head so as to vaguely perceive a shadow behind. It was allso quickly, silently done, he barely had time to throw up one hand indefence, when his arms were gripped as though in a vise, and he wasthrown backward to the floor, the chair crushed beneath his weight.Lacy fairly leaped on his prostrate body, forgetting his gun lying onthe desk in the violence of hate, his hands clutching at the exposedthroat. For an instant Westcott was so dazed and stunned by thissudden attack from behind as to lie there prone and helpless, fairlycrushed beneath the bodies of his two antagonists.
It was this that gave him his chance, for, convinced that he wasunconscious, both men slightly relaxed their grip, thus giving himopportunity to regain breath, and stiffen his muscles for a supremeeffort. With one lashing out of a foot that sent Enright hurtlingagainst the farther wall, he cracked Lacy's head against a corner ofthe desk, and closed in deadly struggle with the third man, whom he nowrecognised as Beaton.
Before the latter could comprehend what had happened the miner was ontop, and a clenched fist was driven into his face with all the force ofa sledge-hammer. But barroom fighting was no novelty to the gunman,nor had he any scruples as to the methods employed. With teeth sunk inhis opponent's arm, and fingers gouging at his eyes, the fellowstruggled like a mad dog; yet, in spite of every effort to restrainhim, Westcott, now filled with the fierce rage of battle, broke free,fairly tearing himself from Beaton's desperate clutch, and pinning himhelplessly against the wall.
At the same instant Lacy, who had regained his feet, leaped upon himfrom behind, striking with all his force, the violence of the blow,even though a grazing one, driving the miner's head into the face ofthe gunman.
Both went down together, but Westcott was on his feet again before Lacycould act, closing with the latter. It was hand-to-hand, the silentstruggle for mastery between two men not unevenly matched, men askingand receiving no mercy. The revolver of one lay on the floor, theother still reposed on the open desk, and neither could be reached. Itwas a battle to be fought out with bare hands. Twice Westcott struck,his clenched fist bringing blood, but Lacy clung to him, one handtwisted in his neck-band, the other viciously forcing back his head.Unable to release the grip, Westcott gave back, bending until hisadversary was beyond balance; then, suddenly straightening, hurled thefellow sidewise. But by now Beaton, dazed and confused, was upon hisfeet. With the bellow of a wild bull he flung himself on thestruggling men, forcing Lacy aside, and smashing into Westcott with allthe strength of his body. The impetus sent all three cras
hing to thefloor.
Excited voices sounded without; then blows resounded against the woodof the locked door, but the three men were oblivious to all but theirown struggle. Like so many wild beasts they clutched and struck,unable to disentangle themselves. Enright, his face like chalk, got tohis knees and crept across the floor until his hand closed onWestcott's revolver. Lifting himself by a grip on the desk, he swungthe weapon forward at the very instant the miner rose staggering,dragging Beaton with him. There was a flash of flame, a sharp report,and Westcott sprang aside, gripping the back of a chair. The gunmansank into shapelessness on the floor as the chair hurtled through theair straight at Enright's head.
With a crash the door fell, and a black mass of men surged in throughthe opening, the big bartender leading them, an axe in his hand.Beaton lay motionless just as he had dropped; Enright was in onecorner, dazed, unnerved, a red gash across his forehead, from whichblood dripped, the revolver, struck from his fingers, yet smoking onthe floor; Westcott, his clothes torn, his face bruised by blows,breathing heavily, went slowly backward, step by step, to the fartherwall, conscious of nothing now but the savagely hostile faces of thesenew enemies. Lacy, staggering as though drunk, managed to attain hisfeet, hate, the desire for revenge, yielding him strength. This washis crowd, and his mind was quick to grasp the opportunity.
"There's the man who did it," he shouted, his arm flung out towardWestcott. "I saw him shoot. See, that's his gun lying on the floor.Don't let the murderer get away!"
He started forward, an oath on his lips, and the excited crowd surgedafter, growling anger. Then the mass of them seemed suddenly rentasunder, and the marshal ploughed his way through heedlessly, his hatgone, and a blue-barrelled gun in either hand. He swept the muzzle ofone of these into the bartender's face menacingly, his eyes searchingthe maddened crowd.
"Wait a minute, you," he commanded sharply. "I reckon I've gotsomething to say 'bout this. Put down that axe, Mike, or ye'll neverdraw another glass o' beer in this camp. You know me, lads, an' Inever draw except fer business. Shut your mouth, Lacy; don't touchthat gun, you fool! I am in charge here--this is my job; and if thereis going to be any lynching done, it will be after you get me. Standback now; all of you--yes, get out into that barroom. I mean you,Mike! This man is my prisoner, and, by God, I'll defend him. Ay! I'lldo more, I'll let him defend himself. Here, Westcott, pick up your gunon the floor. Now stand here with me! We're going out through thatbunch, and if one of those coyotes puts a paw on you, let him have it."
The crowd made way, reluctantly enough, growling curses, but with noman among them sufficiently reckless to attempt resistance. Theylacked leadership, for the little marshal never once took his eye offLacy. At the door he turned, walking backward, trusting in Westcott tokeep their path clear, both levelled revolvers ready for any movement.He knew Haskell, and he knew the character of these hangers-on at the"Red Dog." He realised fully the influence of Bill Lacy, andcomprehended that the affair was far from being ended; but just now hehad but one object before him--to get his prisoner safely outside intothe open. Beyond that he would trust to luck, and a fair chance. Hisgrey eyes were almost black as they gleamed over the levelled revolverbarrels, and his clipped moustache fairly bristled.
"Not a step, you!" he muttered. "What's the matter, Lacy? Do you wantto die in your tracks? Mike, all I desire is an excuse to make you thedeadest bung-starter in Colorado. Put down that gun, Carter! If justone of you lads come through that door, I'll plug these twelve shots,and you know how I shoot--Lacy will get the first one, and Mike thesecond. Stand there now! Go on out, Jim; I'm right along with you."
They were far from free even outside the swinging doors and in thesunshine. Already a rumour of what had occurred had spread likewildfire, and men were on the street, eager enough to take some hand inthe affray. A few were already about the steps, while others wererunning rapidly toward them, excited but uncertain.
It was this uncertainty which gave the little marshal his one slenderchance. His eyes swept the crowd, but there was no face visible onwhom he could rely in this emergency. They were the roughs of thecamp, the idlers, largely parasites of Lacy; those fellows would onlyhoot him if he asked for help. No, there was no way but to fight itout themselves, and the only possibility of escape came to him in aflash. Suddenly as this emergency had arisen the marshal was prepared;he knew the lawless nature of the camp, and had anticipated that sometime just such a situation as this might arise. Now that it had come,he was ready. There was scarcely an instant of hesitancy, his quicksearching eyes surveying the scene, and then seeking the face of hisprisoner.
"Willing to fight this out, Jim?" he asked shortly.
"You bet, Dan; what's the plan?"
"The big rock in Bear Creek. We can hold out there until dark.Perhaps there'll be some men come to help us by that time; if not wemight crawl away in the night. Take the alley and turn at the hotel.Don't let anybody stop you; here comes those hell-hounds from inside.Christopher Columbus, I hate to run from such cattle, but it's our onlychance."
There was no time to waste. They were not yet at the mouth of thealley when the infuriated pursuers burst through the saloon doors,cursing and shouting. Lacy led them, animated by the one desire tokill Westcott, fully aware that this alone would prevent the exposureof his own crime.
"There they go!" he yelled madly, and fired. "Get that dirty murderer,boys--get him!"
There were a dozen shots, but the two runners plunged about the cornerof the building, and disappeared, apparently untouched. Lacy leapedfrom the platform to the ground, shouting his orders, and the crowdsurged after him in pursuit, some choosing the alley, others thestreet. Revolvers cracked sharply, little spits of smoke showing inthe sunlight; men shouted excitedly, and two mounted cowboys lashedtheir ponies up the dusty road in an effort to head off the fugitives.Twice the two turned and fired, yet at that, hardly paused in theirrace. Westcott held back, retarded by the shorter legs of hiscompanion, nevertheless they were fully a hundred feet in advance oftheir nearest pursuers when they reached the hotel. In spite of Lacy'surging the cowardly crew exhibited small desire to close in. Themarshal, glancing back over his shoulder, grinned cheerfully.
"We've got 'em beat, Jim," he panted, "less thar's others headin' usoff; run like a white-head; don't mind me."
The road ahead was clear, except for the speeding cowboys, and themarshal made extremely quick work of them. There was a fusillade ofshots, and when these ended, one rider was down in the dust, the othergalloping madly away, lying flat on his pony, with no purpose but toget out of range. The two fugitives plunged into the bushes opposite,taking the roughest but most direct course to where the ratherprecipitous banks dropped off to the stream below. There was a dam ahalf mile down, and even at this point the water was wide and deepenough to make any attempt at crossing dangerous. But half-way over anupheaval of rock parted the current, forcing the swirling waters toeither side, and presenting a stern grey face to the shore. Themarshal, pausing for nothing, flung himself bodily down the steep bank,unclasping his belt, as he half ran, half rolled to the bottom.
"Here, take these cartridges," he said, "and hold 'em up. Save yerown, too, fer we're going to need 'em. That water out thar is plumb upto my neck. Come on now; keep them things dry, an' don't bother 'boutme."
He plunged in, and Westcott followed, both cartridge belts held abovehis head. There was a crackling of bushes on the bank behind them,showing their pursuers had crossed the road and were already beating upthe brush. Neither man glanced back, assured that those fellows wouldhunt them first in the chaparral, cautiously beating the coverts,before venturing beyond.
The water deepened rapidly, and Westcott was soon to his waist, leaningto his right to keep his feet; he heard the marshal splashing alongbehind, convinced by his ceaseless profanity that he also made progressin spite of his shortness of limbs. Indeed they attained the rockshelter almost together, creeping up through a narrow
crevasse, leavinga wet trail along the grey stone. This was accomplished none too soon,a yell from the bank telling of their discovery, followed by the crackof a gun. The marshal, who was still exposed, hastily crept undercover, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek where a splinter of rockdislodged by the bullet had slashed the flesh. He was, nevertheless,in excellent humour, his keen grey eyes laughing, as he peered out overthe rock rampart.
"If they keep up shootin' like that, Jim, I reckon our insurance won'tbe high," he said, "I'm plumb ashamed of the camp, the way them boyswaste lead. Must 'a' took twenty shots at us so far an' only skinnedme with a rock. Hell! 'tain't even interestin'. Hand over themcartridges; let's see what sorter stock we got."
The Strange Case of Cavendish Page 21
