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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..616e278 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65982 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65982) diff --git a/old/65982-0.txt b/old/65982-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 77ba1f4..0000000 --- a/old/65982-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3608 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Flames of the Storm, by W. C. Tuttle - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Flames of the Storm - -Author: W. C. Tuttle - -Release Date: August 2, 2021 [eBook #65982] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLAMES OF THE STORM *** - - - - - -FLAMES OF THE STORM - -by W. C. Tuttle - -Author of “Ajax for Example,” “The Range-Boomer,” etc. - - -It was the year of the big drouth in the valley of Moon River; a -season when every blade of grass was worth its weight in gold to the -cattlemen, who watched with jealous care over their unstaked -portions of the range and guarded closely their almost dry -water-holes. - -Day after day through the long summer the merciless sun had baked -the grass-roots; browning the land; burning below the surface, until -a puff of wind would drift the soil, as a wind drifts dry snow. Even -the sage and greasewood turned from purple to brownish-gray. - -Along the river, which wound its way through this crescent-shaped -valley, the leaves of willow and cottonwood hummed paper-dry in the -hot winds, while the river, itself, was shrunken to half its normal -Summer stage. - -The range cattle were red-eyed, hollow of flank and dust-colored and -when they stopped to graze their panting nostrils would send up tiny -puffs of smoke-like dust. In all that valley of rolling hills, which -sloped upward on both sides to the hazy heights of the Shoshone -Mountains, there was no sign of green vegetation. - -Riding down the slope of one of these hills, heading toward the -river, came a tall, thin cowboy, unshaven and unshorn. The -expression of his thin face was serious as he squinted into the hazy -distance and spoke softly to his rangy bay horse— - -“Bronc, ’f this ain’t the best place I ever seen t’ commit murder -in, then my name ain’t ‘Skeeter Bill’ Sarg.” - -The horse sniffed suspiciously at the dry grass, but did not crop at -it. - -“Ain’t much juice left in that kinda feed,” declared Skeeter Bill, -removing his sombrero and wiping his brow with the sleeve of his -shirt. For a few minutes he surveyed the country before riding on. - -Suddenly he drew rein and sniffed at the breeze. His rather long -nose quivered, and he shook his head. Beyond him a cloud of dust -floated over the skyline of a ridge, growing more dense. It was -impossible to see what was making the dust-cloud, but whatever it -was, it came over the ridge toward Skeeter Bill and dipped down into -the depression beyond. - -“Sheep!” snorted Skeeter Bill with the true cowman’s disgust of such -animals. “We shore poked into one fine country t’ poke right out of -ag’in, bronc.” - -Skeeter Bill turned and rode angling along the side of the hill, -going through a heavy thicket of greasewood. Suddenly his horse -jerked ahead and went to its knees, and Skeeter fell head first into -a thick clump of brush. As he fell he heard the whip-like snap of a -rifle, and he knew that some one had shot his horse from under him. - -He backed out of the tangle and investigated. His bay had crashed -into some brush farther down the hill, and Skeeter could see that it -was dead. He swore softly and held his gun ready. - -The bullet had torn through Skeeter’s chaps, along his thigh, -missing the flesh by a narrow margin, and had broken the back of the -tall bay horse. Skeeter had no idea why he had been shot at, nor how -many men might be ready to shoot at him again. It was a ticklish -situation, but Skeeter smiled grimly and waited. - -Far away he could hear the soft bawling of sheep and the tiny tinkle -of a bell. A blue jay screeched harshly from down the cañon. -Suddenly the brush crashed as if some one had stumbled into it. -Skeeter glanced keenly in that direction, but did not move. - -In a few moments the brush crashed again, and Skeeter grinned -widely. He knew that some one was tossing rocks into the dry brush -to try to get him to investigate. He snuggled a trifle lower and -peered low through the tangle of brush above him. Whoever it was, -they were moving very cautiously, for no sound of footsteps had come -to his ears. - -Suddenly his eyes focused on something. It might be part of the -brush, and again it might be the legs of a man; a man whose body was -completely screened by the heavy foliage. Skeeter considered these -leg-like things very closely. Then came a dry cough—more like a -wheezing chuckle; as if the man had tried to choke it and merely -strangled. It came from above the legs. - -“Pardner,” said Skeeter distinctly, “I’ve got yore legs in trouble. -’F yuh don’t toss yore gun over toward me, I’m shore goin’ t’ -interest yuh in a pair of crutches.” - -The legs remained motionless, but from their owner came another -wheezing cough. In fact, the man coughed for quite a while, and the -visible legs shook weakly at the finish. - -“Now, throw over the gun,” ordered Skeeter, and a moment later a -Winchester rifle crashed into the brush and hung up in view of -Skeeter. - -“C’m on out, pardner,” said Skeeter. “Walk right down past where the -rifle hangs, and I’ll kinda look yuh over.” - -The man was coming down through the brush before Skeeter had -finished, and broke his way out into the open a moment later. - -“Keep yore hands above yore waist,” ordered Skeeter meaningly, -“while I look yuh over.” - -The man was possibly not more than thirty years of age, yet looked -much older. A stubbly beard covered the lower part of his face, and -a pair of weary-looking eyes seemed to consider Skeeter closely. - -The man was not evil-looking, in spite of his unkempt appearance. -His torn shirt was clean, as were the worn overalls. He coughed -softly again, and a flush crept across his thin cheeks. - -“Shucks!” muttered Skeeter softly. “Whatcha tryin’ t’ kill me for, -pardner?” - -The man shook his head slowly, wearily. - -“What’s the use of arguing about it? I’m willing to take what’s -coming to me. I got tired of being shot at, that’s all.” - -“Well,” grinned Skeeter, “that’s a-plenty, ’f yuh stop t’ ask me. -C’m here and set down.” - -The man obeyed wonderingly. - -“Yuh got a bad cough,” observed Skeeter. - -“Go ahead,” said the man bitterly. “It’s my cough—not yours.” - -“Aw, ——!” grunted Skeeter. “I beg yore pardon. I’m always sayin’ -the wrong thing.” - -He studied the man for several moments, and then: - -“Mind tellin’ me somethin’? Honest t’ goodness, I don’t know a -danged thing about this here country. I just rode in. When a feller -gets his bronc shot out from under him he kinda wants t’ know why.” - -The man’s eyes expressed his unbelief. Skeeter laid his six-shooter -across his lap and rolled a cigaret while he waited for the man to -explain. - -“Well,” began the man slowly, “you’ve got me dead to rights; so it -don’t make much difference now. If you’re one of the cattlemen I’ll -likely get lynched for killing the horse.” - -“Likely,” nodded Skeeter dryly. “’F yuh don’t get lynched, you’ll -figger out that I’ve told yuh the truth.” - -Skeeter leaned a little closer and tapped the man on the knee with -his finger. - -“Pardner, ’f there’s anythin’ yuh don’t want t’ tell me the truth -about—don’t tell anythin’. _Sabe_ what I mean?” - -“Afraid I’ll lie to you?” - -“Tellin’ yuh not to. I don’t care who yuh are, nor what yuh are, -pardner. I reckon the killin’ of my bronc was a mistake, but that’s -all past. I don’t lie, and I won’t stand for no man lyin’ t’ me.” - -The man looked curiously at him wondering if this lanky cowboy was -joking or not. No, he decided that Skeeter Bill was not joking. A -man who would not lie and would not stand for a liar was a novelty -in the range-land. The man decided against prevarication. - -“My name is Kirk,” he stated; “Jim Kirk.” - -“Mine’s Sarg,” grinned Skeeter. “Mostly always, folks calls me -Skeeter Bill.” - -“I’m a sheepherder,” stated Kirk. - -“I’m not!” snapped Skeeter. “I hate the —— things.” - -Kirk nodded and dug into the hard soil with the heel of his boot. - -“I don’t love ’em,” he admitted softly, shaking his head. “Nobody -does, I guess. Still—” Kirk lifted his head and gazed off across -the tangle of brush—“still, they have made it possible for me to -live out here.” - -“Oh,” softly. - -“If it wasn’t for the sheep I would probably have to live in a -city.” - -Skeeter cleared his throat softly. - -“Well, under them circumstances sheep ain’t so danged bad, I reckon. -Feller does feel better, livin’ out here in the old hills. Mebbe I’d -herd sheep, too.” - -“Yes, you’d do anything to keep living.” - -“I come danged near shufflin’ off a while ago,” reminded Skeeter -seriously. “That bronc was worth a lot t’ me.” - -The cough came again and occupied Kirk’s attention for a period. - -“I’m awful sorry about the horse,” he panted hoarsely. “I thought -you might be gunning for me, and I wanted to beat you to it.” - -“You shore had the proper idea,” grinned Skeeter. - -“The idea was all right,” admitted Kirk, “and, as I said before, I -got tired of being shot at.” - -“Cows and sheep kinda warrin’ round?” queried Skeeter Bill. - -Kirk nodded slowly. - -“Yes. In a way I don’t blame the cowmen. This range has belonged to -them ever since the first cow came in over the hill. The sheep will -ruin it for anything but sheep, but the law says that sheep and cows -have equal rights.” - -Skeeter Bill snorted. The law had never meant much to him. - -“And so the cow-men takes things in their own hands, eh?” - -“It seems that way,” smiled Kirk. - -“You own the sheep?” queried Skeeter. - -“Me?” - -Kirk shook his head. - -“Nope,” he denied. “I’m just a hired sheepherder.” - -“Thasso?” - -Skeeter considered Kirk’s humped figure for a space of time, and -then— - -“You ain’t no hired killer, Kirk; so why take a chance on killin’ or -gittin’ killed?” - -Kirk coughed softly and got to his feet. The sun was yet an hour -high, but the cañons were already blocky with purple shadows. From -farther down the hill came the bleating of sheep; the everlasting, -meaningless “_baa, baa, baa, baa_” from hundreds of throats. - -Kirk turned and looked at Skeeter. - -“No, I am not a killer. I never shot at a man before.” - -He pointed down across the brush toward the sheep. - -“Do you think I love those things? Sarg, I am not physically fit to -do a man’s work, and I can’t live inside a house. Out here in the -hills I have a fighting chance to live, and there is nothing I can -get to do, that I can do, except herd sheep.” - -“Well,” drawled Skeeter, “I reckon we better give three cheers for -the sheep. But I’m still a li’l hazy as t’ why yuh tried t’ bump me -off, pardner.” - -“Self-defense. I thought you was one of the gang that left the -warning at my camp yesterday. They ordered me to pack up and get -out—my wife and me.” - -“Oh!” grunted Skeeter softly. “You’ve got a wife with yuh?” - -Kirk nodded, and a deep crease appeared between his eyes as he -frowned over his own thoughts. Suddenly he shook his head and looked -down toward the sheep. - -“It’s time to take them back, I guess,” he remarked. “You might come -down to camp with me and have something to eat.” - -Skeeter nodded. - -“I’ll take yuh up on that, pardner; but I’ll get m’ saddle first.” - -It was only a few moments’ work to strip the saddle from the dead -horse and to remove the bridle. Skeeter made no more comments about -the dead horse. The tall bay had served him well; but Skeeter in his -time had ridden many horses, and this was not the first one to -perish under him. - - * * * * * - -Carrying the heavy saddle, he helped Kirk round up the herd of sheep -and head them in the direction of the bed-ground. Through a filmy -cloud of dust they followed the bleating herd along the side of the -cañon, until of their own accord the sheep headed down on to a flat, -where Skeeter could see an old tumbledown shack and part of an old -pole-corral. - -Smoke was issuing from the crooked old chimney, and as they drew -nearer a woman came to the open doorway and looked at them. She was -dressed in faded calico and coarse shoes, but Skeeter thought he had -never seen a more beautiful face. - -After a searching glance at him the woman darted from the doorway -and ran to Kirk, as if partly for protection and partly to find out -if he was all right. Kirk put an arm around her shoulders and turned -to Skeeter. - -“Sarg, that is my wife.” - -“Glad t’ meetcha,” muttered Skeeter as he placed the saddle on the -ground and held out his hand. - -The woman glanced at Kirk before she shook hands with Skeeter Bill. - -“I killed his horse,” said Kirk slowly. “I thought he was one of the -cowboys.” - -“Tha’s all right,” grinned Skeeter. “Mistakes’ll happen in the best -of families. I’ve been mistaken f’r the same thing before.” - -“Then you’re not a cowboy?” queried Mrs. Kirk. - -“I dunno.” Skeeter Bill shook his head. “I’ve been a lot of things, -ma’am, and I dunno which one took the most. I’m just kinda -pesticatin’ around, yuh see. I poked into this here country, and -unless I’m misreadin’ the signs I’m goin’ t’ poke right out again.” - -“You’ll have to get another horse,” reminded Kirk. - -“Uh-huh. But that’s a cinch in a cow-country. I’ve got a rope left.” - -Mrs. Kirk turned to the doorway, as she said— - -“Supper is almost ready, Jim, and I know you must be starved—you -and Mr. Sarg.” - -“Yes, ma’am,” said Skeeter seriously. “I sure could fold up quite a -parcel of food right now, thank yuh kindly.” - -Skeeter and Kirk washed at the little spring, where a little fence -had been built to block out the sheep. - -“Does yore wife like this kind of a life?” queried Skeeter. - -Kirk shook his head as he squatted on his heels at the side of the -spring. - -“I don’t think so, Sarg, but she is willing to do it for my sake.” - -Skeeter rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a while and shook his head. - -“I dunno much about women, Kirk—the right kind. You ain’t much t’ -look at. She’s mighty pretty and sweet; but she’s willin’ t’ live -out here, alongside of a bunch of blattin’ woollies, just cause it’s -goin’ t’ help you.” - -“That’s love, Sarg.” - -Skeeter Bill squinted closely at Kirk’s face and looked back toward -the cabin door. - -“Love—eh? Heat and dirt and the smell of sheep! Old rickety cabin, -canned food and swappin’ lead with the cattlemen. No other women; -lonesome as ——!” - -Skeeter looked down at Kirk and nodded slowly. - -“Yeah, I reckon it must be love, pardner,” he went on. “I ain’t -never seen it in that kind of a package before, so I didn’t _sabe_ -it on sight.” - -“She’s my pal—my bunkie,” said Kirk slowly. “She’s willing to go -fifty-fifty with me in everything.” - -“Thasso? About bein’ a pal—I didn’t know that a woman could be -thataway. Women, t’ me, have always been kinda—mebbe I didn’t look -at ’em right, Kirk. I kinda like that bunkie idea, y’betcha.” - -“She’s the best in the world,” said Kirk softly as they neared the -house. - -“I s’pose,” nodded Skeeter. “I s’pose that’s right.” - -The supper was meager in variety as well as in quantity, but it was -well cooked. - -“I’ve got to go to town tomorrow,” stated Kirk. “We are out of food. -I’ve been putting it off for several days, but it has become an -absolute necessity.” - -“I hate to have you go to town, Jim,” said Mrs. Kirk. “Under the -circumstances it is hard to tell what might happen.” - -“Don’t you worry, honey.” - -Kirk leaned across the table and patted her on the shoulder. - -“I’ll hitch up the old horse to the old wagon in the morning,” he -continued, “and be back here in two hours with a load of food.” - -“I’ve got a better scheme than that,” grinned Skeeter. “I’ll go -after yore grub for yuh.” - -Kirk shook his head. - -“No, I can’t let you get into any trouble on our account. They would -recognize that horse and wagon, and you can’t tell what would -happen.” - -“I’d shore like t’ see what would happen,” said Skeeter slowly, -rolling a cigaret. “I’m willin’, ’f the town is, and I ain’t got -nobody waitin’ f’r me t’ come back all in one chunk.” - -“But why should you do this for us?” asked Kirk. “I killed your -horse and nearly killed you.” - -“I dunno why,” said Skeeter honestly. “’F I stopped’t ask m’self, -‘Why?’ all the time, I’d never do anythin’. Tell me somethin’ about -this sheep and cattle trouble.” - -“We are from Chicago,” said Kirk. “I was a telegraph operator in a -brokerage office until a specialist told me that I must live in the -hills or quit living entirely. Then we came West with no place in -mind and very little money to start with. - -“Somehow we came to Wheeler City and met the man who offered me this -job. He was sending in a lot of sheep, which were to be driven in -through Table Rock Pass and then broken up into several bands. - -“We didn’t have a dollar left when this offer came to us, and we -accepted it quickly. It was a mighty hard trip for us, because -neither of us had ever roughed it before. On this side of the pass -the herd was split into four parts and a man led us to this spot. - -“Nothing was said to us about trouble with the cattlemen. We were -given a rifle and a shotgun and plenty of ammunition. The shotgun is -over there in the corner. I have never fired it.” - -“How long have yuh been in here?” asked Skeeter. - -“Two weeks. Three men were killed in the next camp to us on the -first day—two sheep-men and one cowboy. The man who brought us in -was arrested, although he had nothing to do with the shooting. The -judge turned him loose and notified the cattlemen that the sheep-men -were not to be molested until it could be fought out in the courts. -The cattlemen know that it will take months to get a decision, and -in the meantime the sheep are wearing out the range.” - -“Who owns the sheep?” - -Kirk shook his head. - -“I don’t know. The man who hired me is named McClelland. He did not -admit ownership in court, but stated that he was responsible for the -sheep.” - -“You been shot at?” - -“Five times,” said Kirk. “Anyway I think they shot at me. Perhaps -they merely tried to frighten me. At least a dozen of my sheep have -been killed at long range.” - -“Yuh spoke about a warnin’,” reminded Skeeter. - -Kirk got up and took a piece of paper from a shelf above the table. -It was crudely printed with a lead pencil, and read: - - GIT OUT AND KEEP GOING. - WE DON’T LIKE SHEEP BUT - WE DO LIKE PURTY WIMIN. - THE LAW AIN’T GOING TO - HELP YOU NONE IN THIS - CASE. YOU BETTER HEED. - -There was no name signed to this missive, but its meaning was very -plain. Skeeter squinted up at Kirk and handed him the paper. - -“You ain’t goin’ t’ heed?” - -“They wouldn’t dare harm my wife, Sarg.” - -Skeeter looked at Mrs. Kirk and back to Kirk. - -“Pardner, yo’re a long, long ways from Chicago. Folks say that men -are big-minded, big-hearted in the West, but it takes all kinds of -folks t’ make up the West, just like it does the East. Some of these -cattlemen hate a sheepherder, and ’f that sheepherder had a danged -purty wife— Still, they was honest enough t’ give yuh a warnin’.” - -“Would you heed it?” demanded Kirk. - -Skeeter rubbed his chin and glanced at Mrs. Kirk, who was watching -him intently. - -“If you were sick and needed the work, and your wife was willing to -stay with you?” added Kirk softly. - -“No, by ——!” exploded Skeeter Bill. “Not as long as I had a shell -left f’r m’ gun, or one arm able t’ throw rocks.” - -“That’s how I feel,” said Kirk. - -“But what protection has your wife got? You have t’ leave her here -alone, don’tcha?” - -“Not all the time,” said Mrs. Kirk. “I go out with him quite a lot, -and when I am here I have the shotgun, you see.” - -Skeeter Bill crossed the room and picked up the shotgun. It was a -sawed-off Winchester, with a magazine full of buckshot-loaded -shells. Skeeter grinned at Mrs. Kirk. - -“Didja ever shoot this, ma’am?” - -“No, I never have; but I know I could.” - -“Hm-m-m!” - -Skeeter placed the gun back in the corner. - -“Perhaps we ought to try it,” said Kirk. “I don’t know how it -shoots.” - -“Oh, it’ll shoot,” said Skeeter. “Don’tcha worry about that; but it -ain’t nothin’ t’ practise with. When the right time comes, just -squeeze the trigger.” - -“I hope I shall never have to use it,” said Mrs. Kirk. - -“I hope not,” agreed Skeeter; “but ’f yuh ever do have to—don’t -hesitate, ma’am.” - -“I do not think I shall.” - -Mrs. Kirk shook her head. - -“Jim and I came out here to stay, you know,” she added. - -“That’s shore the way t’ look at it, ma’am.” - -“Do you intend to locate in this country?” asked Kirk. - -“Me?” - -Skeeter grinned widely. - -“No-o-o,” he said, “I can’t say I am. I ain’t much of a locator, -Kirk. I’m jist kinda driftin’ along—mostly. I ain’t got nobody t’ -care where I wind up m’ li’l ball of yarn. M’ pardner got killed in -Sunbeam, and since then I’ve kinda moseyed along.” - -“We heard of Sunbeam,” said Mrs. Kirk. “A new mining-country, isn’t -it? We thought perhaps we might go there, but there is no railroad -and they told us that it was a long desert trip.” - -“I guess it’s a tough place,” added Kirk. - -“It was,” agreed Skeeter thoughtfully. “But there ain’t an outlaw -left in the town now.” - -“What became of them?” asked Kirk. - -“Well—” Skeeter rubbed his chin slowly—“well, he rode away.” - -“He rode away? Was there only one?” - -“Uh-huh—only one left. The rest cashed in one night. I dunno who’s -moved in since he left.” - -“You don’t mean to say that you——” - -Kirk stopped. - -Skeeter got slowly to his feet and hitched up his belt. - -“’F you folks don’t mind I’ll spread m’ blankets out by the li’l -corral,” he said. - -“There’s room in here,” said Mrs. Kirk. - -Skeeter shook his head and went out to his saddle, where he untied -his blanket-roll and took it up by the little tumble-down corral. - -Moonlight silvered the hills, and the moon itself was stereoscopic, -hanging like a huge ball in the sky, instead of showing as a flat -plane. From the bed-ground came the soft bleating of sheep, while -farther back in the hills a coyote barked snappily for a moment and -wailed out his dismal howl. - -Skeeter wrapped up in his blanket and puffed slowly on a cigaret. He -was thinking of Sunbeam and of Mary Leeds, who had come seeking her -father. Skeeter had ridden away the night he had been instrumental -in cleaning up the outlaws of Sunbeam, the night that Mary Leeds’ -father had been killed. - -Skeeter’s partner, Judge Tareyton, was Mary’s father, but no one -knew it until after the judge had died, and Skeeter, broken-hearted -over the death of his old partner, had ridden away in the night; -ridden away, so that with his going, Sunbeam might be entirely rid -of outlaws. - -He wondered what had become of Mary Leeds. He knew that the good -people would take care of her. He could still hear her voice -calling, “Skeeter Bill” to him, as he rode away in the night, and -for the first time since that night he wondered why she called to -him. - -He found himself comparing her to Mrs. Kirk. No, she was not as -pretty as Mrs. Kirk, but they were alike in some ways. Finally he -snuggled deeper in his blankets and threw away his cigaret. The -words of old Judge Tareyton come back to him— - -“Keep smilin’, son, and don’t forget that God put a spark in you—a -spark that will flare up and build a big flame for you—if you’ll -let it.” - -Skeeter smiled seriously at the memory picture of his old drunken -lawyer partner and eased himself to a comfortable sleeping position. - - * * * * * - -Crescent City was the county seat of Moon River County, and a -typical cattle town. The branch line of the N. W. Railroad came in -out of the desert, dropped down through a winding pass, traversed -nearly the entire length of the valley and wound its way eastward -through the Southern Pass. - -Just now Crescent City was the seat of much agitation, due to the -invasion of sheep. Bearded cattle owners and hard-faced cowboys -thronged the town, arguing, prophesying, swearing at the law, which -gave a sheep the same rights as a cow. The saloons were doing a big -business, as were the gambling-halls, and fights were plentiful and -easy to start. - -Judge Grayson, following his decision in the matter, had remained -religiously at home. He was a married man, small of physique, and -abhorred violence. Several reckless cowboys had openly sworn to -scalp the judge and tie the scalp on a bald-headed sheep. - -Ben Freel, the sheriff, was another object of wrath with the -cattlemen. None of them considered the duty of a sheriff in this -case. Freel was a gunman, cold as ice, and heartless in matters -concerning his sworn duty, and he remained unmoved under the -vitriolic criticism hurled at his back. - -With the cattlemen it was a case of ousting the sheep or quitting -the cattle business. It was true that only a small part of the range -was being sheeped out; but if the sheep once gained a foot-hold in -the valley of Moon River it would only be a question of a short time -until more sheep would come pouring in through Table Rock Pass. - -Cleve Hart owned the Lazy H outfit, which was the largest in the -Moon River range, with the home ranch within two miles of Crescent -City. It was a combined horse and cow outfit and employed many -cowboys. - -[Illustration: Map of Crescent City and surrounding ranches] - -And in all that range land there was no man more bitter toward sheep -than Cleve Hart. He was a big man, hard of face, hard-riding, -hard-drinking, and a hard fighter. And he hated Ben Freel. - -As far as that was concerned, there was no love lost between them, -for Freel hated Cleve Hart with all his soul. Hart also hated Judge -Grayson—not because he was a judge, but because he was a friend to -Ben Freel. - -It was Hart’s cowboys who killed off the two sheep-herders, losing -one of their number at the same time; and it was Hart who declared -openly to wipe out all the sheep and sheep-herders, but was stopped -by Ben Freel and later restrained by the law. - -It was fairly early in the morning when Skeeter Bill drove down the -main street of Crescent City; but the hitch-racks were already well -filled with saddle-horses, and a large number of cowboys were in -evidence. - -Skeeter’s equipage was fairly noticeable. The horse was an ancient -gray, uncurried, patchy of hair and moth-eaten of mane and tail. The -wagon was even more ancient than the horse, with wheels which did -not track and threatened at any time to wrench loose from the hubs. - -The seat springs were broken down on one side, causing Skeeter to -sit sidewise with his feet braced against the opposite side of the -wagon-box, where he looked entirely out of proportion to the rest of -the outfit. - -Several cowboys stopped at the edge of the board sidewalk to size -him up as he drove up in front of a general merchandise store. There -was no doubt in their minds but that this was a sheep-wagon, and the -news spread rapidly. - -Skeeter appeared oblivious of all this. He rolled and lighted a -cigaret before dismounting, which gave the cowboys plenty of time to -make closer observations. Several of them went past him and into the -store, while others gathered around him and seemed to marvel greatly -at his equipage. - -“Ba-a-a-a?” queried a skinny cowboy seriously, looking up at -Skeeter. - -“Yea-a-a-a-ah,” said Skeeter just as seriously. - -The skinny one colored slightly under his tan, as his lips quivered -in another question. - -“Maa-a-a-a-a?” - -“Naa-a-a-a-a-a-a,” bleated Skeeter seriously. - -One of the cowboys laughed nervously, but the bleating one’s eyes -did not waver from Skeeter’s face. - -“You think you’re—smart, don’t yuh?” he asked. - -“Smart enough t’ talk yore language,” said Skeeter. - -The cowboy’s hand jerked nervously along his thigh, but Skeeter did -not move. His eyes narrowed, slightly, and he nodded slowly. - -“Hop to it, pardner. I don’t know who yuh are, but I ain’t lookin’ -for no cinch.” - -The cowboy relaxed slightly and seemed undecided. He had not -expected this from a sheep-herder, and he wanted to back out -gracefully. - -“You jist toddle along,” smiled Skeeter. “You don’t need t’ be -afraid t’ turn yore back t’ me.” - -“You can’t run no blazer on me!” snapped the cowboy, as if trying to -bolster up his courage with the sound of his own voice. - -“I betcha yo’re right,” agreed Skeeter. “I ain’t never goin’ t’ try -it, pardner. When I talk t’ you, I mean every —— word I say.” - -The cowboy growled something under his breath and turned back across -the street toward a saloon. The rest of the cowboys sauntered on, -talking softly among themselves and glancing back toward the saloon. -Skeeter made a bet with himself that this loud-talking cowboy had -disrated himself in their minds. He climbed down, tied his horse and -went into the store. - -Some of the cowboys were sitting on a counter when Skeeter came in, -but paid no attention to him. The storekeeper, who was behind a -counter arranging some goods, also paid no attention to Skeeter as -he leaned negligently against the counter and whistled unmusically -between his teeth. - -The cowboys had ceased their conversation, and the place was quiet -except for Skeeter’s tuneless whistle. Finally the storekeeper -turned and looked at Skeeter, who slid a penciled list of the -necessary groceries across the counter to him. - -The storekeeper glanced down at the sizable list for a moment and -then at Skeeter. - -“Sheep outfit?” he asked. - -Skeeter nodded, and the man shoved the list back to Skeeter. - -“I’m out of all them articles,” he stated and turned back to his -work. - -Skeeter Bill turned slowly and looked around. One of the largest -articles on the list was flour, and on a central counter were at -least ten sacks. His eyes turned to shelving behind the storekeeper, -where there were canned goods, baking-powder, salt. On the counter -beside him were several strips of bacon. - -Skeeter Bill considered his list carefully, checking off the goods -in sight. He knew that the store had declared an embargo on the -sheep-men. It was a mean move and might be very effective, as -Crescent City was the nearest supply point by at least thirty miles. - -The storekeeper turned his head and favored Skeeter Bill with an -ugly look. - -“I told you once that I’m all out of them goods,” he repeated -heatedly. - -“I heard yuh,” grinned Skeeter, “but I thought I’d kinda hang around -until yuh got a new supply.” - -“Then you’ll have a ——long time, feller.” - -“Oh!” grunted Skeeter. “I’ve got a mind not t’ trade with you -a-tall. You look somethin’ like a storekeeper I knowed in Oklahoma, -but I know you ain’t the same one, cause he got hung f’r givin’ -short weight to a widder woman. I’ll leave the list with yuh, and -I’m goin’t’ weigh everythin’ before I pay yuh for it.” - -Skeeter turned on his heel and walked out of the door, while the -irate storekeeper sprawled across the counter and tried to swear. -The cowboys, who had suggested the embargo, went out slowly, -solemnly, choking back their unholy glee at the discomfiture of the -storekeeper. - - * * * * * - -Skeeter soon found that emissaries of the cattlemen had preceded him -to every store, and in each place he was given to understand that -they were out of all staple and fancy groceries. It was the first -time that the cattle interests had thought of such a move, and they -were jubilant over its success. - -No one made any move to interfere with Skeeter Bill. He did not look -like a sheep-herder. His faded clothes, high-crowned hat and -high-heeled boots proclaimed the cowpuncher. The hang of his -well-filled cartridge belt and the angle of his heavy, black-handled -Colt were readable signs to the cattlemen. - -Skeeter loafed along the street, cogitating deeply over just what to -do, when a man rode into town and headed for the sheriff’s office, -in front of which Skeeter was standing. - -The man was Ben Freel, the sheriff. One side of his head was a -welter of gore. Several cowboys crowded around him, as he dismounted -heavily and leaned wearily against the short hitch-rack. - -“Wha’sa matter, Ben?” asked a cowboy. “Didja get bushwhacked?” - -Freel nodded. - -“Shepherd?” queried another cowboy anxiously. - -“How in —— do I know?” snapped Freel. “Somebody bushed me, that’s -a cinch, and I want to say right now that this bush warfare has got -to quit.” - -Freel went into his office, slamming the door behind him. Skeeter -decided that Freel was decidedly more mad than injured. The cowboys -showed little sympathy for Freel, but it gave them another talking -point. Skeeter walked away from the group and went back toward the -first store he had entered. - -The storekeeper was alone this time. He seemed greatly peeved at the -sight of Skeeter Bill. - -“Yore stock of goods arrived yet?” queried Skeeter. - -“No, by ——!” yelped the grocer. “You git out of here and stay -out!” - -He snatched Skeeter’s list off the counter and shoved it under -Skeeter’s nose. - -“You take your —— list and vamoose!” - -Skeeter took the list and looked it over carefully, after which he -picked up a sack of flour in his left hand and again looked at his -list. - -“Leggo that flour!” howled the storekeeper. “Leggo——” - -He grabbed the flour in one hand and took a long swing at Skeeter’s -chin with the other. The fist described an arc, met no resistance -and swung its owner half-around, causing him to let loose of the -sack. - -Skeeter swung up the sack in both hands and brought it down upon the -unprotected head of the staggering storekeeper, knocking him to the -floor in a smother of flour from the burst sack. - -On the floor near him was a great coil of new, half-inch Manila -rope. As the storekeeper struggled to his feet Skeeter back-heeled -him neatly and broke all records for hog-tying a human being. - -The storekeeper let out a yelp for assistance, but Skeeter shook the -rest of the flour out of the sack and used the sack to gag his -victim. Then Skeeter proceeded to stack up his list of necessities, -working swiftly. - -Estimating at a top figure, he placed the money on the counter and -began carrying his purchases out to the wagon. Luckily no one was -paying any attention to him, as most of the inquisitive ones were -down at the sheriff’s office trying to find out just what had -happened to him. - -The ancient gray looked upon Skeeter with disapproving eyes as it -noted the amount of weight which was to be drawn back to the -sheep-camp; but Skeeter’s one big idea was to get out of Crescent -City as fast as possible. - -He climbed to the rickety seat, almost upset the wagon on a short -turn, and rattled out of town. Several cowboys had come out of the -saloon across the street and watched him drive away. - -Skeeter caught a glimpse of one of these cowboys waving his arms -wildly as he started across toward the store, and Skeeter knew that -the cowboy had seen the half-loaded wagon and was going to find out -what had happened to the storekeeper. - -It was nearly three miles to the sheep-camp—three miles of crooked, -rutty road; and it was like riding a bucking broncho to stay on that -wagon-seat. Skeeter lashed the old gray into a gallop—or rather -what resembled a gallop—and urged it to further speed with whip and -voice. - -As they topped the crest of a hill Skeeter looked back, but the -pursuit had not started yet; so he yelled threateningly at the old -gray, and they lurched off down the grade in a cloud of alkali dust. - -Skeeter knew that the cowboys would probably follow him and try to -recover the supplies, but he also knew that they would not get them -without a fight. He had promised the Kirks that he would bring back -the supplies, and Skeeter Bill meant to keep his word. - -The old gray looked like an advertisement for a popular soap-suds -powder when they skidded, slewed and lurched down on to the -sheep-ranch flat and stopped at the door of the little cabin. -Skeeter yelped loudly, but no one answered his hail; so he fell off -the rickety seat and began gathering up packages from the rear of -the wagon, while the ancient gray spread its legs wide apart and -heaved like a bellows. - -“Maud S,” said Skeeter, “you ain’t —— for speed, but yuh shore can -lather a-plenty. ’F I had a razor I’d give yuh a shave.” - -He started for the half-open door with his arms full of plunder, -when he happened to look down at the ground near the low step, where -the pump shotgun was leaning against the house, with its muzzle in -the dirt. - -Skeeter kicked the door open, placed the food inside and came back -to the gun. He looked it over and pumped out an empty shell. The gun -had been fired recently, and a grin overspread Skeeter’s face as he -visualized Mrs. Kirk shooting at a target to try the gun. - -“Kicked her so danged hard that she dropped it and busted off across -country for fear it might go off ag’in,” mused Skeeter; but as his -eyes searched for a possible target he stared at the fringe of the -old dry-wash, about fifty feet away. - -Taking a deep breath, he walked straight out there and looked down -at the body of a man. Skeeter did not know him. He was a big man -with a deeply lined face, and his hair was slightly gray. He wore a -faded blue shirt, nondescript vest, overalls and bat-winged chaps. -One of his arms was doubled under him, and that hand evidently held -a six-shooter, the barrel of which protruded out past his hip. - -Skeeter turned him over and felt of his heart. The man had evidently -received the whole charge of buckshot between his waist and -shoulders, and there was no question but that he was dead. - -Skeeter squatted down beside the dead man with the shotgun across -his lap. There was no question in his mind but that either Kirk or -his wife had fired the fatal shot. Which one, it did not matter. -They had only been protecting their rights; but would the law look -at it in the right way? - -Skeeter had become so engrossed in the problem that he forgot his -wild ride from town. He knew that he must dispose of this body at -once—wipe out all evidence of this tragedy—anything to get it away -from the sheep-camp and out of the light of day. - -The brushy bottom of the old dry-wash suggested the handiest spot, -and without a moment’s delay he swung the body around, climbed -partly down the bank and hoisted the body to his shoulder. The loose -dirt gave way with him, and he almost fell to his knees at the -bottom, but managed to right himself. As he plunged ahead into the -brush he seemed to be surrounded by horsemen, some of them almost -crashing into him. - -He swung the body aside into a bush and reached for his gun, but -looked up into the muzzles of four guns, and one of them was in the -hand of Ben Freel, the sheriff. Two other cowboys came riding -through the brush and stopped near them. - -Freel spurred his horse ahead and looked down at the dead man. - -“By ——!” he grunted. “Cleve Hart!” - -Skeeter did not look up. The name meant nothing to him; he was -thinking rapidly. He still had his gun. It was true that at least -three six-shooters were leveled at him, but he might last long -enough to make them sorry they had followed him. - -“Take his gun, Slim,” ordered the sheriff, and one of the cowboys -swung down and deftly yanked Skeeter’s gun from its holster. - -Skeeter glanced up at Freel and smiled wearily. - -“I’m glad your man took my gun, sheriff. I feel better now.” - -“Yeah?” - -Freel took the gun from the cowboy and dropped it into his pocket as -he turned to Skeeter. - -“Mind tellin’ us about it?” - -Skeeter glanced at the dead man and around at the circle of cowboys. - -“No-o-o, I don’t reckon I will, sheriff.” - -“What did yuh shoot him for?” - -This from one of the cowboys, who was riding a Lazy H horse. - -Skeeter shut his lips tight and shook his head. Freel dismounted and -examined the body carefully. - -“Buckshot,” he said finally. “Riddled him.” - -“The gun’s up there on the bank,” said Skeeter, jerking his head in -that direction. “The empty shell is over in front of the shack.” - -“You’re a —— of a cool customer,” declared the one called Slim. - -“Ancestors was Eskimos,” said Skeeter seriously. - -“If yuh ask me, I’d say he’s as crazy as a loon,” said another -cowboy, who wore long hair and a chin-strap. “They say that’s what -happens to sheep-herders.” - -Freel sent two of the cowboys to get the shotgun and empty cartridge -shell, to be used as evidence, while he dismounted and slipped a -pair of handcuffs on Skeeter Bill and ordered him to mount one of -the horses. - -“Mind doin’ me a li’l favor, sheriff?” asked Skeeter. - -“Mebbe not,” growled Freel. “Whatcha want?” - -“Ask the boys t’ leave that bunch of grub alone. Yuh came out here -t’ take it away from me, but yuh landed bigger game than tryin’t’ -starve a shepherd.” - -“No, by ——!” interrupted the one called Slim. “We aim to bust up -this —— sheep business, and starvation is better than bullets.” - -“There’s a woman t’ starve,” Skeeter Bill reminded him. - -Slim hesitated and shrugged his shoulders. - -“We’ll let the grub alone,” nodded Freel. “A few days more or less -won’t ruin the cow-business, I reckon.” - -Slim favored Freel with a black look, but at this moment the two -cowboys came back with the evidence and gave it to Freel. - -“My bronc will pack double, Andy,” said Freel to one of the -cowpunchers. “You ride behind me, and the prisoner will ride your -horse.” - -“Awright.” - -Andy did not relish this arrangement, but swung up behind the -sheriff, and the cavalcade moved back toward town. - -Skeeter glanced back toward the shack, where the ancient gray was -still standing wearily before the open door, waiting for some one to -unhitch him. - - * * * * * - -Crescent City was deeply stirred over the killing of Cleve Hart, -who, although not exactly popular, was the biggest cattle owner in -the valley. The guilt of Skeeter Bill was unquestioned, as he had -been caught with the goods. Unluckily for him the sheriff and posse -had lingered a few minutes before giving chase to recover the -sheep-herder’s grub-stake, and this lapse of time had been -sufficient for Skeeter to have killed Cleve Hart. - -There was much talk of a lynching, headed by the boys from the Lazy -H, but wiser counsel had pointed out the fact that the law would -make no mistake in this case, and that Skeeter Bill would pay the -supreme penalty. - -Skeeter Bill himself seemed indifferent. He refused to talk to the -lawyer who had been appointed by the court to defend him, and the -lawyer did not argue the point to any great extent. He was the son -of a cattleman, and to save the life of a sheep-herder would not -react to his credit. Therefore he became counsel with the defense, -rather than for it. - -It was a week from the time of Skeeter Bill’s arrest until the day -of his trial, and he had had plenty of time to think over his -predicament. Of Kirk and his wife he had seen nothing; which was not -strange, because Crescent City was no place for sheep-herders to -visit. Only a voluntary confession from them would exonerate him, -for it would do Skeeter no good to try to pass the guilt to -them—even if he had been so inclined. - -Crescent City was crowded on the opening day of the trial, and the -little courtroom was filled to suffocation. Never was a trial jury -selected with less argument. The counsel with the defense used no -challenges, and the prosecuting attorney passed each juror with few -questions. Skeeter Bill smiled softly, as he studied the faces of -the twelve men. They were all cattlemen. - -“I’ve got about as much chance as a snowball in ——,” he told his -lawyer in an undertone. - -“It’s your own fault,” the lawyer reminded him sourly. “You wouldn’t -talk to me about the case.” - -“Well, everybody else did, I reckon—and they likely told the truth, -as far as they could see.” - -The evidence was overwhelming. Every cowboy who had been with the -sheriff on the day of the arrest took the stand and swore to the -same story. There was no cause for any delay in presenting the case -to the jury, and the prosecutor, supreme in his knowledge that the -prisoner was already convicted, opened his vials of righteous wrath -and hinted that Skeeter Bill was guilty of every known crime against -humanity. - -At the height of his vituperative oratory he suddenly crashed to -earth when Skeeter Bill, handcuffed, threw the sheriff aside, -grasped the prosecutor with both hands, kicked his feet from under -him, and hurled him over the railing into the front row of -sight-seeing humanity. - -In an instant the courtroom was in an uproar, but Skeeter Bill -backed up against the judge’s desk and made no further move. The -prosecutor crawled back to his seat, torn of raiment and dazed of -mind. - -“All I ask for is a square deal,” stated Skeeter to the court. “That -lawyer is a —— liar, tha’s all.” - -“You’ll get a square deal,” declared the judge nervously, rapping on -his desk. “Sit down, Sarg.” - -“Where and when do I get this here square deal?” queried Skeeter -Bill. “With all the witnesses ag’in’ me and a jury of cowpunchers, -where do I get off? You’ve got me cinched f’r murder, judge—why let -that ganglin’, horse-faced lawyer add t’ my crimes?” - -The prosecutor got quickly to his feet and wailed an objection, but -the judge ordered him to sit down. - -“I do not think there is any use of reviling the prisoner,” declared -the judge. “The evidence is plain enough, I think.” - -Skeeter Bill got to his feet and faced the court. - -“Just a moment, judge. I reckon yuh got me cinched f’r this killin’, -but I’d like t’ ask a question before that jury decides t’ hang me, -’f I can.” - -“I think you have that right, Sarg,” admitted the judge. - -Skeeter turned to Freel. - -“Mind swearin’t’ tell the truth, sheriff?” - -Freel walked to the witness chair, while his deputy edged in beside -Skeeter Bill. - -“Sheriff,” said Skeeter Bill slowly, “Cleve Hart had a six-gun in -his hand when he died. Did you see that gun?” - -“Yes.” - -“Had it been fired?” - -“Once,” nodded Freel. “There was one empty shell.” - -“Tha’s all,” said Skeeter, and turned to the judge. “Yuh can only -hang a man f’r murder, judge; and it ain’t exactly murder when the -other feller shoots too. Ain’t it sort of a question as t’ who shot -first?” - -The prosecutor jumped to his feet and objected at the top of his -voice, but the judge turned a deaf ear to him as he instructed the -jury. - -Skeeter Bill expected little from those twelve hard-faced cattlemen -as they filed out into the jury room to decide his fate. The judge -had explained the difference between first and second degree murder, -and had dwelt upon the possibility of self-defense, but Skeeter felt -that the jury were in no mood to argue among themselves. - -Fifteen minutes later they returned their verdict of guilty of -murder in the first degree. For several moments there was intense -silence in the courtroom; broken only by the voice of Judge -Grayson— - -“William Sarg, stand up.” - -Skeeter got to his feet and faced the judge, who said: - -“You have been found guilty of murder in the first degree. Is there -any reason why the sentence of the court should not be passed upon -you?” - -Skeeter shook his head slowly. The jury had taken no cognizance of -the fact that Cleve Hart might have shot first—had given him no -benefit of any doubt. - -“Go ahead, judge,” said Skeeter softly. “There ain’t nothin’ else -yuh can do.” - -Judge Grayson’s eyes searched the courtroom, passed over the -stony-faced jury and came back to Skeeter Bill. - -“William Sarg, I sentence you to life imprisonment at Red Lodge.” - -Life imprisonment! Skeeter took a deep breath. He had expected a -death sentence. The courtroom buzzed with excitement, and one of the -jurymen swore openly. Skeeter felt a pressure on his arm and turned -to find Freel looking him square in the eyes and saying— - -“Sarg, I’m —— glad.” - -Skeeter smiled at the irony of it all. Congratulating him on a life -sentence! The judge was leaving the bench, and the jury had been -discharged. The room still buzzed with conversation, and Skeeter -heard one man say: - -“—— such a judge! He ain’t got guts enough to hang a -sheep-herder!” - -Skeeter turned and looked at this man. He was a small, thin-faced, -almost chinless person with close-set eyes and a broken nose. His -eyes dropped under Skeeter’s stare, and he turned away, walking with -arms bent stiffly at the elbow and with a peculiar swaying motion. - -“That’s Kales,” said Freel as Skeeter turned back. “He’s a gunman. I -think he is working for some of the cattle outfits.” - -Skeeter nodded. - -“I’ve heard of him. Feller told me that Kales never missed his man. -He will—some day. They all do.” - -Freel took Skeeter back to his cell and locked him in. - -“When do we make the trip?” asked Skeeter. - -“I dunno.” - -Freel shook his head. - -“Soon, I reckon,” he added. - -Freel went up the street and mingled with the crowds. There was no -question that the sentence was unpopular among the cattlemen. Their -tempers were worn to a frazzle over the drouth, the continuous heat -and the sheep trouble, and a hanging might act as a safety valve. -Freel caught the gist of a remark between Kales and one of the Lazy -H cowboys, which hinted at a lynching. - -There were open remarks about Judge Grayson being chicken-hearted, -and some of them seemed even to blame Freel for what they considered -a miscarriage of justice. - -Alone in his small cell, Skeeter Bill sat down and contemplated his -future. He was thirty-five years of age, and in all probabilities he -would live thirty-five years longer. His mind traveled back over the -years he could remember as he tried to visualize the long years to -come—years of being only a number, a caged atom. - -“I laid down on the job,” he told himself bitterly as he thought of -his capture. “Why didn’t I take a chance of shootin’ m’self loose -from that gang? All they could ’a’ done was t’ kill me. Or _why_ in -—— didn’t I let that dead man alone?” - -He shook his head sadly. - -“I swore at that horse ’cause it didn’t have no speed; and t’ think -of how it could ’a’ saved me by dyin’ half-way out there.” - -But again Skeeter Bill shook his head. If it hadn’t been for him, -Kirk or his wife would now be sharing this cell. - -“Pals,” said Skeeter. “Bunkies—and him fightin’ f’r life. Livin’ -and lovin’ thataway. ——! They deserve a chance, I reckon. But—” -Skeeter lifted his head and spoke to the barred door—“I didn’t take -their crime jist t’ save them. Nope, I wasn’t doin’ that—I was jist -tryin’ t’ give ’em a chance t’ git away, tha’s all. I ain’t no —— -hero; I’m jist unlucky, I am.” - -Freel came back into his office, and in a few minutes he came back -to the cell door. - -“I dunno when we’ll make the trip, Sarg. There’s lots of wild -talkin’ bein’ done, and we may have to sneak out of Crescent City.” - -Skeeter grinned seriously. - -“Seems kinda funny f’r me t’ have t’ sneak to the penitentiary, -Freel.” - -Freel laughed shortly. - -“Is kinda queer. I don’t reckon they’ll try to take yuh out of -here.” - -“First time I ever was in a jail that I didn’t want t’ leave,” -grinned Skeeter Bill. - -Freel turned and walked back to his office. He seemed nervous over -the outcome of it all; but Skeeter Bill, if he was perturbed in the -least, did not show it. He wondered whether any of his acquaintances -outside the valley had heard of his arrest. News did not travel fast -in that country. - -His thoughts turned back to Mary Leeds and the town of Sunbeam. -Would she ever know? Somehow he hoped she would never find out. Mary -Leeds was nothing to him, he told himself. She knew him as an -outlaw. Sunbeam knew him as a gun-fighting lawbreaker—even if he -had been instrumental in cleaning up the place. No, she would not be -at all interested in his future. - -Skeeter shook his head sadly over it all. He was making a fitting -finish, but there was little glory in it. - -“I wonder where m’ spark is?” he mused. “I’ve got a fine chance t’ -build it into a flame where I’m goin’. Yet I wonder why Mary Leeds -called, ‘Skeeter Bill!’ when I rode away. Anyway I won’t need t’ -worry about gittin’ a hair-cut no more, and a number ain’t no worse -than a name.” - - * * * * * - -Sunbeam had been good to Mary Leeds. On the night that her father -had been killed, several wealthy bad-men had died intestate, and -Sunbeam settled their estates without recourse to law. - -But the life of the border mining-town palled upon her. She did not -fit in somehow. The estimable Mrs. Porter had taken her into their -home and had grown rather refined in her language, due to the -instructive criticism of Mary Leeds. - -“My ——!” exclaimed Mrs. Porter. “Ever since Jim Porter flirted -openly with a stick of dynamite I’ve had t’ do everythin’ ’cept chaw -tobacco; but now I reckon I’ve got t’ curry m’ finger-nails, wear -stockin’s and say, ‘Yessir’ t’ every hardheaded son-of-a-rooster -that comes after his laundry.” - -“But,” explained Mary, “you are a woman.” - -“Tha’s so,” agreed Mrs. Porter dubiously. “I s’pose I am. I’ve got -them charact’ristics. I kinda wish you’d stay here in Sunbeam. Me -’n’ you git along sweet and pretty, but after you’re gone I’ll be -the only ree-fined female in this whole —— town. Mebbe I’ll forgit -everythin’ you learned me, and start in swearin’ like ——.” - -“I hope not,” sighed Mary. “You have been lovely to me, Mrs. Porter. -I don’t know what I would have done without you and——” - -Mrs. Porter lifted her homely face and looked closely at Mary, who -was staring out of the half-open window. The rumble of a series of -blasts shook the ground, and from over on the street came the -bumping and rattling of a heavy freight wagon. - -Mary Leeds was not beautiful, though not far from it. Her face was -appealing in its delicate lines, and a pair of wistful, blue eyes -looked out into the world from below a tangle of soft brown hair. - -Mary turned and saw Mrs. Porter looking at her. - -“You didn’t quite finish your statement, Mary,” said Mrs. Porter -softly. - -Mary’s eyes switched back to the window, but she did not reply. - -“You kinda meant t’ say a man’s name, didn’t you?” - -“A man?” - -Mary did not turn her head. - -“Yeah, a man; Skeeter Bill Sarg.” - -Mary turned and looked straight at Mrs. Porter. - -“Skeeter Bill? Why should I mention him?” - -Mrs. Porter turned back to her washtub and thoughtfully lifted a -dripping garment. - -“I dunno why.” - -She shook her head. - -“’Course he didn’t do nothin’ for you,” she added. - -Mary continued the stare out of the window. - -“Funny sort of a feller, was Skeeter Bill,” mused Mrs. Porter. “I -’member that he killed Jeff Billings ’cause Jeff lied to him. And -Jeff had some laundry with me which wasn’t paid for, and Skeeter -paid for it. I offered it to him, but he wouldn’t take it. - -“’Member how he saved you and the preacher at the Poplar Springs, -after Tug Leeds and his gang had shot up the outfit to steal the -horses? He brought yuh both back here, and backed the preacher t’ -clean up Sunbeam. - -“And Tug Leeds lied to you and the preacher about Skeeter, and made -yuh think he was a awful bum. ’Member that, do you? - -“And then mebbe yuh ’member how Tug Leeds framed it to have the -preacher hold church in his danged honkatonk t’ disgust both of yuh, -and how Skeeter Bill raised —— with the whole gang and saved yuh -from bein’ stole by Leeds and his gang? - -“’Member that some of that lousy outfit shot old Judge Tareyton, -through the winder, and the old judge, with his dyin’ muscles, -pulled the trigger that sent Tug Leeds t’ ——? - -“And Judge Tareyton was your own pa, and Tug Leeds was the man who -had sent him to the penitentiary and stole his name. ’Member all -that, don’t yuh? Skeeter Bill was the man who engineered all that.” - -Mary turned slowly and nodded dumbly. - -“I know. I owe him everything, Mrs. Porter. He—he had been awful -good to my old daddy, they say. He saved my life, I think. But he -said he was a horse-thief and ——” - -“Y’betcha he did! Honest? Whooee, that ganglin’ outlaw sure was -honest. If he’d ’a’ got killed in that entertainment they’d put up a -monyment to him; but as it is I suppose some of these snake-hunters -would kill him on sight. - -“Human nature is kinda like that, Mary. Folks that pack a sawed-off -shotgun for yuh when you’re alive, will chip in t’ give yuh a fancy -tombstone and shed tears over yuh when you’re dead. - -“Folks cuss me for wearin’ out their shirts on a old wash-board; but -I’ll betcha if I died they’d all chip in and put me up a tombstone, -real finicky, with a marble angel humped over a wash-tub, lookin’ at -a marble shirt, and on it they’d engrave, ‘Not worn out, but —— -near it.’” - -Mary Leeds laughed at Mrs. Porter’s serious expression and dejected -position over the wash-board as she held the dripping shirt in both -hands and gazed at the ceiling. - -“’F I go to heaven,” continued Mrs. Porter, “and they tell me that -angels wear shirts, I’m sure goin’ to tell ’em that I know of a lot -of preachers that have got the wrong dope on things down here.” - -Mrs. Porter slapped the shirt back into the sudsy water and sank -down in a broken-backed chair. - -“Aw, I’m sick of it all, so I am. Scrub, scrub, scrub, all the time -’cept when I’m ridin’ sign on a —— flat-iron! Miners bring in -their flannel shirts so danged dirty that yuh can’t wash ’em—yuh -have t’ cultivate ’em. Their socks has been worn so long that I have -t’ picket ’em out, ’stead of hangin’ ’em on the line. - -“Feller brought me six suits of underclothes last week, and I let -’em fall off the table. Know what they done? Three suits broke all -t’ ——, and the other three was so badly cracked that he made me -pay for ’em. I tell yuh I’m sick of it. How in —— can I git -refined under them conditions, I ask yuh?” - -Mrs. Porter gathered up her apron in both hands and buried her face -within its damp folds while her shoulders shook with suppressed -emotion. Mary went to her quickly and threw both arms around her -shoulder. - -“Oh, I’m so sorry! It is too hard. Do you really have to stay here, -Mrs. Porter? Couldn’t you live just as well in some other town?” - -“I s’pose so.” - -Mrs. Porter’s voice was muffled. - -“Goodness knows there ain’t many towns where men don’t git their -shirts dirty,” she added. - -“I didn’t mean that,” explained Mary softly. “Perhaps you could get -into something else. Suppose you go back East with me?” - -Mrs. Porter lifted her head quickly and stared wide-eyed at Mary. - -“Go East with you?” - -“Where there are lots of folks and——” - -“Lots of shirts?” supplied Mrs. Porter. “Lord bless you, child, I -ain’t got but eighty dollars t’ my name.” - -“I have,” said Mary; “I have enough for us both.” - -Mrs. Porter shifted her eyes and looked around the room. There was -nothing attractive about the rough shack interior. Outside, a -mule-skinner spoke in the only language known to mules, and a heavy -wagon lurched past through the dust. Mrs. Porter shoved the hair -back from her face and got slowly to her feet. - -She lifted up the sodden shirt and slapped it against the -wash-board. - -“This here shirt belongs t’ Doc Sykes, the coroner. Kinda -prophetic-like, so it is, ’cause I’ve told him that he was the last -person I ever expected t’ do business with. Gimme room t’ wring, -young woman, ’cause I’m sure goin’t’ wind up m’ career in a big -splash. You sure got somethin’ wished on to you when you issued a -invite t’ me to go where men change their shirts once per week. -Whooee!” - -Mary Leeds laughed joyously and gave Mrs. Porter plenty of room for -her last appearance as a laundress in a mining-camp. - - * * * * * - -While Mary Leeds and Mrs. Porter prepared to leave Sunbeam, and -while Skeeter Bill Sarg smoked innumerable cigarets and waited for -the sheriff to take him to the penitentiary at Red Lodge, a -disgruntled crew of cowboys and paid gunmen loafed around the Lazy H -ranch. - -It had developed that Cleve Hart was not sole owner of the Lazy H, -and that the other owners, who were Eastern capitalists, were -disgruntled over their investment, and ordered an immediate sale of -the property and the discharge of all employees forthwith. - -Nick Kales had sold his services to Cleve Hart without any agreement -from the other owners; with the result that he was forced to look -forward to about two weeks’ pay at the rate of forty dollars a -month, instead of the generous bonus due him as a professional -gunman. - -“Dutch” Van Cleve, a protegé of Nick Kales, was also a bit -disgruntled over the outcome. The rest of the remaining cowpunchers, -“Red” Bowen, “Swede” Sorenson, “Roper” Bates and “Boots” Orson, -faced a lean year, as none of them saved more than tobacco money out -of their monthly salary. - -The killing of Cleve Hart and the arrest and conviction of Skeeter -Bill had quieted things to some extent, but it was only an armed -truce. Cowboys rode dead-lines and managed to keep the sheep within -a well-defined area; but the cattlemen knew that an adverse court -decision would wipe out dead-lines, and with it the cattle business. - -Swede Sorenson had just ridden in from Crescent City, bringing the -mail; and among it was a letter for Nick Kales, postmarked from the -town of Wheeler. - -Kales looked it over gloomily and put it unopened into his pocket. -He exchanged a word or two with Dutch Van Cleve aside, and a little -later they both approached Roper Bates, a saturnine, -narrow-between-the-eyes sort of a puncher. - -“Can yuh read?” queried Kales. - -“Well,” grinned Roper, “I ain’t no —— professional reader, as yuh -might say; but I _sabe_ some of the alphabet.” - -“Yuh know how to keep your mouth shut, don’t yuh?” - -“Now,” said Roper seriously, “you’re guessin’ me dead center. Shoot -the piece, Kales.” - -Kales took out the letter and handed it to Roper, who looked at it -curiously. - -“It ain’t never been opened,” he remarked. - -“Me ’n’ Dutch can’t read,” explained Kales. “We’re askin’ yuh to -decipher it for us; _sabe_?” - -Roper took out the letter and laboriously spelled out the -pencil-written message. - -“It says,” began Roper: - - “Dear Nick: All set for a big one on Thursday the eighteenth. - Make it look good. Number 16. Hits there about nine o’clock. - Burn this up right away. - Very truly yours, - Wheat.” - -Roper finished and looked up at Kales, who was staring intently at -him. - -“What’sa idea?” queried Roper seriously. - -Kales watched Roper’s face closely for several seconds and then took -the letter from him. He touched a lighted match to one corner of the -letter and envelop and watched them burn to a flimsy cinder. - -“You know somethin’ now,” said Kales meaningly, “and there ain’t no -use tellin’ yuh to keep your mouth shut.” - -“Aw, ——!” grunted Roper. “You make me tired. If the deal’s any -good I want in on it.” - -Kales and Dutch exchanged glances. Dutch was long of face, crooked -of nose and with a pair of round eyes which seemed to film over, -instead of blinking. - -“Whatcha think, Dutch?” queried Kales. - -“Aw’right,” nodded Dutch. “I don’t care.” - -“What about the rest—Red, Swede, Boots?” asked Kales. “This job is -big enough for all.” - -“All square,” declared Roper. “All square, and all broke. Put it up -to ’em, Kales.” - -The three men drifted down to the bunkhouse, where the other three -were playing seven-up, and Kales lost no time in feeling out the -other cowboys. - -“What are you fellers goin’ to do?” asked Kales. “She’s a long ways -to the next range.” - -“That’s the —— of it,” growled Red disgustedly. “I’m broke—flat.” - -“You ain’t got nothin’ on me,” grunted Swede. “I don’t even own the -saddle I’m ridin’.” - -“What’s the answer to your question, Kales?” queried Boots Orson, -who was a trifle more intelligent than the rest and felt that Kales’ -question was not idle curiosity. - -“A certain job,” stated Kales bluntly, “might mean a big stake or it -might mean the penitentiary. Takes a lot of guts.” - -“You’re talkin’,” reminded Orson softly. - -“Am I?” - -Kales’ eyes swept the circle of cowboys, but read only interest in -their faces. - -“You—show—us,” said Red slowly, spacing his words widely. “I’m -game.” - -“—— right!” breathed Swede. “Shoot.” - -“Did yuh ever hear of Sunbeam?” asked Kales. - -“Yeah,” nodded Swede. “Minin’-town, about fifty miles from Wheeler.” - -“Gold-minin’ town,” said Kales as if disputing Swede. “Lot of the -yaller stuff shipped out of there, but nobody knows when.” - -“There ain’t a —— mind-reader among us,” grinned Red. - -“That part’s all fixed,” explained Kales, nodding toward Roper. “He -read the letter.” - -“I read a letter,” agreed Roper, looking up from the manufacture of -a cigaret. “It didn’t fix nothin’ for me.” - -“Lemme tell yuh about that letter,” urged Kales. “That feller who -wrote it is Pat Wheat, and an old bunkie of mine. He works for the -express company as a shotgun messenger. That’s how he knows things, -I reckon. - -“Me and him have been workin’ for a big stake, and he knowed I was -here; so he tips me off. Pat will be ridin’ shotgun on this -shipment, and she’s a cinch that we’ll crack out of here with a lot -of _dinero_.” - -“Hold up the train?” queried Red. - -“You’re —— right. Cut off the baggage-car and take it a few miles. -Won’t have nobody to handle except the engine crew. Pat’ll take care -of the messenger.” - -“I _sabe_ the place,” grinned Roper joyously. “We can flag her down -jist short of the S bridge, cut off the money-car and run down to -the mouth of San Gregario Cañon. She’s a dinger of a place to make a -getaway. - -“Have the horses planted there, and we can ride the rocky bottom of -that dry creek for a mile. Never leave a track.” - -“How about the rest of the train?” queried Boots. “There’s six of -us. Passengers pack money and jewelry.” - -Kales nodded slowly and stared at the ceiling for a while before he -said: - -“Yeah, that might be a good scheme, at that. We’ll cut the telegraph -wire. Won’t be a —— of a lot of passengers, but it might pay to do -it. If it was a reg’lar main-line train with sleepers, I’d say it -wouldn’t pay, but on a branch line like this it’s a cinch to pile -out or into them old cars.” - -“When do we git action?” queried Roper. “Did that letter say, -‘Thursday’?” - -“It did,” nodded Kales; “and this is Tuesday. We’ll work out the -details later.” - -“Can’t come too soon to suit me,” yawned Red. “Since Cleve Hart got -bumped off it’s been kinda slow around here.” - -“Hart was a —— fool,” declared Kales. - -“Any old time yuh start monkeyin’ with women, you’re a fool.” - -“Do yuh think that’s why he got his?” asked Red. - -“Cinch. He thought he’d run a blazer on that shepherd and take his -woman, but he got his shirt filled with buckshot.” - -“Where’d this Sarg person figure in on the deal anyway?” queried -Boots, who was with the sheriff when they arrested Skeeter Bill. - -Kales grinned, showing some very bad-shaped teeth. - -“Sarg never shot Hart. I know a few things about that long _hombre_, -y’betcha. He’s a pistol fighter, Sarg is; and a —— good shot. Do -yuh think he’d pick up a shotgun when he had a loaded six-gun in his -holster? - -“Sarg pistol-whipped Sunbeam town, so they tells me, and pulled out -without a scratch. I don’t _sabe_ what he’s doin’ down here, ’less -he hired out his gun to the sheep outfits.” - -“Do yuh reckon the woman killed Hart?” queried Roper interestedly. - -“She shore did, pardner.” - -Kales was emphatic. - -“Hm-m-m,” mused Roper. - -He had seen Mrs. Kirk, and Roper was not overloaded with scruples. - -“Freel’s scared,” observed Swede. “He ain’t made no move to take -Sarg to the penitentiary yet.” - -“Them boys from the Tin-Cup outfit swore they’d hang Sarg if they -got a chance,” stated Red, “and Freel ain’t takin’ no chances. -They’re sore at the judge for not hangin’ Sarg. - -“’Course the sheep are closer to the Tin-Cup than to any of the -other outfits, and if the law decides in favor of sheep—blooey! -They’ll swarm plumb into Tin-Cup range. ’Course the law’ll only give -’em an even break with the cattle; but the —— law don’t stop to -figure that cattle can’t live on an even break with sheep.” - -“After that there sermon,” stated Roper piously, “the choir will -rise and sing. What in —— do we care what the sheep do to Moon -Valley? We’re leavin’ here; _sabe_?” - -“And with freight all paid,” added Kales, grinning. “Tomorrow we all -pull out, eh? Me and Dutch’ll pull out from Crescent City after -we’ve planted the fact that we’re leavin’ for good. We’ll spring it -that Roper and Swede left over Table Rock Pass t’day. - -“Mebbe Red and Boots better stay here at the ranch. Might look bad -if we all drifted at the same time, eh? - -“And suppose we all meet in San Gregario Cañon, down near the mouth -of it, about dark on Thursday? Me and Dutch’ll have things framed, -wires cut and all that.” - -The rest of the gang nodded in agreement, except Roper, who said: - -“Let Boots pull out with Swede, and I’ll stay here. I owe a few -dollars in Crescent City, and I might want to come back here some -day. I’ll ride down with you and Dutch and then come back here.” - -“Well, that’s all right,” grunted Kales. “Fix it any old way yuh -want to.” - -And thus are honest men drawn into evil paths through the need of a -few dollars. But the question still remains: Who is an honest man, -who is broke, with easy money in sight? - - * * * * * - -Roper Bates had little stomach for a train-robbery, but he did have -a little plan of his own. Money did not mean so much to Roper as a -pretty face. He had seen Mrs. Kirk, and the memory of her caused him -to calculate deeply. - -Roper was not an ignorant person, but a queer kink in his mental -make-up caused him to believe that it was inconsistent that this -pretty woman should be the wife of a despised sheep-herder. To him -it was very unreasonable; a condition to be remedied at once. He did -not take the woman’s position into consideration at all. - -Roper was no handsome hero; rather he was a homely cowpuncher; but -his mirror, if he ever used one, only reflected Roper Bates, which -was sufficient for Roper Bates. He was a top-hand, a good pistol -shot and took a bath in the Summer. All of which raised him far -above the level of sheep-herders. - -He had no intentions of being at the mouth of San Gregario Cañon at -dark; but he did not mention this fact, as it was nobody’s business -except his own. He was free, white and well past twenty-one. Also, -on this particular Thursday he had imbibed freely of the juice that -cheers, and the world was made up of pastel shades. - -He lounged past the jail and almost ran into one of the Tin Cup -punchers, known as “Jimmy Longhair,” who seemed to be making an -indifferent getaway from the rear of the jail. Jimmy was the -long-haired puncher who had been with the sheriff at the capture of -Skeeter Bill. - -“_Hyah_, Hair,” greeted Roper jovially. “How’sa dandruff?” - -Jimmy Longhair glared evilly from under the floppy brim of his -sombrero, but made no reply. He was a trifle touchy about his hair, -but did not want to get tough with Roper Bates. - -“Whatcha tryin’ to do—break in the back door?” continued Roper, -grinning. - -“None of yore —— business!” growled Jimmy. - -“Go to the head of the class,” gulped Roper. “I betcha I know what -yuh was tryin’ to do. You Tin Cup snake-hunters want to lynch Sarg, -and when yuh find that Freel won’t let yuh, yuh sneak around tryin’ -to shoot him through the back winder.” - -“Aw-w-w, ——!” disgustedly. “No such a —— thing.” - -Roper rocked on his heels and considered Jimmy Longhair -appraisingly. - -“Listenin’?” - -Jimmy proceeded to roll a cigaret, which gave him an alibi to -neglect an answer. Then the door of the sheriff’s office opened and -shut, and Freel came past them. He barely looked at them, but -neither gave him more than a passing glance. - -“Listenin’,” declared Roper again. “Jist like a —— cholo. I’d be -’shamed.” - -“You go to ——!” growled Jimmy. - -“I betcha,” nodded Roper soberly. “I betcha m’ life.” - -Whether Roper was willing to bet his life on the truth of his -statement or in agreement with Jimmy Longhair’s order, made no -difference to either of them. Roper turned on his heel and went -after more bottled cheer, while Jimmy Longhair secured his bronco -and hit the dusty road toward the Tin Cup ranch-house. - - * * * * * - -While the rest of the Valley of the Moon folks moved along in their -own dumb way, Skeeter Bill chafed in the confines of his small cell. -Old Solitaire had beaten him something over two hundred times, which -also got on his nerves to a certain extent. Freel had told him that -his stay was not to be much longer, which did not serve to brace his -spirits to any extent. - -Skeeter Bill had gone over every inch of his cell, trying to dope -out a scheme to escape; but that jail was not built for any such -hope. Skeeter knew that he did not have one chance in a thousand to -miss the wide doors of the penitentiary. - -Freel brought in his supper, but did not seem in any mood for -conversation. - -“Anybody’d think you was the one goin’ t’ prison,” observed Skeeter. -“My gosh, yo’re gloomy, Freel.” - -“Yeah? I hadn’t noticed it, Sarg.” - -Freel sat and watched Skeeter eat his supper, and took away the -dishes without a word. There was no question in Skeeter Bill’s mind -that Freel was worried over something. - -Perhaps, he thought, there was danger of a lynching. Freel had told -him of the threats that had emanated from the Tin Cup ranch, and -Skeeter had heard enough about the Tin Cup gang to know that they -were not given to idle gossip. Their immediate range was almost in -smelling distance of the sheep outfits. - -The Tin Cup gang had declared openly that a prison sentence was far -too lenient for a sheep-herder who had killed a cattleman, and that -they were willing to go on record as saying that Skeeter Bill would -never serve one day in the penitentiary for this crime. - -Because of this threat Freel had delayed taking Skeeter to the -penitentiary. He did not want to lose his prisoner to a mob of -lynchers, and he knew that a battle might result in dire calamity -for the house of Freel. - -As long as Skeeter Bill was behind the strong walls of the jail he -knew that the Tin Cup outfit would not try to take him. They were no -fools, and knew that the jail was built to withstand a heavy -assault. - -Skeeter Bill had stretched out on his bunk for the night, when Freel -came to the cell door without a light and spoke to him. Skeeter got -up, and Freel ordered him to dress. - -From without came the dull rumble of thunder, and a weak flash -seemed to light up the room a trifle. - -“Goin’ t’ rain?” asked Skeeter. - -“Hope to —— it rips things loose,” said Freel softly. “Suits me -fine. Dressed? Put this on.” - -He handed Skeeter a full-length slicker coat, which he put on. - -“Gimme your right hand,” whispered Freel, and Skeeter felt the -circle of steel click around his wrist as Freel snapped the -handcuff. - -Another click showed that Freel had locked the other cuff to his own -left wrist. - -“Come on, easy,” ordered Freel, and they went softly to the back -door, which Freel unbarred, and they passed out into the night, -which was as black as the proverbial black cat. - -Gusts of wind filled the air with clouds of dust, and from the -western range came the thudding roll of heavy thunder. The drouth of -the valley of the Moon River was about to be broken. - -Freel led Skeeter Bill wide of the town, the lights of which were -blotted out in the dust-clouds and dark. They stumbled across the -railroad track and swung back toward the depot, where Freel led -Skeeter in behind a pile of old ties. - -Lightning flashed across the sky, but even its light came to them in -murky flares, owing to the dust. - -“I reckon that ——- is about to bust,” said Freel. - -“Let her bust,” grunted Skeeter. “This is the first time I never was -timid about —— bustin’.” - -“Couldn’t have picked a better night,” declared Freel with much -satisfaction. - -“That’s right,” agreed Skeeter. “I allus said it would be a wet -night when I went to the penitentiary. I don’t mind sneakin’ out of -the pen, but I hate like —— to have t’ sneak into one.” - -“Rather be lynched?” - -“Danged ’f I know. That’s kind of a foolish question, don’tcha -think? I ain’t never talked with no folks after they’ve stretched -hemp. It may be a —— of a lot of fun, but I wasn’t raised t’ look -upon it as a pastime.” - -“Train comin’,” grunted Freel as the headlight glowed far down the -hazy distance and to their ears came the faint whistle of a -locomotive. - -Slowly the train ground to a stop at the station, and Freel led his -prisoner to the front one of the two coaches. These cars were not -vestibuled, but had open steps. Forty miles farther on, at the town -of Cinnabar, they would connect with the main line, where the -passengers might secure sleeping-car accommodations for the trip -Eastward. - -Through a whirl of wind and dust Freel and Skeeter Bill entered the -smoking-car, where even the swinging oil lamps were dimmed by the -dust, which seeped in through the window-casings and doors. - -With a lurch the train started ahead again; but Freel seemed -undecided about sitting down. Not over half a dozen men were in the -smoker, and none of them paid any attention to Freel and Skeeter -Bill. - -“—— the dust!” choked Freel. “Let’s try the rear car; it can’t be -any worse than this one.” - -The wind fairly tore the door-knob from Freel’s hand, and they -groped their way across the connecting platforms, a roaring, -creaking, clattering maelstrom of wild elements and protesting wood -and metal. - -Into the door of the rear car they went while the door crashed shut -behind them and weaved their way down the narrow aisle. A heavy -lurch threw Skeeter almost into an occupied seat, and the jerk of -the handcuffs swung Freel with him. - -For a moment Skeeter balanced with his one free hand against the -back of the seat, almost circling the neck of one of the occupants; -and the face that stared up at him was the face of Mary Leeds. - - * * * * * - -At the approach to the S bridge, about two miles from Crescent City, -four men—Kales, Bowen, Van Cleve and Orson—crouched near the -track. Swede Sorenson had been left with the horses at San Gregario -Cañon, and Roper Bates had never shown up. - -A swirl of wind and rain caused them to hug the side of the fill, -while overhead the lightning crackled wickedly. The great mass of -storm-clouds seemed fairly to press against the earth, and the -flashes of lightning seemed to bring only a gleam from the -glistening rails. - -“——’s recess!” swore Kales as he shielded a lantern inside his -slicker, trying to light it. - -The others crowded around him as he managed to get it lighted, and -Van Cleve gave him a red handkerchief to tie around the chimney. - -Kales braced himself against the wind and fought his way on to the -track, where he placed the danger signal; but before he could get -back to the rest, the wind hurled the lantern upside down, smashing -the chimney. - -“What’ll we do now?” yelled Bowen into Kale’s ear. “We can’t light -it ag’in!” - -“Build a fire on the track!” yelled Van Cleve. - -“Try it!” replied Kales bitterly. “You’d have a —— of a sweet -time. Looks like we’d have to pass it up, boys.” - -“They’d never see a lantern in this storm anyway,” cried Orson. - -For several moments there was silence as each man tried to figure -out some scheme for stopping the train. Suddenly the figure of a man -almost brushed Kales’ arm and climbed past him on to the road-bed. -Several other men followed him closely—bulky, indistinct figures in -the pall of rain, their footsteps drowned out in the roar of the -elements. A few feet past, and they were blotted out. - -“Who in —— was that?” roared Kales into Bowen’s ear. - -Bowen had no more idea than Kales had, and the other two added their -questions. - -“Sheriff and some men, do yuh think?” asked Kales. - -“Mebbe Bates got drunk and talked too much,” volunteered Van Cleve. -“—— him, he never showed up!” - -“I betcha he’s got a gang to double-cross us!” yelled Orson. -“Roper’d do that.” - -“—— ’em, they’ve got a light,” swore Kales. “Look!” - -Like a tiny pin-point of red, a light glowed down nearer the end of -the bridge. It flickered as the storm beat down, and at times it -disappeared entirely when the heavy wind howled out of the depths of -Moon River. - -“Roper must ’a’ told!” declared Van Cleve. - -“But the —— fool knowed we’d be here,” argued Red at the top of -his voice. “Mebbe he talked too much, but didn’t tell about us goin’ -after the stuff.” - -That seemed more reasonable to Kales, and it began to look as if -there might be a battle over the treasure. - -“What’s our move, Kales?” yelled Orson. “It’s goin’ to mean a -battle, and the sheriff might ask questions of wounded men.” - -Kales had slid a Winchester carbine from under his slicker, and now -he humped forward, resting it across the wet rail. For an instant -the red light seemed to glow brighter, and the rifle report seemed -weak in all that roaring world; but the red light glowed no more. It -is doubtful if the report of the rifle could be heard fifty feet -away. - -Suddenly the elements seemed to combine in one mighty, roaring -crash; and Kales and his men were flung against the bank of the -fill, as if hurled and held by a mighty hand, and a solid wall of -rain descended upon them. - -For a moment they were stifled; but after the mighty deluge and roar -there came a space of silence, as if the storm were preparing for -another mighty onslaught; and in that brief space of silence, while -the world seemed white from the lightning’s glow, there came the -splintering grind of tearing timbers and the hiss and roar of wild -waters. - -“My God!” - -Kale’s voice was a scream. - -“The bridge! It’s goin’ out!” - -“To —— with it!” yelled Bowen. “That old cloud——” - -But the rest of his voice was swept away in the rush of wind, and -the four men huddled low under the meager protection of the fill. - -But Kales managed to grasp Bowen by the arm and yell into his ear: - -“The train, you —— fool! It’ll go into the river; don’t yuh -understand? Nothin’ can stop it!” - -Kales sprang to his feet and staggered on to the track just as two -indistinct figures appeared out of the murk, coming from toward the -bridge. They had discovered their shattered lantern and had come to -investigate. - -One of them fired at Kales, and the report of the gun sounded like -the weak pop of a toy pistol. Kales staggered back as he swung up -his carbine and fired. More men were coming out of the gloom, and -Kales’ men began shooting blindly. - -Kales had been hit through the shoulder. After firing one shot his -heel caught in the rail and he fell backward off the road-bed. -Another whirl of rain blotted out the world, except for short, -orange-colored flashes which seemed to dart here and there. - -Kales got back to his feet, dizzy and sick, fighting to stay -upright. He was a gunman, an outlaw, a man without a conscience; but -the thought of that train running off the rail-ends of that ruined -bridge, plunging into the swollen torrent, was as a nightmare to -him. - -Blindly he started down the track toward town, stumbling, weaving in -the wind, which tore at his slicker with the tenacity of a bulldog. -His left arm was useless, but with his right hand he clutched his -six-shooter, while his lips repeated continually, as if he was -afraid he might forget— - -“One shot—close to trucks.” - - * * * * * - -It was as a dream to Skeeter Bill—this looking into the eyes of -Mary Leeds; and the awakening came when Freel yanked sharply on the -handcuff. It was then that Mary Leeds shifted her eyes and saw that -Skeeter Bill was linked to this other man. His eyes shifted to the -other occupant of the seat and looked into the face of Mrs. Porter, -erstwhile washer of shirts for Sunbeam town. - -“Skeeter Bill Sarg!” exploded Mrs. Porter. “Well, I’ll be -everlastin’ly hornswoggled!” - -“Yes’m,” said Skeeter foolishly; “me and you both.” - -“Skeeter Bill,” parroted Mary, reaching out to him as if not -believing her eyes. - -“The same,” nodded Skeeter. “I—I——” - -“C’m on,” ordered Freel, pulling on the handcuff. - -Mary looked wonderingly at Freel and up at Skeeter. - -“Me ’n’ him are kinda close pals,” said Skeeter with a smile. -“There’s a tie that kinda binds us to each other.” - -“I—I don’t understand,” faltered Mary. - -“F’r ——’s sake, whatcha handcuffed for?” demanded Mrs. Porter. - -“Well—” Skeeter squinted at the storm-drenched window—“well, I’m -takin’ a long trip f’r murderin’ a man.” - -“You never did!” - -Mrs. Porter got to her feet and turned on Freel, who did not -understand what it was all about. - -“You never murdered nobody!” - -Mrs. Porter fairly snorted her unbelief. “Yuh might ’a’ killed a -man, but he had an even break with yuh, boy.” - -Skeeter smiled and shook his head. - -“Anyway, it’s too late t’ argue it, Mrs. Porter. How’s everybody in -Sunbeam?” - -Mrs. Porter did not seem interested in that question, for at that -moment the shrill warning shriek of the locomotive whistle came to -them, and they were all hurled into confusion, when the engineer -threw his engine into reverse and opened the sand-box. - -Mary Leeds and Mrs. Porter were thrown forward into the rear of the -forward seat, while Skeeter Bill and Freel sprawled into each other -in the aisle. There came a series of lurching jars which threatened -to splinter the old coaches, and the train jerked to a standstill. - -Freel and Skeeter were clawing blindly to get back on their feet -when the rear door was flung open and two men came in—two masked -men, carrying six-shooters. Freel lurched sidewise against the arm -of a seat and whipped out a gun from his shoulder holster. One of -the masked men fired at him, and the shot swung Freel back a trifle; -but he fired deliberately, and the man who had shot him went down. - -Another shot thudded into Freel; but he was shooting calmly, slowly; -and the other man lurched back against the rear door, dropping his -gun. His hat fell off, disclosing the long locks of Jimmy Longhair. - -A shot was fired from the other door, and the bullet smashed into a -basket of firebombs near the rear door. - -“Tin Cup gang,” said Freel hoarsely. “They—got—me.” - -He swayed back into Skeeter, who caught him in both arms, swung him -up off the floor and lurched for the back door, which had swung -open, letting in a flood of rain and wind. Jimmy Longhair swayed -into him as he went past; but Skeeter Bill hurled him aside, sprang -on to the platform, kicked at another man who was coming up the -left-hand steps and sprang out into the darkness just as another -bullet buzzed past his head. - -Skeeter Bill had expected to strike solid ground within a short -distance; but he seemed to be falling through great space, whirling -in a pall of wind and rain. - -Suddenly he shot feet first into the whirling river and seemed to go -to a great depth—down—down—down until his lungs shrieked with the -pain of it all; but he still kept both arms locked around the -unconscious sheriff. - -Then they seemed fairly to shoot out of the depths and were into the -air again; out in a whirling world of floating bush, stumps, trees. -It was impossible for him to see where they were or where they were -going; but he realized that the train had stopped on the bridge, and -that he had deliberately jumped into the Moon River. - -Then something drove him sidewise, fairly hurling him through the -water, and the roots of a tree whipped him across the face. Skeeter -tried to grasp it with his free hand; but it eluded him, and in -floundering for it his feet touched bottom and he felt a slackening -of the rush of water. - -“That danged tree shoved me out of the current,” he told himself. -“Whatcha know about that?” - -Holding the sheriff tightly to himself, he moved carefully to the -left, feeling with each foot. They were still neck-deep in the -flood, but there was no longer any pressure against him. - -Once he went into a hole over their heads, but got out quickly and -felt the willows on the bank brush against his face. The bank was -fairly high; but he managed to get Freel up ahead of him, after -which he crawled out and lay flat on his face for several minutes, -trying to collect himself. - -Bill turned Freel over on his back and felt of his heart. It was -still beating, but jerky. - -“Pardner, I betcha yo’re water-logged quite a lot,” gurgled Skeeter. -“I know —— well that I am. But you’ve likely got enough holes in -yore carcass to drain yuh pretty quick.” - -Carefully he searched the sheriff’s pockets until he found the key -to the handcuffs. His wrist was cut and torn, but he chuckled with -joy as the cuff opened easily and he was free once more. - -“Now let ’em take me,” he grunted wearily as he searched the sheriff -for a gun; but there was none. - -He had lost the gun in the car. - -Skeeter got to his feet and tried to figure out which way to go. He -was going back to see Kirk and get a gun. That was the least Kirk -could do for him. He was going to win free; going to get a horse and -a gun and the valley of Moon River would see him no more. - -He moved slowly away into the brush, feeling his way carefully. -Suddenly he stopped. The idea had just struck him that he might make -folks think he was dead. - -If he removed the handcuff from Freel and threw him in the river, -who would know that they had ever been linked together? Mary Leeds -and Mrs. Porter would in all probability never be questioned. And if -they did, they would, or possibly might, tell a white lie to help -him out. It was worth chancing. - -He felt his way back to Freel and started to lift him up. It would -be a simple matter to drop him over the bank. Freel would never -suffer—never realize, because he was already unconscious, perhaps -dying. - -But suddenly the words of old Judge Tareyton came back to him: - -“I know how yuh feel, Skeeter Bill. God put a spark of something -into all of us—a spark that flares up once in a while. It will -build a big flame for you—if you’ll let it.” - -“That’s right, judge,” said Skeeter, staring into the darkness and -rain, speaking aloud, but all unconscious of it. “Mebbe this is my -spark workin’. Bein’ a murderer don’t set me free, old-timer. Yuh -can’t lie to yourself and get away with it.” - -Swinging the sheriff’s unconscious body up in his arms, he stumbled -away through the brush, going by instinct for the higher ground, -while behind him the river roared as if in anger at being cheated. - - * * * * * - -Kales’ men did not long dispute with the Tin Cup gang. The game was -not worth the candle to them, as they did not intend to battle for a -chance to hold up the train, and also they did not know who the Tin -Cup gang were. - -While they believed that Roper Bates had talked too much and had -given away the secret of the big gold shipment, the Tin Cup gang -fought to keep any one from stopping them from taking Skeeter Bill -off the train. Jimmy Longhair had heard the sheriff tell Skeeter -that he was to leave very soon, and, with the gang planted near the -bridge, Jimmy had watched the back door of the jail and had seen -Skeeter and Freel come out. - -“Monk” Clark, the owner of the Tin Cup, had sworn to “get” Skeeter -Bill, and Monk was no idle boaster; but he did not reckon on -interference. - -The train was into them and lurching back against the reversed -engine before they knew just what damage they had suffered; but Monk -rallied his men and swung into the train, as it stopped on the last -remaining arch of the bridge, with the pilot of the engine almost -hanging out over the flood. - -When Monk boarded the rear car, it was only to find that Skeeter -Bill and the sheriff had gone overboard and that Jimmy Longhair and -Benny Harper were down and out from the sheriff’s six-shooter. - -Things were looking extremely bad for the Tin Cup gang, and Monk -lost no time in herding his men off the train, leaving their -wounded. The train backed off the bridge and stopped, but the Tin -Cup gang were already mounting and riding away. There was no -question in the mind of Monk Clark that Skeeter Bill and Freel had -died in the flood. - -He gathered his men to him and delivered his orders: - -“Boys, I don’t know how many people seen or recognized us, nor how -much we’re goin’ to be blamed for this; but we might as well be hung -for goats as for sheep. Let’s finish the business by wiping out -every sheep-camp in the country. Make it one big night, and to —— -with tomorrow.” - -Without a reply his men spurred ahead with him. They were already in -bad and were willing to go the limit now. - -Inside the train, all was confusion. No one seemed to know just what -had happened; but the engine-crew knew that a warning torpedo had -exploded just in time to prevent them from going into the river. - -When the train backed off the bridge and stopped, Mrs. Porter and -Mary Leeds got off the rear steps. They were both dazed over the -swift succession of events, and Mrs. Porter swore piously when they -heard some one say that the sheriff and his prisoner had jumped into -the river. - -Without knowing why they did it, both of them clawed their way -alongside the train, trying to get back to the bridge; and when -half-way the length of the train it started backing toward Crescent -City, leaving them alone in the rain. - -The beams of the receding headlight faded out in the storm, leaving -them in total darkness. Neither was dressed for wet weather, and the -drifting rain drenched them in a few minutes. - -“Oh, why did he jump?” queried Mary Leeds, staring into the -distance, where the waters hissed against the piling of the bridge. - -“He took a chance, child,” soothed Mrs. Porter. “When yuh look at it -ca’m-like, the river ain’t no worse than livin’ out your life in the -penitentiary.” - -“But he couldn’t have been guilty,” insisted Mary. - -“Not of murder,” agreed Mrs. Porter wearily, “but mebbe things broke -so he couldn’t prove it. Skeeter Bill would shoot, y’ betcha. -Prob’ly looked like murder to the law. You kinda liked Skeeter, -didn’t yuh, Mary?” - -“I don’t know,” said Mary wistfully. “He is only a big, rough man, -who does not deny that he is a lawbreaker, but he is honest -and—when he smiles——” - -“I know what yuh mean,” said Mrs. Porter softly when Mary hesitated. -“Bill was all right, y’betcha. Why, he never wore a shirt over a -week, and he allus took off his hat t’ me. I’ve seen him take off -his hat t’ honkatonk girls, too. Seems like he respected women—all -of ’em—thataway.” - -Together they stood in the drenching rain and thought of Skeeter -Bill. Finally Mrs. Porter said: - -“Well, we ain’t doin’ poor Skeeter any good out here. God rest his -soul, and that’s about all I can say. I wonder how far it is back to -a town.” - -Mary shook her head. - -“I don’t know. Somehow I have no desire to go anywhere. I feel so -tired now.” - -“You need a good shot of booze,” declared the practical Mrs. Porter. -“We’ll both catch a dandy cold in this rain. Come on, let’s slop -back to some town.” - -They started slowly down the railroad track, picking their way over -the ties, which seemed to rise up and catch their feet. They could -only see a few feet beyond them; but the storm seemed to be -breaking, and already there were rifts in the clouds, where light -strips hinted at a moonlight soon to come. - -They had gone only about a hundred yards when they heard the -crunching of gravel ahead of them, and a huge, misshapen thing -seemed to rise up out of the brush beside the track and flounder out -in front of them. - -The two women clutched at each other in fear until a voice came to -them— - -“Pardner, you’re harder t’ handle than a salamander, and yuh weigh a -ton.” - -“Skeeter!” called Mary wildly. “Skeeter Bill!” - -“Huh!” grunted Skeeter and turned to meet Mary, who was stumbling -down the track to him. - -“You!” he panted. “You!” - -And then wonderingly— - -“Don’t we meet in the dangdest places, ma’am?” - -“You’re not drowned?” asked Mary half-hysterically. - -“No’m, I don’t reckon so—not yet. Howdy, Mrs. Porter.” - -“Well, Bill Sarg!” - -Mrs. Porter was half-crying. - -“Well, you!” - -“What’sa matter?” queried Skeeter. “And what are you folks doin’ out -here in the wet? Where’s the train?” - -“It went,” said Mrs. Porter, waving one arm down the track. “We—we -went to look into the river, I guess.” - -“Well,” laughed Skeeter, shifting the weight of Freel’s body, “I had -all the looks I wanted. I jumped into the darned thing—me ’n’ the -sheriff. I dunno how he liked it. Reckon it was all right, ’cause he -slept through it all.” - -“Wasn’t he shot?” asked Mrs. Porter. “Them two men was shootin’——” - -“Hit him twice, I think.” - -“But what was it all about?” asked Mary. - -“Me,” chuckled Skeeter. “Them fellers wanted t’ take me away from -the sheriff and make a tree decoration out of me.” - -“Hang yuh?” exclaimed Mrs. Porter. - -“Yes’m, I suppose they had that in mind. They kinda hate -sheep-herders.” - -“Was you herdin’ sheep, Skeeter Bill?” - -“Nope. It was just a case of bein’ nice and handy to a sheep outfit, -and no way t’ prove a alibi. Of course them fellers ain’t -particular, Mrs. Porter. ’F they hated a laundry and caught me -washin’ m’ shirt——” - -“Whop!” exploded Mrs. Porter. “Don’t drag the dirty shirts into -this, Skeeter Bill. Whatcha goin’ to do with the sheriff? ’F they -catch yuh ag’in, won’t they send yuh to the penitentiary?” - -“Yes’m—’f they don’t lynch me first; but I’ve gotta get help for -the sheriff.” - -“Well, yuh ain’t goin’ back to town,” declared Mrs. Porter. “You -never murdered nobody, and you’re a fool to shove your neck into a -handy rope. Vamoose while the travelin’ is wide open.” - -“Uh-huh.” - -Skeeter considered the idea thoughtfully. - -“You can go to another country,” added Mary Leeds. - -“Well, I’ve gotta get this sheriff— I know what I can do. By -cripes, I’ll pack him to Kirk’s camp and let him haul Freel t’ -Crescent City. ’F I ain’t mistaken, I can travel to the right and -hit that sheep outfit dead center. You folks keep straight down the -railroad, and you’ll hit Crescent City.” - -“Not me!” declared Mrs. Porter. “If you’re goin’ huntin’ for a -sheep-camp in the dark, I’m goin’ along.” - -“I shall go too,” said Mary firmly. - -“Whatcha goin’ to do?” grumbled Skeeter. “Two t’ one, and I’m loaded -down. It ain’t reasonable—not any; but mebbe yo’re just as well -off. It’s a —— of a trip, any old way yuh take it. C’m on. We’ve -gotta get out of this cut before we can start across-country.” - -It was at least two hundred yards to where the cut opened into more -level country. Just before they reached the end of the cut a bulky -object seemed to drag itself across the rails and halted in the -center of the track. - -The two women hung back, not realizing that it was a man; but -Skeeter Bill plodded on with his burden until he reached the prone -figure stretched between the rails. - -“More danged cripples around here!” exclaimed Skeeter Bill, peering -down at the man. “Who are you, pardner?” - -“I’m Kales,” panted the man. “Nick Kales.” - -Skeeter eased his burden to the ground. “Kales, eh? I ’member you, -Kales. You said that the judge didn’t have any guts, ’cause he -didn’t hang me.” - -But Kales had collapsed again and did not answer. - -“Must ’a’ been one of the gang who tried to hold up the train,” said -Skeeter. “Got plugged for his trouble.” - -Skeeter dug into Kales’ pockets and secured matches, which he -proceeded to light in order to examine Kales’ hurts. - -“He sure got plugged,” nodded Skeeter. “I dunno how many times he -got hit, but it looks like his gun busted and tore his right hand -all to thunder. Hm-m-m!” - -“Almost got enough to start a hospital,” observed Mrs. Porter. - -Skeeter was searching Kales’ pockets again. In the outside pocket of -the slicker he found a full bottle of whisky. He drew out the cork -and forced some of it into the outlaw’s mouth. Kales strangled and -tried to sit up. - -“Here, take a drink,” urged Skeeter, and succeeded in getting a -fair-sized drink down Kales’ throat. - -“Feel better?” - -Kales coughed and tried to get to his feet. “Hang on to yourself,” -advised Skeeter. “Take it easy until yuh feel better.” - -But Kales got to his feet and clung to Skeeter, talking -incoherently. - -“Can yuh walk?” asked Skeeter. - -“Walk?” muttered Kales. “Walk?” - -“Yeah—move your feet for’ard and back and carry yore body along at -the same time. I betcha he can,” continued Skeeter; and then to Mrs. -Porter: “Can yuh kindly help hang on to him? I reckon we’ll add him -to our collection.” - -“He came here to lynch you.” - -Mrs. Porter was a trifle indignant at the idea of taking Kales -along. - -“Yeah, tha’s a fact,” admitted Skeeter Bill; “but he fell down on -the job. Let’s go.” - -He swung the inert Freel back across his shoulder and started off -down the track, with the stumbling Kales hanging to the sleeve of -his coat and being assisted to some extent by Mrs. Porter. Bringing -up the rear came Mary Leeds, wanting to be of help to some one, but -unable to decide just where to begin. - - * * * * * - -Roper Bates had consumed considerable whisky that day, but had not -succeeded in getting so drunk that he forgot his plans. It was after -dark when he rode away from Crescent City, heading toward Kirk’s -sheep-camp. - -The fact that a big storm was coming did not bother Roper Bates. His -mind still carried a picture of the pretty woman at the sheep-camp, -and he was sufficiently filled with liquor actually to believe that -he was going to do her a real favor by taking her away from her -plebeian husband. - -The last quarter of a mile he rode in a whirl of dust while the -thunder jarred the world about him; but he was storm-proof. He -dismounted near the door, and his horse immediately moved into the -shelter of the cabin wall. - -The door was not barred; so Roper Bates surged inside and shut the -door behind him. The cabin was lighted with a single lantern, which -swayed from a rafter, and it took him several moments to get his -dust-filled eyes accustomed to the dim light. - -The pretty woman was sitting on the edge of the built-in bunk, -staring at him. There was some one in the bunk, who moved restlessly -and coughed dryly. - -“What do you want here?” asked the woman hoarsely. - -“Me?” - -Roper Bates wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He did not -know what to say just then. From overhead came a crashing snap of -thunder, and the woman seemed to crouch lower on the bunk. -Successive flashes of lightning made the room bright with a white -glare. - -Roper moved in a little closer and stared at the man in the bunk. He -could see the man’s face now; it was very pale. - -“What’sa matter—sick?” asked Roper thickly. - -The woman nodded dumbly, and turned to put her hand on the sick -man’s forehead. She turned back and repeated her question— - -“What do you want here?” - -“I—dunno.” - -Roper Bates really did not know. Somehow he seemed to forget just -why he had come there. - -“Been sick long?” - -Roper jerked his head toward the sick man. - -“Three days and nights,” nodded the woman. “I haven’t had any sleep, -and no one comes here.” - -“Three days and nights,” parroted Roper. “You been settin’ there all -that time?” - -“I haven’t slept,” she corrected him wearily. - -“Nobody to help yuh?” - -Roper shook his head, as if answering his own question. - -“Nobody? For ——’s sake!” - -He moved in close to the side of the bed and looked down at Kirk. - -“He’s the sheep-herder, ain’t he?” - -“Yes—and my husband,” defiantly. - -“Uh-huh—your husband,” agreed Roper thoughtfully. “A sheep-herder -for a husband.” - -Mrs. Kirk got up from the bunk and faced Roper Bates. - -“What difference does that make?” she demanded. “We took this job -together. If he’s a sheep-herder, so am I. No matter if he does herd -sheep—he’s as good as you are.” - -“Good as I am,” parroted Roper thoughtfully. - -“He had to live in the hills, and there was nothing else for him to -do. We had to live.” - -“Had to,” agreed Roper slowly. - -“And he’s my husband,” repeated Mrs. Kirk, very near to the verge of -a breakdown, “and I love him more than anything in the world.” - -Roper peered closely at her and looked at the man in the bunk. - -“More ’n anythin’—in—the—world! Well, I’ll be eternally ——!” -blurted Roper. - -It was beyond his comprehension; yet he could get a glimmering of -the idea. - -“And nobody ever comes here,” said Mrs. Kirk bitterly. “They hate a -sheep-herder so much that nobody cares what becomes of us.” - -“Ain’t it ——?” agreed Roper. “Now, ain’t it, though?” - -The little cabin shook in the heavy wind, and the rain beat in -through the walls and the patched window-panes. - -“Stormin’ outside,” observed Roper vacantly, and grinned at his own -wit as he added, “and some of it’s comin’ in out of the wet.” - -Suddenly he turned to Mrs. Kirk. - -“You ain’t scared of me, are yuh?” - -“No, I am not afraid of you. Why should I be?” - -Roper did not say, but studied the face of the sick man for a while -before he looked up at Mrs. Kirk. - -“Yuh say yuh love him—more ’n—anythin’—even if he is a -sheep-herder?” - -“God knows I do. Why do you ask me that question?” - -“And yuh ain’t afraid of me?” - -“Not one bit,” declared Mrs. Kirk. “What are you going to do about -it?” - -“Stay and help yuh all I can, ma’am. I ain’t one of them lousy -persons which looks down upon a sheep-herder. I reckon yore husband -is quite some top-hand, when he’s up and doin’ his stuff.” - -“Jim is my pal.” - -“Whatcha know?” grunted Roper. “Whatcha know? Ma’am, you lay down -and take a nap, and I’ll take care of him.” - -There was one home-made rocking-chair in the room, and Mrs. Kirk sat -down in it. - -“I can not sleep, but it is a godsend to have some one here to talk -with,” she said wearily. - -“Yes’m,” nodded Roper slowly. “Nobody ever called me that name -before, but it’s all right, I reckon.” - -He slowly rolled a cigaret, and as he drew his lips across the edge -of the paper he glanced at Mrs. Kirk. She had fallen asleep, with -her head pillowed in her arm. - -For a long time Roper stared at the floor, with the unlighted -cigaret between his lips. He was trying to solve a problem which has -never been answered; nor will it ever be, “Why does this woman love -this man?” - -Roper studied the face of the sick man. Kirk was a very -ordinary-looking man. He was not big. Roper shook his head. It was a -problem far beyond his ken. - -He sifted the tobacco out of his cigaret paper and humped over with -his chin in his hands. He had come there to take that woman away -from her undeserving husband; and here he was, acting as nurse to -that very husband. - -For the better part of an hour he sat there like a statue, thinking -of things that had never entered his head before. He did not want -that woman now, and he wondered why he had ever wanted her. Where -did he ever get the idea of taking her away from her husband? - -Suddenly he heard the thudding of horses’ hoofs as a body of -horsemen drew rein at the doorway. A man’s voice cursed openly— - -“Git out of this, you —— sheep-herders!” - -The voice aroused Mrs. Kirk, and she sat up, staring around. -Somebody stumbled over the step and grasped the door. Roper Bates -knew what it meant. The cattlemen had come to clean up the -sheep-camps. - -Suddenly the door was flung open, and three men filled the doorway. -Quick as a flash Roper Bates threw up his six-shooter and fired at -the lead man, who had a Winchester rifle leveled from his shoulder. - -The man seemed to spin on his heel, and the rifle discharged into -the ceiling, while the other men shot back with him as they jerked -him out of the doorway. The door swung shut behind them, and Roper -Bates’ last shot splintered the edge of it as it closed. - -The room was full of powder-smoke. Mrs. Kirk had darted to the bunk -as if to try to protect her husband, while Roper Bates was -half-kneeling in the middle of the room, stuffing cartridges into -his six-shooter. - -“Got me in the leg,” he grunted; “but I made ’em pay for comin’ in -without knockin’.” - -He got carefully to his feet, yanked a blanket off the bed and -managed to stumble over to the window, where he flung the blanket -across the rough frame, cutting out the view from outside. - -A bullet flicked in through the window and tore a slash in the -blanket, but the latter remained in place. Roper was hopping on one -foot along the wall, getting close to the door, when a man called -from without— - -“—— you, we’re comin’ after yuh!” - -“Come on!” challenged Roper. “Open that door and grab a harp.” - -Several bullets splintered through the door following his defiance, -and one of them bit deeply into Roper’s ribs. He swayed closer to -the door, but did not waste lead in reply. - -Mrs. Kirk saw that Roper had been hit hard and started toward him, -but he waved her back. - -“Oh, why don’t you let them in?” she begged. “They will not hurt -you. Why do you fight for us?” - -“This ain’t no job for a woman and a sick man,” he stated hoarsely, -“and it’s ’bout all I’m good fer.” - -“Why did we ever come here?” said Mrs. Kirk weakly. - -Roper turned his white face toward her and shook his head. - -“Ma’am, I’ve asked m’self that same question. Down in Indiany, they -farm with a plow instead of a six-gun. But I never left there of my -own accord. I was only three year old, and m’ folks kinda hoodled me -along with them.” - -Roper was deadly serious. He was bleeding badly and barely able to -brace himself against the log wall. - -“If you don’t come out of there you’ll wish to —— yuh had!” yelled -a voice. - -“And if you come in here you’ll wish t’ —— yuh hadn’t,” answered -Roper. - -Another bullet splintered the door near the latch and thudded -harmlessly into the wall. - -From without came the sound of earnest conversation, and a voice -called again. - -“We’re goin’ to stampede your sheep, and if you ain’t out of there -when we come back we’ll dynamite your shack.” - -There came the sound of horses speeding away over the wet ground. -Roper walked dizzily back to the table, where he sat down heavily in -the rocking-chair. - -“We must get out of here.” - -Mrs. Kirk was nervously looking around the room, as if debating just -what to save from the promised dynamiting. - -“Tha’s all right,” grunted Roper dazedly. “Don’tcha worry. Them -jaspers ain’t got no dynamite; but I’m bettin’ they’ve got some -respect for a sheep-herder now.” - -“But we must get to a doctor—for—you.” - -“Never mind me, ma’am. Ain’t nobody worryin’ about me. I’m jist -Roper Bates, cowpuncher. Got a hole in m’ leg and one in m’ bellows, -but I’m feelin’ fine, y’ betcha—betcha.” - -Roper Bates sank lower in his chair, and the heavy six-shooter fell -to the floor. - - * * * * * - -It was a sadly bedraggled party which picked its way through the -dark. There were no lights to guide them, no trail nor road. Skeeter -Bill, under the double burden of Kales and Freel, traveled by -instinct. Kales babbled meanngless things and wanted to lie down, -but Skeeter doled out bad whisky to him and steadied him on one -side, while Mrs. Porter guided him from the opposite side. - -Through mesquite and sage they blundered along, sliding into -washouts partly filled with muddy water, falling over rocks, -crashing into brier patches, where the women left sections of their -clothes. - -As in a dream Mary Leeds followed. She had no sense of direction, -and her feet had long since lost any sense of feeling. She was -reduced to a mere dumb creature, following the man she loved. Ahead -of her he struggled; a huge, queer-shaped hulk, uncomplaining, -patient. - -“Ain’t you tired, Skeeter Bill?” asked Mrs. Porter. - -“Years and years ago,” laughed Skeeter; “but I’m sure paralyzed now. -Mr. Kales, I wish you’d watch where yo’re puttin’ yore feet. I don’t -mind walkin’ on m’ feet, but I hate like —— t’ have you doin’ it.” - -From afar came the sound of firing as the Tin Cup gang rounded up -and stampeded the sheep. Skeeter stopped and listened for a moment -and hurried on. - -“I’m scared,” admitted Skeeter. “Scared that somethin’ is happenin’ -to the pals.” - -“Who are the pals?” panted Mrs. Porter. - -“Man and his wife. He’s sick and she’s stickin’ to him. -Sheep-herder.” - -Skeeter shifted his burden slightly. - -“They ain’t jist husband and wife—they’re pals—bunkies,” he went -on. “_Sabe_ what I mean, Mrs. Porter?” - -“I think so, Skeeter Bill.” - -“Dangdest thing I ever seen,” said Skeeter. “Kinda gives a feller a -new idea of a wife. ’F a feller had a wife that was a pal t’ him— -Say, by cripes, we found the shack!” - -Just beyond them loomed the outlines of the little sheep cabin, but -without a light showing. - -“Lemme do the talkin’,” said Skeeter. “It ain’t safe to be a -stranger around here.” - -Skeeter went close to the door and called: “Mrs. Kirk! Yoohoo! Mrs. -Kirk!” - -For several moments there was silence, and then— - -“Who is it?” - -Mrs. Kirk’s voice sounded very weak. - -“Skeeter Bill Sarg, who went after groceries.” - -The splintered door creaked, and a faint light came from the -interior. - -“Why, I—I—” stammered Mrs. Kirk, astonished beyond measure to hear -his voice. - -She stepped aside and stared white-faced at Skeeter and his burden -and at the others with him. Skeeter stared at Roper Bates, asprawl -in the chair, and at the form under the blankets on the bed. - -He lowered Freel to the floor and propped Kales up between the table -and the wall. Mary Leeds and Mrs. Porter were staring at Mrs. Kirk -while Skeeter Bill chafed his benumbed arms and neck and haltingly -introduced them. - -“What’s he doin’ here?” asked Skeeter, pointing at Roper Bates. - -Haltingly Mrs. Kirk told of what had happened a short time before, -while Roper Bates roused up sufficiently to look around dazedly. He -looked from Mrs. Kirk to Skeeter Bill and nodded weakly. - -“Pals,” he whispered. “Him—and—her.” - -“Y’betcha, pardner,” nodded Skeeter, and walked over to the bunk, -where he looked down at Kirk. - -Bill went back to Freel and examined him. The sheriff was still -alive, but unconscious. Kales was still mumbling incoherent things, -but was too weak to do more than hold up his head. - -“Kirk’s better off here than anywhere else,” stated Skeeter Bill; -“but I’ve gotta git the rest of the cripples to a doctor pretty -danged quick. Yuh still got the old horse and the wagon, Mrs. Kirk?” - -Mrs. Kirk nodded, and Skeeter turned to Mrs. Porter. - -“You keep house here while I hitch up.” - -“But you can’t go back to town,” declared Mrs. Porter. “They’ll——” - -“I betcha they will,” smiled Skeeter; “but it’s a case of three t’ -one. ’F I don’t hand these three men over to a doctor they’ll all -die.” - -Skeeter patted Mrs. Porter on the shoulder as he started for the -door. - -“Mebbe they’ll only send me to the penitentiary, yuh see.” - -It was only a few minutes’ work for Skeeter to hitch up the old -horse and drive up to the door. He carried the three men out of the -house and placed them in the wagon-box on an old quilt. - -“You and Mary stay here with Mrs. Kirk,” said Skeeter to Mrs. -Porter. “I’ll see that somebody comes after yuh in the mornin’.” - -He turned to Mrs. Kirk and held out his hand. - -“If I don’t see yuh ag’in—good luck to you and yore pal.” - -“Well, we’ll sure see yuh, won’t we?” queried Mrs. Porter quickly. - -“I shore hope so, but yuh can’t sometimes always tell. Mebbe I -better tell you folks good-by, too.” - -“Aw, ——!” blurted Mrs. Porter inelegantly and turned back into the -shack, while Mary Leeds came slowly up to Skeeter and took hold of -his sleeve. - -“Skeeter Bill, can’t I go with you?” - -“I— Mebbe yuh better not,” softly. “She’s a rough old road, and yuh -can’t tell what might——” - -“Does a pal mind rough old roads, Skeeter Bill?” - -Mary was looking up into his face, a world of yearning in her eyes. -Skeeter’s hand came up and touched her drenched, wind-blown hair for -a moment, and he shook his head. - -“There are no rough roads to a pal,” said Mary; and without a word -Skeeter Bill helped her on to the rickety seat. - - * * * * * - -Crescent City was greatly excited over the events of the evening. -The storm had taken a great toll in property, and the town was -filled with ranchers whose places had been flooded in the big -cloud-burst. - -The train had backed into town, bringing two badly wounded men and a -tale of a narrow escape from going into the river and of a -mysterious hold-up, in which the sheriff and his prisoner had -perished in the river. And to cap it all, a wounded sheepherder had -ridden into town and told of a gang of raiders who had destroyed his -camp and herd. - -Jimmy Longhair and Bennie Harper, the two men who had been shot by -the sheriff, were stretched out in the Moon River saloon and -gambling-house while a doctor worked over them. The place was filled -with hard-faced cattlemen who argued and declared pro and con. - -Among those present were Bowen, Van Cleve and Orson. Swede Sorenson -was still in San Gregario Cañon, unable to cross the river back to -the Lazy H, and not knowing what had happened to their well-laid -plans. - -None of the three had been hurt in the skirmish with the Tin Cup -gang, and had walked back to Crescent City. None of them had the -slightest idea where Kales was; but they were under the impression -that Kales had been shot. They did not know whether to stay in town -or to make a getaway while the going was good. - -Judge Grayson, who had been summoned, was greatly affected over the -news of Freel’s death. He tried to get some kind of a statement from -Longhair or Harper, but both of them refused to talk. They were both -from the Tin Cup ranch, but they would say nothing to implicate any -more of their outfit. - -The train crew were in the saloon, adding their voices to the -general hum of conversation. It had been a narrow escape for them, -and they were willing to admit that they were very fortunate to be -alive. - -“I heard that torpedo,” stated the engineer, a grizzled old veteran, -“and I hossed over the old Johnson-bar. The wind usually blows away -the sand, but I guess the Lord was with us this time, ’cause it -stayed on the rail. We sure upset folks a-plenty, but stopped with -the pilot hangin’ out over the water. Wouldn’t have been a chance in -the world except for that torpedo.” - -“Who placed the torpedo?” queried the judge. “And what do you mean -by a torpedo?” - -“It’s a little metal case which is fastened to the rail,” explained -the engineer. “It’s flat on each end and high in the center, with -lead straps to clamp onto the rail. When the engine wheel hits it, -the thing pops loud. Two of ’em is a slow-signal, ordering you to go -cautious, but when only one pops, you better stop quick.” - -“I understand,” nodded the judge. “But who placed that one on the -rail?” - -No one seemed to know. - -“I don’t know who put it there—” the engineer shook his head—“but -I do know that he saved a lot of us this night.” - -“Amen to that,” agreed the judge. - -Suddenly there was a commotion at the door, excited voices, the -scrape of footsteps; and in came Skeeter Bill, carrying the sheriff -in his arms. The crowd parted and let him through. He placed the -sheriff on the floor, turned and went back out of the door, while -men crowded around and looked down at Freel, who was still alive. - -Before any one had time to call the doctor from his labors with the -other two men Skeeter came back in with Kales. He placed him with -Freel and went back without a word. - -“My God!” exclaimed the judge piously. “What next?” - -Back came Skeeter Bill again. This time he was carrying Roper Bates, -and following him was Mary Leeds. Skeeter placed Roper on the floor -and stood aside as the doctor came bustling through the crowd, -answering some one’s hail. - -Men looked queerly at Skeeter, but no one made any move to interfere -with his freedom. Swiftly the doctor worked in his examination. -Bowen, Orson and Van Cleve moved close together and watched closely, -hoping against hope that Kales had not, and would not, tell what he -knew. - -“Any chance for them, doctor?” asked the judge. - -“Yes, I think so. Freel is badly hurt, but is suffering mostly from -loss of blood. This other man—” indicating Bates—“has been hit -twice, but I think he will recover. This third man has a nasty hole -in his shoulder, and he appears to have lost nearly all the fingers -on his right hand. Perhaps his pistol exploded. Who is he?” - -“Name’s Kales,” said a bystander. “Hired gunman.” - -Kales stirred and opened his eyes, looking curiously up at the -circle of faces. - -“Did it stop?” he whispered weakly. “The train?” - -“It stopped in time,” said the judge. - -“Dropped—my—gun.” - -Kales spaced his words widely, and frowned heavily as if in deep -thought. - -“I knowed that it took one torpedo to stop the train.” - -He stopped and took a deep breath. - -“Women and children—men—the—bridge—gone. No—gun—so—I——” - -Kales tried to smile but only succeeded in contorting his homely -face. - -“The wind was too -strong—blew—the—cartridge—off—the—rail—so—I——” - -He licked his lips and tried to lift his injured hand, but the -effort was too great. “I—I held it on the rail.” - -“God!” cried the engineer wonderingly. “He lost his hand from -holding a cartridge on the track.” - -“A hired gunman,” said Skeeter Bill softly. “A paid killer.” - -“Where did Roper Bates come in on this?” demanded a bearded cow-man. - -Roper Bates was trying to sit up, and one of the crowd assisted him -while another gave him a drink of liquor. - -More men were coming into the door, clumping heavily in their wet -boots. They shoved to the front—the Tin Cup outfit, with Monk Clark -at their head. He looked at Skeeter Bill and blinked his eyes -rapidly. It was like looking at a ghost. His eyes switched to the -three men on the floor, and Roper Bates was looking up at him. - -Clark’s men had halted behind him. One of them pointed at Skeeter -and said: - -“There’s the —— murderin’ sheeperder, Monk! He didn’t drown.” - -Mary Leeds moved in closer to Skeeter, and he put an arm around her. - -“Murderin’ ——!” gasped Roper Bates. “He only killed a man, Monk. -You and your gang tried to kill a woman. If I hadn’t been there -you’d ’a’ done it, too.” - -The man who had given Roper Bates the drink was forcing a drink -between Freel’s lips, and Freel choked over the fiery liquor. The -man lifted Freel’s head a little higher, and Freel’s eyes slowly -opened. - -For a full minute he studied the crowd, and his eyes shifted to -Skeeter Bill. - -“What—happened?” he muttered. “They—shot——” - -“I jumped into the river with yuh,” smiled Skeeter, “and then I -packed yuh plumb over to the sheep-herder’s shack and then brought -yuh here.” - -Freel digested this as he studied Skeeter closely. - -“You unlocked the handcuffs—when?” - -“After I got yuh out of the river.” - -“And—you—stayed?” - -Skeeter’s mind flashed back to the bank of the river, in the -drenching storm and darkness, when he started to toss the sheriff -back into the flood. - -“Yeah,” said Skeeter slowly. “I stayed.” - -“You—had—your—chance,” said Freel painfully. - -“I know I did.” - -Skeeter’s voice held no regrets. - -“I could ’a’ got away, Freel.” he went on. “But you wasn’t to blame -for what was bein’ done t’ me. You was only doin’ your duty.” - -Freel motioned for another drink, and the man gave him a generous -portion. - -“Duty!” - -Freel’s voice was so low that the crowd shifted in closer to hear -what he was saying. - -“I was doin’ my duty, Sarg? No, I wasn’t. I was glad the judge gave -you life, instead of the rope. I’ll tell you why.” - -Freel’s eyes shifted around the crowd, and he nodded. - -“Remember the day Cleve Hart was killed? I got shot that day—just a -scratch. I was in that sheep-herder’s cabin when Cleve Hart came. -He—they told me he had said things about the woman who lived there. - -“I picked up the shotgun and came out. Maybe he didn’t recognize me, -but he shot. I killed him and rode away.” - -“You killed him!” exclaimed the judge. “You?” - -“Me,” admitted the sheriff. “I—got—scared—afterwards. -I’m—a—coward, judge.” - -Men looked at each other in amazement, and many of them looked at -Skeeter Bill, who had his arms around Mary Leeds and was staring -into space. - -“Judge,” called Freel softly. “Listen to me, judge. Will you find -McClelland? I think he’s in Cinnibar now. Tell him I said to take -these —— sheep out of the valley of Moon River right away.” - -“Why, how can you order them out?” asked the judge. - -“They—belong—to—me, judge. -I—I—didn’t—know—they’d—start—so—much—trouble.” - -Skeeter Bill moved slowly toward the door with his arm around Mary -Leeds, and the Tin Cup gang, yet to pay for their misdeeds, removed -their hats as the lanky cowpuncher and the girl went past, paying no -heed to any one. - -Outside, they climbed on to the rickety seat, turned the old gray -horse around and started back toward the sheep-camp. The old wagon -creaked in every joint, protesting against such continuous service; -and the old gray horse shuffled along over the wet, misty road, -taking its own gait, while two figures sat very close together on -the lop-sided seat—two pals who found each other in the storm. - - THE END - - -[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 30, 1922 -issue of Adventure magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLAMES OF THE STORM *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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C. Tuttle</title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; font-size:medium } - .chapter { margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:4em; } - .x-ebookmaker .chapter { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - .section { margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:4em; } - h1, h2 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; } - h1 { font-size:1.4em; } - h2 { font-size:1.1em; margin-bottom:2em; margin-top:4em; } - h2 span { font-size:0.9em; } - a, a:visited { color: #00008b; } - a:hover { color: red; } - .figcenter { clear:both; max-width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:2em; text-align:center; } - .figcenter p { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; } - .figcenter img { width:100%; } - .portrait { margin-left:15%; width:70%; } - .landscape { margin-left:5%; width:90%; } - .x-ebookmaker .portrait { margin-left:5%; width:90%; } - hr.tb { margin-left:25%; width:50%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom:1em; border:none; border-bottom: 1px solid; } - div.tm { font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; - margin-top:1em; margin-left:10%; width:80%; padding:0.4em 0.8em; } - div.tm p { text-indent:0; } - p.theend { text-align:center; text-indent:0; - font-size:smaller; margin-bottom:2em; margin-top:1em; } - </style> -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Flames of the Storm, by W. C. Tuttle</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Flames of the Storm</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: W. C. Tuttle</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 2, 2021 [eBook #65982]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLAMES OF THE STORM ***</div> - -<div class='figcenter portrait' id='i001'> - <img src='images/illus-001.jpg' alt='' /> -</div> - -<h1>Flames of the Storm</h1> -<div style='text-align:center;'>by W. C. Tuttle</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:2em;margin-top:1em;'> -Author of “Ajax for Example,” “The Range-Boomer,” etc. -</div> - -<p>It was the year of the big drouth in the valley of Moon River; a -season when every blade of grass was worth its weight in gold to the -cattlemen, who watched with jealous care over their unstaked portions -of the range and guarded closely their almost dry water-holes.</p> - -<p>Day after day through the long summer the merciless sun had baked the -grass-roots; browning the land; burning below the surface, until a puff -of wind would drift the soil, as a wind drifts dry snow. Even the sage -and greasewood turned from purple to brownish-gray.</p> - -<p>Along the river, which wound its way through this crescent-shaped -valley, the leaves of willow and cottonwood hummed paper-dry in the hot -winds, while the river, itself, was shrunken to half its normal Summer -stage.</p> - -<p>The range cattle were red-eyed, hollow of flank and dust-colored and -when they stopped to graze their panting nostrils would send up tiny -puffs of smoke-like dust. In all that valley of rolling hills, which -sloped upward on both sides to the hazy heights of the Shoshone -Mountains, there was no sign of green vegetation.</p> - -<p>Riding down the slope of one of these hills, heading toward the -river, came a tall, thin cowboy, unshaven and unshorn. The expression of -his thin face was serious as he squinted into the hazy distance and -spoke softly to his rangy bay horse—</p> - -<p>“Bronc, ’f this ain’t the best place I ever seen t’ commit murder in, -then my name ain’t ‘Skeeter Bill’ Sarg.”</p> - -<p>The horse sniffed suspiciously at the dry grass, but did not crop at -it.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t much juice left in that kinda feed,” declared Skeeter Bill, -removing his sombrero and wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. -For a few minutes he surveyed the country before riding on.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he drew rein and sniffed at the breeze. His rather long nose -quivered, and he shook his head. Beyond him a cloud of dust floated over -the skyline of a ridge, growing more dense. It was impossible to see -what was making the dust-cloud, but whatever it was, it came over the -ridge toward Skeeter Bill and dipped down into the depression -beyond.</p> - -<p>“Sheep!” snorted Skeeter Bill with the true cowman’s disgust of such -animals. “We shore poked into one fine country t’ poke right out of -ag’in, bronc.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill turned and rode angling along the side of the hill, -going through a heavy thicket of greasewood. Suddenly his horse jerked -ahead and went to its knees, and Skeeter fell head first into a thick -clump of brush. As he fell he heard the whip-like snap of a rifle, and -he knew that some one had shot his horse from under him.</p> - -<p>He backed out of the tangle and investigated. His bay had crashed into -some brush farther down the hill, and Skeeter could see that it was -dead. He swore softly and held his gun ready.</p> - -<p>The bullet had torn through Skeeter’s chaps, along his thigh, missing -the flesh by a narrow margin, and had broken the back of the tall bay -horse. Skeeter had no idea why he had been shot at, nor how many men -might be ready to shoot at him again. It was a ticklish situation, but -Skeeter smiled grimly and waited.</p> - -<p>Far away he could hear the soft bawling of sheep and the tiny tinkle -of a bell. A blue jay screeched harshly from down the cañon. Suddenly -the brush crashed as if some one had stumbled into it. Skeeter glanced -keenly in that direction, but did not move.</p> - -<p>In a few moments the brush crashed again, and Skeeter grinned widely. -He knew that some one was tossing rocks into the dry brush to try to get -him to investigate. He snuggled a trifle lower and peered low through -the tangle of brush above him. Whoever it was, they were moving very -cautiously, for no sound of footsteps had come to his ears.</p> - -<p>Suddenly his eyes focused on something. It might be part of the -brush, and again it might be the legs of a man; a man whose body was -completely screened by the heavy foliage. Skeeter considered these -leg-like things very closely. Then came a dry cough—more like a -wheezing chuckle; as if the man had tried to choke it and merely -strangled. It came from above the legs.</p> - -<p>“Pardner,” said Skeeter distinctly, “I’ve got yore legs in trouble. -’F yuh don’t toss yore gun over toward me, I’m shore goin’ t’ interest -yuh in a pair of crutches.”</p> - -<p>The legs remained motionless, but from their owner came another -wheezing cough. In fact, the man coughed for quite a while, and the -visible legs shook weakly at the finish.</p> - -<p>“Now, throw over the gun,” ordered Skeeter, and a moment later a -Winchester rifle crashed into the brush and hung up in view of -Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“C’m on out, pardner,” said Skeeter. “Walk right down past where the -rifle hangs, and I’ll kinda look yuh over.”</p> - -<p>The man was coming down through the brush before Skeeter had -finished, and broke his way out into the open a moment later.</p> - -<p>“Keep yore hands above yore waist,” ordered Skeeter meaningly, “while -I look yuh over.”</p> - -<p>The man was possibly not more than thirty years of age, yet looked -much older. A stubbly beard covered the lower part of his face, and a -pair of weary-looking eyes seemed to consider Skeeter closely.</p> - -<p>The man was not evil-looking, in spite of his unkempt appearance. His -torn shirt was clean, as were the worn overalls. He coughed softly -again, and a flush crept across his thin cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Shucks!” muttered Skeeter softly. “Whatcha tryin’ t’ kill me for, -pardner?”</p> - -<p>The man shook his head slowly, wearily.</p> - -<p>“What’s the use of arguing about it? I’m willing to take what’s -coming to me. I got tired of being shot at, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” grinned Skeeter, “that’s a-plenty, ’f yuh stop t’ ask me. C’m -here and set down.”</p> - -<p>The man obeyed wonderingly.</p> - -<p>“Yuh got a bad cough,” observed Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” said the man bitterly. “It’s my cough—not yours.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, ——!” grunted Skeeter. “I beg yore pardon. I’m always sayin’ -the wrong thing.”</p> - -<p>He studied the man for several moments, and then:</p> - -<p>“Mind tellin’ me somethin’? Honest t’ goodness, I don’t know a danged -thing about this here country. I just rode in. When a feller gets his -bronc shot out from under him he kinda wants t’ know why.”</p> - -<p>The man’s eyes expressed his unbelief. Skeeter laid his six-shooter -across his lap and rolled a cigaret while he waited for the man to -explain.</p> - -<p>“Well,” began the man slowly, “you’ve got me dead to rights; so it -don’t make much difference now. If you’re one of the cattlemen I’ll -likely get lynched for killing the horse.”</p> - -<p>“Likely,” nodded Skeeter dryly. “’F yuh don’t get lynched, you’ll -figger out that I’ve told yuh the truth.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter leaned a little closer and tapped the man on the knee with -his finger.</p> - -<p>“Pardner, ’f there’s anythin’ yuh don’t want t’ tell me the truth -about—don’t tell anythin’. <i>Sabe</i> what I mean?”</p> - -<p>“Afraid I’ll lie to you?”</p> - -<p>“Tellin’ yuh not to. I don’t care who yuh are, nor what yuh are, -pardner. I reckon the killin’ of my bronc was a mistake, but that’s all -past. I don’t lie, and I won’t stand for no man lyin’ t’ me.”</p> - -<p>The man looked curiously at him wondering if this lanky cowboy was -joking or not. No, he decided that Skeeter Bill was not joking. A man -who would not lie and would not stand for a liar was a novelty in the -range-land. The man decided against prevarication.</p> - -<p>“My name is Kirk,” he stated; “Jim Kirk.”</p> - -<p>“Mine’s Sarg,” grinned Skeeter. “Mostly always, folks calls me -Skeeter Bill.”</p> - -<p>“I’m a sheepherder,” stated Kirk.</p> - -<p>“I’m not!” snapped Skeeter. “I hate the —— things.”</p> - -<p>Kirk nodded and dug into the hard soil with the heel of his boot.</p> - -<p>“I don’t love ’em,” he admitted softly, shaking his head. “Nobody -does, I guess. Still—” Kirk lifted his head and gazed off across the -tangle of brush—“still, they have made it possible for me to live out -here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” softly.</p> - -<p>“If it wasn’t for the sheep I would probably have to live in a -city.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter cleared his throat softly.</p> - -<p>“Well, under them circumstances sheep ain’t so danged bad, I reckon. -Feller does feel better, livin’ out here in the old hills. Mebbe I’d -herd sheep, too.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you’d do anything to keep living.”</p> - -<p>“I come danged near shufflin’ off a while ago,” reminded Skeeter -seriously. “That bronc was worth a lot t’ me.”</p> - -<p>The cough came again and occupied Kirk’s attention for a period.</p> - -<p>“I’m awful sorry about the horse,” he panted hoarsely. “I thought you -might be gunning for me, and I wanted to beat you to it.”</p> - -<p>“You shore had the proper idea,” grinned Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“The idea was all right,” admitted Kirk, “and, as I said before, I -got tired of being shot at.”</p> - -<p>“Cows and sheep kinda warrin’ round?” queried Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>Kirk nodded slowly.</p> - -<p>“Yes. In a way I don’t blame the cowmen. This range has belonged to -them ever since the first cow came in over the hill. The sheep will ruin -it for anything but sheep, but the law says that sheep and cows have -equal rights.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill snorted. The law had never meant much to him.</p> - -<p>“And so the cow-men takes things in their own hands, eh?”</p> - -<p>“It seems that way,” smiled Kirk.</p> - -<p>“You own the sheep?” queried Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>Kirk shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Nope,” he denied. “I’m just a hired sheepherder.”</p> - -<p>“Thasso?”</p> - -<p>Skeeter considered Kirk’s humped figure for a space of time, and -then—</p> - -<p>“You ain’t no hired killer, Kirk; so why take a chance on killin’ or -gittin’ killed?”</p> - -<p>Kirk coughed softly and got to his feet. The sun was yet an hour -high, but the cañons were already blocky with purple shadows. From -farther down the hill came the bleating of sheep; the everlasting, -meaningless “<i>baa, baa, baa, baa</i>” from hundreds of throats.</p> - -<p>Kirk turned and looked at Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“No, I am not a killer. I never shot at a man before.”</p> - -<p>He pointed down across the brush toward the sheep.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I love those things? Sarg, I am not physically fit to -do a man’s work, and I can’t live inside a house. Out here in the hills -I have a fighting chance to live, and there is nothing I can get to do, -that I can do, except herd sheep.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” drawled Skeeter, “I reckon we better give three cheers for -the sheep. But I’m still a li’l hazy as t’ why yuh tried t’ bump me off, -pardner.”</p> - -<p>“Self-defense. I thought you was one of the gang that left the -warning at my camp yesterday. They ordered me to pack up and get out—my -wife and me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” grunted Skeeter softly. “You’ve got a wife with yuh?”</p> - -<p>Kirk nodded, and a deep crease appeared between his eyes as he -frowned over his own thoughts. Suddenly he shook his head and looked -down toward the sheep.</p> - -<p>“It’s time to take them back, I guess,” he remarked. “You might come -down to camp with me and have something to eat.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter nodded.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take yuh up on that, pardner; but I’ll get m’ saddle -first.”</p> - -<p>It was only a few moments’ work to strip the saddle from the dead -horse and to remove the bridle. Skeeter made no more comments about the -dead horse. The tall bay had served him well; but Skeeter in his time -had ridden many horses, and this was not the first one to perish under -him.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Carrying the heavy saddle, he helped Kirk round up the herd of sheep -and head them in the direction of the bed-ground. Through a filmy cloud -of dust they followed the bleating herd along the side of the cañon, -until of their own accord the sheep headed down on to a flat, where -Skeeter could see an old tumbledown shack and part of an old -pole-corral.</p> - -<p>Smoke was issuing from the crooked old chimney, and as they drew -nearer a woman came to the open doorway and looked at them. She was -dressed in faded calico and coarse shoes, but Skeeter thought he had -never seen a more beautiful face.</p> - -<p>After a searching glance at him the woman darted from the doorway and -ran to Kirk, as if partly for protection and partly to find out if he -was all right. Kirk put an arm around her shoulders and turned to -Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Sarg, that is my wife.”</p> - -<p>“Glad t’ meetcha,” muttered Skeeter as he placed the saddle on the -ground and held out his hand.</p> - -<p>The woman glanced at Kirk before she shook hands with Skeeter -Bill.</p> - -<p>“I killed his horse,” said Kirk slowly. “I thought he was one of the -cowboys.”</p> - -<p>“Tha’s all right,” grinned Skeeter. “Mistakes’ll happen in the best -of families. I’ve been mistaken f’r the same thing before.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’re not a cowboy?” queried Mrs. Kirk.</p> - -<p>“I dunno.” Skeeter Bill shook his head. “I’ve been a lot of things, -ma’am, and I dunno which one took the most. I’m just kinda pesticatin’ -around, yuh see. I poked into this here country, and unless I’m -misreadin’ the signs I’m goin’ t’ poke right out again.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to get another horse,” reminded Kirk.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh. But that’s a cinch in a cow-country. I’ve got a rope -left.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk turned to the doorway, as she said—</p> - -<p>“Supper is almost ready, Jim, and I know you must be starved—you and -Mr. Sarg.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Skeeter seriously. “I sure could fold up quite a -parcel of food right now, thank yuh kindly.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter and Kirk washed at the little spring, where a little fence -had been built to block out the sheep.</p> - -<p>“Does yore wife like this kind of a life?” queried Skeeter.</p> - -<p>Kirk shook his head as he squatted on his heels at the side of the -spring.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so, Sarg, but she is willing to do it for my -sake.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a while and shook his -head.</p> - -<p>“I dunno much about women, Kirk—the right kind. You ain’t much t’ -look at. She’s mighty pretty and sweet; but she’s willin’ t’ live out -here, alongside of a bunch of blattin’ woollies, just cause it’s goin’ -t’ help you.”</p> - -<p>“That’s love, Sarg.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill squinted closely at Kirk’s face and looked back toward -the cabin door.</p> - -<p>“Love—eh? Heat and dirt and the smell of sheep! Old rickety cabin, -canned food and swappin’ lead with the cattlemen. No other women; -lonesome as ——!”</p> - -<p>Skeeter looked down at Kirk and nodded slowly.</p> - -<p>“Yeah, I reckon it must be love, pardner,” he went on. “I ain’t never -seen it in that kind of a package before, so I didn’t <i>sabe</i> it on -sight.”</p> - -<p>“She’s my pal—my bunkie,” said Kirk slowly. “She’s willing to go -fifty-fifty with me in everything.”</p> - -<p>“Thasso? About bein’ a pal—I didn’t know that a woman could be -thataway. Women, t’ me, have always been kinda—mebbe I didn’t look at -’em right, Kirk. I kinda like that bunkie idea, y’betcha.”</p> - -<p>“She’s the best in the world,” said Kirk softly as they neared the -house.</p> - -<p>“I s’pose,” nodded Skeeter. “I s’pose that’s right.”</p> - -<p>The supper was meager in variety as well as in quantity, but it was -well cooked.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to go to town tomorrow,” stated Kirk. “We are out of food. -I’ve been putting it off for several days, but it has become an absolute -necessity.”</p> - -<p>“I hate to have you go to town, Jim,” said Mrs. Kirk. “Under the -circumstances it is hard to tell what might happen.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you worry, honey.”</p> - -<p>Kirk leaned across the table and patted her on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“I’ll hitch up the old horse to the old wagon in the morning,” he -continued, “and be back here in two hours with a load of food.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got a better scheme than that,” grinned Skeeter. “I’ll go after -yore grub for yuh.”</p> - -<p>Kirk shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No, I can’t let you get into any trouble on our account. They would -recognize that horse and wagon, and you can’t tell what would -happen.”</p> - -<p>“I’d shore like t’ see what would happen,” said Skeeter slowly, -rolling a cigaret. “I’m willin’, ’f the town is, and I ain’t got nobody -waitin’ f’r me t’ come back all in one chunk.”</p> - -<p>“But why should you do this for us?” asked Kirk. “I killed your horse -and nearly killed you.”</p> - -<p>“I dunno why,” said Skeeter honestly. “’F I stopped’t ask m’self, -‘Why?’ all the time, I’d never do anythin’. Tell me somethin’ about this -sheep and cattle trouble.”</p> - -<p>“We are from Chicago,” said Kirk. “I was a telegraph operator in a -brokerage office until a specialist told me that I must live in the -hills or quit living entirely. Then we came West with no place in mind -and very little money to start with.</p> - -<p>“Somehow we came to Wheeler City and met the man who offered me this -job. He was sending in a lot of sheep, which were to be driven in -through Table Rock Pass and then broken up into several bands.</p> - -<p>“We didn’t have a dollar left when this offer came to us, and we -accepted it quickly. It was a mighty hard trip for us, because neither -of us had ever roughed it before. On this side of the pass the herd was -split into four parts and a man led us to this spot.</p> - -<p>“Nothing was said to us about trouble with the cattlemen. We were -given a rifle and a shotgun and plenty of ammunition. The shotgun is -over there in the corner. I have never fired it.”</p> - -<p>“How long have yuh been in here?” asked Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Two weeks. Three men were killed in the next camp to us on the first -day—two sheep-men and one cowboy. The man who brought us in was -arrested, although he had nothing to do with the shooting. The judge -turned him loose and notified the cattlemen that the sheep-men were not -to be molested until it could be fought out in the courts. The -cattlemen know that it will take months to get a decision, and in the -meantime the sheep are wearing out the range.”</p> - -<p>“Who owns the sheep?”</p> - -<p>Kirk shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. The man who hired me is named McClelland. He did not -admit ownership in court, but stated that he was responsible for the -sheep.”</p> - -<p>“You been shot at?”</p> - -<p>“Five times,” said Kirk. “Anyway I think they shot at me. Perhaps -they merely tried to frighten me. At least a dozen of my sheep have been -killed at long range.”</p> - -<p>“Yuh spoke about a warnin’,” reminded Skeeter.</p> - -<p>Kirk got up and took a piece of paper from a shelf above the table. -It was crudely printed with a lead pencil, and read:</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; font-size:0.9em; margin-left:2em; margin-top:0.7em; margin-bottom:0.7em;'>GIT OUT AND KEEP GOING.<br /> -WE DON’T LIKE SHEEP BUT<br /> -WE DO LIKE PURTY WIMIN.<br /> -THE LAW AIN’T GOING TO<br /> -HELP YOU NONE IN THIS<br /> -CASE. YOU BETTER HEED.</p> - -<p>There was no name signed to this missive, but its meaning was very -plain. Skeeter squinted up at Kirk and handed him the paper.</p> - -<p>“You ain’t goin’ t’ heed?”</p> - -<p>“They wouldn’t dare harm my wife, Sarg.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter looked at Mrs. Kirk and back to Kirk.</p> - -<p>“Pardner, yo’re a long, long ways from Chicago. Folks say that men -are big-minded, big-hearted in the West, but it takes all kinds of folks -t’ make up the West, just like it does the East. Some of these -cattlemen hate a sheepherder, and ’f that sheepherder had a danged -purty wife— Still, they was honest enough t’ give yuh a warnin’.”</p> - -<p>“Would you heed it?” demanded Kirk.</p> - -<p>Skeeter rubbed his chin and glanced at Mrs. Kirk, who was watching -him intently.</p> - -<p>“If you were sick and needed the work, and your wife was willing to -stay with you?” added Kirk softly.</p> - -<p>“No, by ——!” exploded Skeeter Bill. “Not as long as I had a shell -left f’r m’ gun, or one arm able t’ throw rocks.”</p> - -<p>“That’s how I feel,” said Kirk.</p> - -<p>“But what protection has your wife got? You have t’ leave her here -alone, don’tcha?”</p> - -<p>“Not all the time,” said Mrs. Kirk. “I go out with him quite a lot, -and when I am here I have the shotgun, you see.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill crossed the room and picked up the shotgun. It was a -sawed-off Winchester, with a magazine full of buckshot-loaded shells. -Skeeter grinned at Mrs. Kirk.</p> - -<p>“Didja ever shoot this, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“No, I never have; but I know I could.”</p> - -<p>“Hm-m-m!”</p> - -<p>Skeeter placed the gun back in the corner.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps we ought to try it,” said Kirk. “I don’t know how it -shoots.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’ll shoot,” said Skeeter. “Don’tcha worry about that; but it -ain’t nothin’ t’ practise with. When the right time comes, just squeeze -the trigger.”</p> - -<p>“I hope I shall never have to use it,” said Mrs. Kirk.</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” agreed Skeeter; “but ’f yuh ever do have to—don’t -hesitate, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“I do not think I shall.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Jim and I came out here to stay, you know,” she added.</p> - -<p>“That’s shore the way t’ look at it, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“Do you intend to locate in this country?” asked Kirk.</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>Skeeter grinned widely.</p> - -<p>“No-o-o,” he said, “I can’t say I am. I ain’t much of a locator, -Kirk. I’m jist kinda driftin’ along—mostly. I ain’t got nobody t’ care -where I wind up m’ li’l ball of yarn. M’ pardner got killed in Sunbeam, -and since then I’ve kinda moseyed along.”</p> - -<p>“We heard of Sunbeam,” said Mrs. Kirk. “A new mining-country, isn’t -it? We thought perhaps we might go there, but there is no railroad and -they told us that it was a long desert trip.”</p> - -<p>“I guess it’s a tough place,” added Kirk.</p> - -<p>“It was,” agreed Skeeter thoughtfully. “But there ain’t an outlaw -left in the town now.”</p> - -<p>“What became of them?” asked Kirk.</p> - -<p>“Well—” Skeeter rubbed his chin slowly—“well, he rode away.”</p> - -<p>“He rode away? Was there only one?”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh—only one left. The rest cashed in one night. I dunno who’s -moved in since he left.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean to say that you——”</p> - -<p>Kirk stopped.</p> - -<p>Skeeter got slowly to his feet and hitched up his belt.</p> - -<p>“’F you folks don’t mind I’ll spread m’ blankets out by the li’l -corral,” he said.</p> - -<p>“There’s room in here,” said Mrs. Kirk.</p> - -<p>Skeeter shook his head and went out to his saddle, where he untied -his blanket-roll and took it up by the little tumble-down corral.</p> - -<p>Moonlight silvered the hills, and the moon itself was stereoscopic, -hanging like a huge ball in the sky, instead of showing as a flat plane. -From the bed-ground came the soft bleating of sheep, while farther back -in the hills a coyote barked snappily for a moment and wailed out his -dismal howl.</p> - -<p>Skeeter wrapped up in his blanket and puffed slowly on a cigaret. He -was thinking of Sunbeam and of Mary Leeds, who had come seeking her -father. Skeeter had ridden away the night he had been instrumental in -cleaning up the outlaws of Sunbeam, the night that Mary Leeds’ father -had been killed.</p> - -<p>Skeeter’s partner, Judge Tareyton, was Mary’s father, but no one knew -it until after the judge had died, and Skeeter, broken-hearted over the -death of his old partner, had ridden away in the night; ridden away, so -that with his going, Sunbeam might be entirely rid of outlaws.</p> - -<p>He wondered what had become of Mary Leeds. He knew that the good -people would take care of her. He could still hear her voice calling, -“Skeeter Bill” to him, as he rode away in the night, and for the first -time since that night he wondered why she called to him.</p> - -<p>He found himself comparing her to Mrs. Kirk. No, she was not as -pretty as Mrs. Kirk, but they were alike in some ways. Finally he -snuggled deeper in his blankets and threw away his cigaret. The words of -old Judge Tareyton come back to him—</p> - -<p>“Keep smilin’, son, and don’t forget that God put a spark in you—a -spark that will flare up and build a big flame for you—if you’ll let -it.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter smiled seriously at the memory picture of his old drunken -lawyer partner and eased himself to a comfortable sleeping position.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Crescent City was the county seat of Moon River County, and a typical -cattle town. The branch line of the N. W. Railroad came in out of the -desert, dropped down through a winding pass, traversed nearly the entire -length of the valley and wound its way eastward through the Southern -Pass.</p> - -<p>Just now Crescent City was the seat of much agitation, due to the -invasion of sheep. Bearded cattle owners and hard-faced cowboys thronged -the town, arguing, prophesying, swearing at the law, which gave a sheep -the same rights as a cow. The saloons were doing a big business, as were -the gambling-halls, and fights were plentiful and easy to start.</p> - -<p>Judge Grayson, following his decision in the matter, had remained -religiously at home. He was a married man, small of physique, and -abhorred violence. Several reckless cowboys had openly sworn to scalp -the judge and tie the scalp on a bald-headed sheep.</p> - -<p>Ben Freel, the sheriff, was another object of wrath with the -cattlemen. None of them considered the duty of a sheriff in this case. -Freel was a gunman, cold as ice, and heartless in matters concerning his -sworn duty, and he remained unmoved under the vitriolic criticism hurled -at his back.</p> - -<p>With the cattlemen it was a case of ousting the sheep or quitting -the cattle business. It was true that only a small part of the range was -being sheeped out; but if the sheep once gained a foot-hold in the -valley of Moon River it would only be a question of a short time until -more sheep would come pouring in through Table Rock Pass.</p> - -<p>Cleve Hart owned the Lazy H outfit, which was the largest in the Moon -River range, with the home ranch within two miles of Crescent City. It -was a combined horse and cow outfit and employed many cowboys.</p> - -<div class='figcenter portrait' style='border:1px solid #DDDDDD'> - <img src='images/illus-002.jpg' alt='Map of Crescent City and surrounding ranches' /> -</div> - -<p>And in all that range land there was no man more bitter toward sheep -than Cleve Hart. He was a big man, hard of face, hard-riding, -hard-drinking, and a hard fighter. And he hated Ben Freel.</p> - -<p>As far as that was concerned, there was no love lost between them, -for Freel hated Cleve Hart with all his soul. Hart also hated Judge -Grayson—not because he was a judge, but because he was a friend to Ben -Freel.</p> - -<p>It was Hart’s cowboys who killed off the two sheep-herders, losing -one of their number at the same time; and it was Hart who declared -openly to wipe out all the sheep and sheep-herders, but was stopped by -Ben Freel and later restrained by the law.</p> - -<p>It was fairly early in the morning when Skeeter Bill drove down the -main street of Crescent City; but the hitch-racks were already well -filled with saddle-horses, and a large number of cowboys were in -evidence.</p> - -<p>Skeeter’s equipage was fairly noticeable. The horse was an ancient -gray, uncurried, patchy of hair and moth-eaten of mane and tail. The -wagon was even more ancient than the horse, with wheels which did not -track and threatened at any time to wrench loose from the hubs.</p> - -<p>The seat springs were broken down on one side, causing Skeeter to sit -sidewise with his feet braced against the opposite side of the -wagon-box, where he looked entirely out of proportion to the rest of the -outfit.</p> - -<p>Several cowboys stopped at the edge of the board sidewalk to size him -up as he drove up in front of a general merchandise store. There was no -doubt in their minds but that this was a sheep-wagon, and the news -spread rapidly.</p> - -<p>Skeeter appeared oblivious of all this. He rolled and lighted a -cigaret before dismounting, which gave the cowboys plenty of time to -make closer observations. Several of them went past him and into the -store, while others gathered around him and seemed to marvel greatly at -his equipage.</p> - -<p>“Ba-a-a-a?” queried a skinny cowboy seriously, looking up at -Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Yea-a-a-a-ah,” said Skeeter just as seriously.</p> - -<p>The skinny one colored slightly under his tan, as his lips quivered -in another question.</p> - -<p>“Maa-a-a-a-a?”</p> - -<p>“Naa-a-a-a-a-a-a,” bleated Skeeter seriously.</p> - -<p>One of the cowboys laughed nervously, but the bleating one’s eyes did -not waver from Skeeter’s face.</p> - -<p>“You think you’re—smart, don’t yuh?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Smart enough t’ talk yore language,” said Skeeter.</p> - -<p>The cowboy’s hand jerked nervously along his thigh, but Skeeter did -not move. His eyes narrowed, slightly, and he nodded slowly.</p> - -<p>“Hop to it, pardner. I don’t know who yuh are, but I ain’t lookin’ -for no cinch.”</p> - -<p>The cowboy relaxed slightly and seemed undecided. He had not expected -this from a sheep-herder, and he wanted to back out gracefully.</p> - -<p>“You jist toddle along,” smiled Skeeter. “You don’t need t’ be afraid -t’ turn yore back t’ me.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t run no blazer on me!” snapped the cowboy, as if trying to -bolster up his courage with the sound of his own voice.</p> - -<p>“I betcha yo’re right,” agreed Skeeter. “I ain’t never goin’ t’ try -it, pardner. When I talk t’ you, I mean every —— word I say.”</p> - -<p>The cowboy growled something under his breath and turned back across -the street toward a saloon. The rest of the cowboys sauntered on, -talking softly among themselves and glancing back toward the saloon. -Skeeter made a bet with himself that this loud-talking cowboy had -disrated himself in their minds. He climbed down, tied his horse and -went into the store.</p> - -<p>Some of the cowboys were sitting on a counter when Skeeter came in, -but paid no attention to him. The storekeeper, who was behind a counter -arranging some goods, also paid no attention to Skeeter as he leaned -negligently against the counter and whistled unmusically between his -teeth.</p> - -<p>The cowboys had ceased their conversation, and the place was quiet -except for Skeeter’s tuneless whistle. Finally the storekeeper turned -and looked at Skeeter, who slid a penciled list of the necessary -groceries across the counter to him.</p> - -<p>The storekeeper glanced down at the sizable list for a moment and -then at Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Sheep outfit?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Skeeter nodded, and the man shoved the list back to Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“I’m out of all them articles,” he stated and turned back to his -work.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill turned slowly and looked around. One of the largest -articles on the list was flour, and on a central counter were at least -ten sacks. His eyes turned to shelving behind the storekeeper, where -there were canned goods, baking-powder, salt. On the counter beside him -were several strips of bacon.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill considered his list carefully, checking off the goods in -sight. He knew that the store had declared an embargo on the sheep-men. -It was a mean move and might be very effective, as Crescent City was the -nearest supply point by at least thirty miles.</p> - -<p>The storekeeper turned his head and favored Skeeter Bill with an ugly -look.</p> - -<p>“I told you once that I’m all out of them goods,” he repeated -heatedly.</p> - -<p>“I heard yuh,” grinned Skeeter, “but I thought I’d kinda hang around -until yuh got a new supply.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’ll have a ——long time, feller.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” grunted Skeeter. “I’ve got a mind not t’ trade with you a-tall. -You look somethin’ like a storekeeper I knowed in Oklahoma, but I know -you ain’t the same one, cause he got hung f’r givin’ short weight to a -widder woman. I’ll leave the list with yuh, and I’m goin’t’ weigh -everythin’ before I pay yuh for it.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter turned on his heel and walked out of the door, while the -irate storekeeper sprawled across the counter and tried to swear. The -cowboys, who had suggested the embargo, went out slowly, solemnly, -choking back their unholy glee at the discomfiture of the -storekeeper.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Skeeter soon found that emissaries of the cattlemen had preceded him -to every store, and in each place he was given to understand that they -were out of all staple and fancy groceries. It was the first time that -the cattle interests had thought of such a move, and they were jubilant -over its success.</p> - -<p>No one made any move to interfere with Skeeter Bill. He did not look -like a sheep-herder. His faded clothes, high-crowned hat and high-heeled -boots proclaimed the cowpuncher. The hang of his well-filled cartridge -belt and the angle of his heavy, black-handled Colt were readable signs -to the cattlemen.</p> - -<p>Skeeter loafed along the street, cogitating deeply over just what to -do, when a man rode into town and headed for the sheriff’s office, in -front of which Skeeter was standing.</p> - -<p>The man was Ben Freel, the sheriff. One side of his head was a welter -of gore. Several cowboys crowded around him, as he dismounted heavily -and leaned wearily against the short hitch-rack.</p> - -<p>“Wha’sa matter, Ben?” asked a cowboy. “Didja get bushwhacked?”</p> - -<p>Freel nodded.</p> - -<p>“Shepherd?” queried another cowboy anxiously.</p> - -<p>“How in —— do I know?” snapped Freel. “Somebody bushed me, that’s a -cinch, and I want to say right now that this bush warfare has got to -quit.”</p> - -<p>Freel went into his office, slamming the door behind him. Skeeter -decided that Freel was decidedly more mad than injured. The cowboys -showed little sympathy for Freel, but it gave them another talking -point. Skeeter walked away from the group and went back toward the first -store he had entered.</p> - -<p>The storekeeper was alone this time. He seemed greatly peeved at the -sight of Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>“Yore stock of goods arrived yet?” queried Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“No, by ——!” yelped the grocer. “You git out of here and stay -out!”</p> - -<p>He snatched Skeeter’s list off the counter and shoved it under -Skeeter’s nose.</p> - -<p>“You take your —— list and vamoose!”</p> - -<p>Skeeter took the list and looked it over carefully, after which he -picked up a sack of flour in his left hand and again looked at his -list.</p> - -<p>“Leggo that flour!” howled the storekeeper. “Leggo——”</p> - -<p>He grabbed the flour in one hand and took a long swing at Skeeter’s -chin with the other. The fist described an arc, met no resistance and -swung its owner half-around, causing him to let loose of the sack.</p> - -<p>Skeeter swung up the sack in both hands and brought it down upon the -unprotected head of the staggering storekeeper, knocking him to the -floor in a smother of flour from the burst sack.</p> - -<p>On the floor near him was a great coil of new, half-inch Manila rope. -As the storekeeper struggled to his feet Skeeter back-heeled him neatly -and broke all records for hog-tying a human being.</p> - -<p>The storekeeper let out a yelp for assistance, but Skeeter shook the -rest of the flour out of the sack and used the sack to gag his victim. -Then Skeeter proceeded to stack up his list of necessities, working -swiftly.</p> - -<p>Estimating at a top figure, he placed the money on the counter and -began carrying his purchases out to the wagon. Luckily no one was paying -any attention to him, as most of the inquisitive ones were down at the -sheriff’s office trying to find out just what had happened to him.</p> - -<p>The ancient gray looked upon Skeeter with disapproving eyes as it -noted the amount of weight which was to be drawn back to the sheep-camp; -but Skeeter’s one big idea was to get out of Crescent City as fast as -possible.</p> - -<p>He climbed to the rickety seat, almost upset the wagon on a short -turn, and rattled out of town. Several cowboys had come out of the -saloon across the street and watched him drive away.</p> - -<p>Skeeter caught a glimpse of one of these cowboys waving his arms -wildly as he started across toward the store, and Skeeter knew that the -cowboy had seen the half-loaded wagon and was going to find out what had -happened to the storekeeper.</p> - -<p>It was nearly three miles to the sheep-camp—three miles of crooked, -rutty road; and it was like riding a bucking broncho to stay on that -wagon-seat. Skeeter lashed the old gray into a gallop—or rather what -resembled a gallop—and urged it to further speed with whip and -voice.</p> - -<p>As they topped the crest of a hill Skeeter looked back, but the -pursuit had not started yet; so he yelled threateningly at the old gray, -and they lurched off down the grade in a cloud of alkali dust.</p> - -<p>Skeeter knew that the cowboys would probably follow him and try to -recover the supplies, but he also knew that they would not get them -without a fight. He had promised the Kirks that he would bring back the -supplies, and Skeeter Bill meant to keep his word.</p> - -<p>The old gray looked like an advertisement for a popular soap-suds -powder when they skidded, slewed and lurched down on to the sheep-ranch -flat and stopped at the door of the little cabin. Skeeter yelped loudly, -but no one answered his hail; so he fell off the rickety seat and began -gathering up packages from the rear of the wagon, while the ancient gray -spread its legs wide apart and heaved like a bellows.</p> - -<p>“Maud S,” said Skeeter, “you ain’t —— for speed, but yuh shore can -lather a-plenty. ’F I had a razor I’d give yuh a shave.”</p> - -<p>He started for the half-open door with his arms full of plunder, when -he happened to look down at the ground near the low step, where the pump -shotgun was leaning against the house, with its muzzle in the dirt.</p> - -<p>Skeeter kicked the door open, placed the food inside and came back to -the gun. He looked it over and pumped out an empty shell. The gun had -been fired recently, and a grin overspread Skeeter’s face as he -visualized Mrs. Kirk shooting at a target to try the gun.</p> - -<p>“Kicked her so danged hard that she dropped it and busted off across -country for fear it might go off ag’in,” mused Skeeter; but as his eyes -searched for a possible target he stared at the fringe of the old -dry-wash, about fifty feet away.</p> - -<p>Taking a deep breath, he walked straight out there and looked down at -the body of a man. Skeeter did not know him. He was a big man with a -deeply lined face, and his hair was slightly gray. He wore a faded blue -shirt, nondescript vest, overalls and bat-winged chaps. One of his arms -was doubled under him, and that hand evidently held a six-shooter, the -barrel of which protruded out past his hip.</p> - -<p>Skeeter turned him over and felt of his heart. The man had evidently -received the whole charge of buckshot between his waist and shoulders, -and there was no question but that he was dead.</p> - -<p>Skeeter squatted down beside the dead man with the shotgun across his -lap. There was no question in his mind but that either Kirk or his wife -had fired the fatal shot. Which one, it did not matter. They had only -been protecting their rights; but would the law look at it in the right -way?</p> - -<p>Skeeter had become so engrossed in the problem that he forgot his -wild ride from town. He knew that he must dispose of this body at -once—wipe out all evidence of this tragedy—anything to get it away -from the sheep-camp and out of the light of day.</p> - -<p>The brushy bottom of the old dry-wash suggested the handiest spot, -and without a moment’s delay he swung the body around, climbed partly -down the bank and hoisted the body to his shoulder. The loose dirt gave -way with him, and he almost fell to his knees at the bottom, but managed -to right himself. As he plunged ahead into the brush he seemed to be -surrounded by horsemen, some of them almost crashing into him.</p> - -<p>He swung the body aside into a bush and reached for his gun, but -looked up into the muzzles of four guns, and one of them was in the hand -of Ben Freel, the sheriff. Two other cowboys came riding through the -brush and stopped near them.</p> - -<p>Freel spurred his horse ahead and looked down at the dead man.</p> - -<p>“By ——!” he grunted. “Cleve Hart!”</p> - -<p>Skeeter did not look up. The name meant nothing to him; he was -thinking rapidly. He still had his gun. It was true that at least three -six-shooters were leveled at him, but he might last long enough to make -them sorry they had followed him.</p> - -<p>“Take his gun, Slim,” ordered the sheriff, and one of the cowboys -swung down and deftly yanked Skeeter’s gun from its holster.</p> - -<p>Skeeter glanced up at Freel and smiled wearily.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad your man took my gun, sheriff. I feel better now.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah?”</p> - -<p>Freel took the gun from the cowboy and dropped it into his pocket as -he turned to Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Mind tellin’ us about it?”</p> - -<p>Skeeter glanced at the dead man and around at the circle of -cowboys.</p> - -<p>“No-o-o, I don’t reckon I will, sheriff.”</p> - -<p>“What did yuh shoot him for?”</p> - -<p>This from one of the cowboys, who was riding a Lazy H horse.</p> - -<p>Skeeter shut his lips tight and shook his head. Freel dismounted and -examined the body carefully.</p> - -<p>“Buckshot,” he said finally. “Riddled him.”</p> - -<p>“The gun’s up there on the bank,” said Skeeter, jerking his head in -that direction. “The empty shell is over in front of the shack.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a —— of a cool customer,” declared the one called Slim.</p> - -<p>“Ancestors was Eskimos,” said Skeeter seriously.</p> - -<p>“If yuh ask me, I’d say he’s as crazy as a loon,” said another -cowboy, who wore long hair and a chin-strap. “They say that’s what -happens to sheep-herders.”</p> - -<p>Freel sent two of the cowboys to get the shotgun and empty cartridge -shell, to be used as evidence, while he dismounted and slipped a pair of -handcuffs on Skeeter Bill and ordered him to mount one of the -horses.</p> - -<p>“Mind doin’ me a li’l favor, sheriff?” asked Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Mebbe not,” growled Freel. “Whatcha want?”</p> - -<p>“Ask the boys t’ leave that bunch of grub alone. Yuh came out here t’ -take it away from me, but yuh landed bigger game than tryin’t’ starve a -shepherd.”</p> - -<p>“No, by ——!” interrupted the one called Slim. “We aim to bust up -this —— sheep business, and starvation is better than bullets.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a woman t’ starve,” Skeeter Bill reminded him.</p> - -<p>Slim hesitated and shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“We’ll let the grub alone,” nodded Freel. “A few days more or less -won’t ruin the cow-business, I reckon.”</p> - -<p>Slim favored Freel with a black look, but at this moment the two -cowboys came back with the evidence and gave it to Freel.</p> - -<p>“My bronc will pack double, Andy,” said Freel to one of the -cowpunchers. “You ride behind me, and the prisoner will ride your -horse.”</p> - -<p>“Awright.”</p> - -<p>Andy did not relish this arrangement, but swung up behind the -sheriff, and the cavalcade moved back toward town.</p> - -<p>Skeeter glanced back toward the shack, where the ancient gray was -still standing wearily before the open door, waiting for some one to -unhitch him.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Crescent City was deeply stirred over the killing of Cleve Hart, who, -although not exactly popular, was the biggest cattle owner in the -valley. The guilt of Skeeter Bill was unquestioned, as he had been -caught with the goods. Unluckily for him the sheriff and posse had -lingered a few minutes before giving chase to recover the sheep-herder’s -grub-stake, and this lapse of time had been sufficient for Skeeter to -have killed Cleve Hart.</p> - -<p>There was much talk of a lynching, headed by the boys from the Lazy -H, but wiser counsel had pointed out the fact that the law would make no -mistake in this case, and that Skeeter Bill would pay the supreme -penalty.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill himself seemed indifferent. He refused to talk to the -lawyer who had been appointed by the court to defend him, and the lawyer -did not argue the point to any great extent. He was the son of a -cattleman, and to save the life of a sheep-herder would not react to his -credit. Therefore he became counsel with the defense, rather than for -it.</p> - -<p>It was a week from the time of Skeeter Bill’s arrest until the day of -his trial, and he had had plenty of time to think over his predicament. -Of Kirk and his wife he had seen nothing; which was not strange, because -Crescent City was no place for sheep-herders to visit. Only a voluntary -confession from them would exonerate him, for it would do Skeeter no -good to try to pass the guilt to them—even if he had been so -inclined.</p> - -<p>Crescent City was crowded on the opening day of the trial, and the -little courtroom was filled to suffocation. Never was a trial jury -selected with less argument. The counsel with the defense used no -challenges, and the prosecuting attorney passed each juror with few -questions. Skeeter Bill smiled softly, as he studied the faces of the -twelve men. They were all cattlemen.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got about as much chance as a snowball in ——,” he told his -lawyer in an undertone.</p> - -<p>“It’s your own fault,” the lawyer reminded him sourly. “You wouldn’t -talk to me about the case.”</p> - -<p>“Well, everybody else did, I reckon—and they likely told the truth, -as far as they could see.”</p> - -<p>The evidence was overwhelming. Every cowboy who had been with the -sheriff on the day of the arrest took the stand and swore to the same -story. There was no cause for any delay in presenting the case to the -jury, and the prosecutor, supreme in his knowledge that the prisoner was -already convicted, opened his vials of righteous wrath and hinted that -Skeeter Bill was guilty of every known crime against humanity.</p> - -<p>At the height of his vituperative oratory he suddenly crashed to -earth when Skeeter Bill, handcuffed, threw the sheriff aside, grasped -the prosecutor with both hands, kicked his feet from under him, and -hurled him over the railing into the front row of sight-seeing -humanity.</p> - -<p>In an instant the courtroom was in an uproar, but Skeeter Bill backed -up against the judge’s desk and made no further move. The prosecutor -crawled back to his seat, torn of raiment and dazed of mind.</p> - -<p>“All I ask for is a square deal,” stated Skeeter to the court. “That -lawyer is a —— liar, tha’s all.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll get a square deal,” declared the judge nervously, rapping on -his desk. “Sit down, Sarg.”</p> - -<p>“Where and when do I get this here square deal?” queried Skeeter -Bill. “With all the witnesses ag’in’ me and a jury of cowpunchers, -where do I get off? You’ve got me cinched f’r murder, judge—why let -that ganglin’, horse-faced lawyer add t’ my crimes?”</p> - -<p>The prosecutor got quickly to his feet and wailed an objection, but -the judge ordered him to sit down.</p> - -<p>“I do not think there is any use of reviling the prisoner,” declared -the judge. “The evidence is plain enough, I think.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill got to his feet and faced the court.</p> - -<p>“Just a moment, judge. I reckon yuh got me cinched f’r this killin’, -but I’d like t’ ask a question before that jury decides t’ hang me, ’f I -can.”</p> - -<p>“I think you have that right, Sarg,” admitted the judge.</p> - -<p>Skeeter turned to Freel.</p> - -<p>“Mind swearin’t’ tell the truth, sheriff?”</p> - -<p>Freel walked to the witness chair, while his deputy edged in beside -Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>“Sheriff,” said Skeeter Bill slowly, “Cleve Hart had a six-gun in his -hand when he died. Did you see that gun?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Had it been fired?”</p> - -<p>“Once,” nodded Freel. “There was one empty shell.”</p> - -<p>“Tha’s all,” said Skeeter, and turned to the judge. “Yuh can only -hang a man f’r murder, judge; and it ain’t exactly murder when the other -feller shoots too. Ain’t it sort of a question as t’ who shot -first?”</p> - -<p>The prosecutor jumped to his feet and objected at the top of his -voice, but the judge turned a deaf ear to him as he instructed the -jury.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill expected little from those twelve hard-faced cattlemen -as they filed out into the jury room to decide his fate. The judge had -explained the difference between first and second degree murder, and had -dwelt upon the possibility of self-defense, but Skeeter felt that the -jury were in no mood to argue among themselves.</p> - -<p>Fifteen minutes later they returned their verdict of guilty of murder -in the first degree. For several moments there was intense silence in -the courtroom; broken only by the voice of Judge Grayson—</p> - -<p>“William Sarg, stand up.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter got to his feet and faced the judge, who said:</p> - -<p>“You have been found guilty of murder in the first degree. Is there -any reason why the sentence of the court should not be passed upon -you?”</p> - -<p>Skeeter shook his head slowly. The jury had taken no cognizance of -the fact that Cleve Hart might have shot first—had given him no benefit -of any doubt.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead, judge,” said Skeeter softly. “There ain’t nothin’ else yuh -can do.”</p> - -<p>Judge Grayson’s eyes searched the courtroom, passed over the -stony-faced jury and came back to Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>“William Sarg, I sentence you to life imprisonment at Red Lodge.”</p> - -<p>Life imprisonment! Skeeter took a deep breath. He had expected a -death sentence. The courtroom buzzed with excitement, and one of the -jurymen swore openly. Skeeter felt a pressure on his arm and turned to -find Freel looking him square in the eyes and saying—</p> - -<p>“Sarg, I’m —— glad.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter smiled at the irony of it all. Congratulating him on a life -sentence! The judge was leaving the bench, and the jury had been -discharged. The room still buzzed with conversation, and Skeeter heard -one man say:</p> - -<p>“—— such a judge! He ain’t got guts enough to hang a -sheep-herder!”</p> - -<p>Skeeter turned and looked at this man. He was a small, thin-faced, -almost chinless person with close-set eyes and a broken nose. His eyes -dropped under Skeeter’s stare, and he turned away, walking with arms -bent stiffly at the elbow and with a peculiar swaying motion.</p> - -<p>“That’s Kales,” said Freel as Skeeter turned back. “He’s a gunman. I -think he is working for some of the cattle outfits.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter nodded.</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard of him. Feller told me that Kales never missed his man. -He will—some day. They all do.”</p> - -<p>Freel took Skeeter back to his cell and locked him in.</p> - -<p>“When do we make the trip?” asked Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“I dunno.”</p> - -<p>Freel shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Soon, I reckon,” he added.</p> - -<p>Freel went up the street and mingled with the crowds. There was no -question that the sentence was unpopular among the cattlemen. Their -tempers were worn to a frazzle over the drouth, the continuous heat and -the sheep trouble, and a hanging might act as a safety valve. Freel -caught the gist of a remark between Kales and one of the Lazy H cowboys, -which hinted at a lynching.</p> - -<p>There were open remarks about Judge Grayson being chicken-hearted, -and some of them seemed even to blame Freel for what they considered a -miscarriage of justice.</p> - -<p>Alone in his small cell, Skeeter Bill sat down and contemplated his -future. He was thirty-five years of age, and in all probabilities he -would live thirty-five years longer. His mind traveled back over the -years he could remember as he tried to visualize the long years to -come—years of being only a number, a caged atom.</p> - -<p>“I laid down on the job,” he told himself bitterly as he thought of -his capture. “Why didn’t I take a chance of shootin’ m’self loose from -that gang? All they could ’a’ done was t’ kill me. Or <i>why</i> -in —— didn’t I let that dead man alone?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head sadly.</p> - -<p>“I swore at that horse ’cause it didn’t have no speed; and t’ think -of how it could ’a’ saved me by dyin’ half-way out there.”</p> - -<p>But again Skeeter Bill shook his head. If it hadn’t been for him, -Kirk or his wife would now be sharing this cell.</p> - -<p>“Pals,” said Skeeter. “Bunkies—and him fightin’ f’r life. Livin’ and -lovin’ thataway. ——! They deserve a chance, I reckon. But—” Skeeter -lifted his head and spoke to the barred door—“I didn’t take their crime -jist t’ save them. Nope, I wasn’t doin’ that—I was jist tryin’ t’ give -’em a chance t’ git away, tha’s all. I ain’t no —— hero; I’m jist -unlucky, I am.”</p> - -<p>Freel came back into his office, and in a few minutes he came back to -the cell door.</p> - -<p>“I dunno when we’ll make the trip, Sarg. There’s lots of wild talkin’ -bein’ done, and we may have to sneak out of Crescent City.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter grinned seriously.</p> - -<p>“Seems kinda funny f’r me t’ have t’ sneak to the penitentiary, -Freel.”</p> - -<p>Freel laughed shortly.</p> - -<p>“Is kinda queer. I don’t reckon they’ll try to take yuh out of -here.”</p> - -<p>“First time I ever was in a jail that I didn’t want t’ leave,” -grinned Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>Freel turned and walked back to his office. He seemed nervous over -the outcome of it all; but Skeeter Bill, if he was perturbed in the -least, did not show it. He wondered whether any of his acquaintances -outside the valley had heard of his arrest. News did not travel fast in -that country.</p> - -<p>His thoughts turned back to Mary Leeds and the town of Sunbeam. Would -she ever know? Somehow he hoped she would never find out. Mary Leeds was -nothing to him, he told himself. She knew him as an outlaw. Sunbeam knew -him as a gun-fighting lawbreaker—even if he had been instrumental in -cleaning up the place. No, she would not be at all interested in his -future.</p> - -<p>Skeeter shook his head sadly over it all. He was making a fitting -finish, but there was little glory in it.</p> - -<p>“I wonder where m’ spark is?” he mused. “I’ve got a fine chance t’ -build it into a flame where I’m goin’. Yet I wonder why Mary Leeds -called, ‘Skeeter Bill!’ when I rode away. Anyway I won’t need t’ worry -about gittin’ a hair-cut no more, and a number ain’t no worse than a -name.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Sunbeam had been good to Mary Leeds. On the night that her father had -been killed, several wealthy bad-men had died intestate, and Sunbeam -settled their estates without recourse to law.</p> - -<p>But the life of the border mining-town palled upon her. She did not -fit in somehow. The estimable Mrs. Porter had taken her into their home -and had grown rather refined in her language, due to the instructive -criticism of Mary Leeds.</p> - -<p>“My ——!” exclaimed Mrs. Porter. “Ever since Jim Porter flirted -openly with a stick of dynamite I’ve had t’ do everythin’ ’cept chaw -tobacco; but now I reckon I’ve got t’ curry m’ finger-nails, wear -stockin’s and say, ‘Yessir’ t’ every hardheaded son-of-a-rooster that -comes after his laundry.”</p> - -<p>“But,” explained Mary, “you are a woman.”</p> - -<p>“Tha’s so,” agreed Mrs. Porter dubiously. “I s’pose I am. I’ve got -them charact’ristics. I kinda wish you’d stay here in Sunbeam. Me ’n’ -you git along sweet and pretty, but after you’re gone I’ll be the only -ree-fined female in this whole —— town. Mebbe I’ll forgit everythin’ -you learned me, and start in swearin’ like ——.”</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” sighed Mary. “You have been lovely to me, Mrs. Porter. -I don’t know what I would have done without you and——”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter lifted her homely face and looked closely at Mary, who -was staring out of the half-open window. The rumble of a series of -blasts shook the ground, and from over on the street came the bumping -and rattling of a heavy freight wagon.</p> - -<p>Mary Leeds was not beautiful, though not far from it. Her face was -appealing in its delicate lines, and a pair of wistful, blue eyes looked -out into the world from below a tangle of soft brown hair.</p> - -<p>Mary turned and saw Mrs. Porter looking at her.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t quite finish your statement, Mary,” said Mrs. Porter -softly.</p> - -<p>Mary’s eyes switched back to the window, but she did not reply.</p> - -<p>“You kinda meant t’ say a man’s name, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“A man?”</p> - -<p>Mary did not turn her head.</p> - -<p>“Yeah, a man; Skeeter Bill Sarg.”</p> - -<p>Mary turned and looked straight at Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>“Skeeter Bill? Why should I mention him?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter turned back to her washtub and thoughtfully lifted a -dripping garment.</p> - -<p>“I dunno why.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“’Course he didn’t do nothin’ for you,” she added.</p> - -<p>Mary continued the stare out of the window.</p> - -<p>“Funny sort of a feller, was Skeeter Bill,” mused Mrs. Porter. “I -’member that he killed Jeff Billings ’cause Jeff lied to him. And Jeff -had some laundry with me which wasn’t paid for, and Skeeter paid for it. -I offered it to him, but he wouldn’t take it.</p> - -<p>“’Member how he saved you and the preacher at the Poplar Springs, -after Tug Leeds and his gang had shot up the outfit to steal the horses? -He brought yuh both back here, and backed the preacher t’ clean up -Sunbeam.</p> - -<p>“And Tug Leeds lied to you and the preacher about Skeeter, and made -yuh think he was a awful bum. ’Member that, do you?</p> - -<p>“And then mebbe yuh ’member how Tug Leeds framed it to have the -preacher hold church in his danged honkatonk t’ disgust both of yuh, and -how Skeeter Bill raised —— with the whole gang and saved yuh from -bein’ stole by Leeds and his gang?</p> - -<p>“’Member that some of that lousy outfit shot old Judge Tareyton, -through the winder, and the old judge, with his dyin’ muscles, pulled -the trigger that sent Tug Leeds t’ ——?</p> - -<p>“And Judge Tareyton was your own pa, and Tug Leeds was the man who -had sent him to the penitentiary and stole his name. ’Member all that, -don’t yuh? Skeeter Bill was the man who engineered all that.”</p> - -<p>Mary turned slowly and nodded dumbly.</p> - -<p>“I know. I owe him everything, Mrs. Porter. He—he had been awful -good to my old daddy, they say. He saved my life, I think. But he said -he was a horse-thief and ——”</p> - -<p>“Y’betcha he did! Honest? Whooee, that ganglin’ outlaw sure was -honest. If he’d ’a’ got killed in that entertainment they’d put up a -monyment to him; but as it is I suppose some of these snake-hunters -would kill him on sight.</p> - -<p>“Human nature is kinda like that, Mary. Folks that pack a sawed-off -shotgun for yuh when you’re alive, will chip in t’ give yuh a fancy -tombstone and shed tears over yuh when you’re dead.</p> - -<p>“Folks cuss me for wearin’ out their shirts on a old wash-board; but -I’ll betcha if I died they’d all chip in and put me up a tombstone, real -finicky, with a marble angel humped over a wash-tub, lookin’ at a marble -shirt, and on it they’d engrave, ‘Not worn out, but —— near it.’”</p> - -<p>Mary Leeds laughed at Mrs. Porter’s serious expression and dejected -position over the wash-board as she held the dripping shirt in both -hands and gazed at the ceiling.</p> - -<p>“’F I go to heaven,” continued Mrs. Porter, “and they tell me that -angels wear shirts, I’m sure goin’ to tell ’em that I know of a lot of -preachers that have got the wrong dope on things down here.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter slapped the shirt back into the sudsy water and sank down -in a broken-backed chair.</p> - -<p>“Aw, I’m sick of it all, so I am. Scrub, scrub, scrub, all the time -’cept when I’m ridin’ sign on a —— flat-iron! Miners bring in their -flannel shirts so danged dirty that yuh can’t wash ’em—yuh have t’ -cultivate ’em. Their socks has been worn so long that I have t’ picket -’em out, ’stead of hangin’ ’em on the line.</p> - -<p>“Feller brought me six suits of underclothes last week, and I let ’em -fall off the table. Know what they done? Three suits broke all t’ ——, -and the other three was so badly cracked that he made me pay for ’em. I -tell yuh I’m sick of it. How in —— can I git refined under them -conditions, I ask yuh?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter gathered up her apron in both hands and buried her face -within its damp folds while her shoulders shook with suppressed emotion. -Mary went to her quickly and threw both arms around her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry! It is too hard. Do you really have to stay here, -Mrs. Porter? Couldn’t you live just as well in some other town?”</p> - -<p>“I s’pose so.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter’s voice was muffled.</p> - -<p>“Goodness knows there ain’t many towns where men don’t git their -shirts dirty,” she added.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean that,” explained Mary softly. “Perhaps you could get -into something else. Suppose you go back East with me?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter lifted her head quickly and stared wide-eyed at Mary.</p> - -<p>“Go East with you?”</p> - -<p>“Where there are lots of folks and——”</p> - -<p>“Lots of shirts?” supplied Mrs. Porter. “Lord bless you, child, I -ain’t got but eighty dollars t’ my name.”</p> - -<p>“I have,” said Mary; “I have enough for us both.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter shifted her eyes and looked around the room. There was -nothing attractive about the rough shack interior. Outside, a -mule-skinner spoke in the only language known to mules, and a heavy -wagon lurched past through the dust. Mrs. Porter shoved the hair back -from her face and got slowly to her feet.</p> - -<p>She lifted up the sodden shirt and slapped it against the -wash-board.</p> - -<p>“This here shirt belongs t’ Doc Sykes, the coroner. Kinda -prophetic-like, so it is, ’cause I’ve told him that he was the last -person I ever expected t’ do business with. Gimme room t’ wring, young -woman, ’cause I’m sure goin’t’ wind up m’ career in a big splash. You -sure got somethin’ wished on to you when you issued a invite t’ me to go -where men change their shirts once per week. Whooee!”</p> - -<p>Mary Leeds laughed joyously and gave Mrs. Porter plenty of room for -her last appearance as a laundress in a mining-camp.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>While Mary Leeds and Mrs. Porter prepared to leave Sunbeam, and while -Skeeter Bill Sarg smoked innumerable cigarets and waited for the sheriff -to take him to the penitentiary at Red Lodge, a disgruntled crew of -cowboys and paid gunmen loafed around the Lazy H ranch.</p> - -<p>It had developed that Cleve Hart was not sole owner of the Lazy H, -and that the other owners, who were Eastern capitalists, were -disgruntled over their investment, and ordered an immediate sale of the -property and the discharge of all employees forthwith.</p> - -<p>Nick Kales had sold his services to Cleve Hart without any agreement -from the other owners; with the result that he was forced to look -forward to about two weeks’ pay at the rate of forty dollars a month, -instead of the generous bonus due him as a professional gunman.</p> - -<p>“Dutch” Van Cleve, a protegé of Nick Kales, was also a bit -disgruntled over the outcome. The rest of the remaining cowpunchers, -“Red” Bowen, “Swede” Sorenson, “Roper” Bates and “Boots” Orson, faced a -lean year, as none of them saved more than tobacco money out of their -monthly salary.</p> - -<p>The killing of Cleve Hart and the arrest and conviction of Skeeter -Bill had quieted things to some extent, but it was only an armed truce. -Cowboys rode dead-lines and managed to keep the sheep within a -well-defined area; but the cattlemen knew that an adverse court -decision would wipe out dead-lines, and with it the cattle business.</p> - -<p>Swede Sorenson had just ridden in from Crescent City, bringing the -mail; and among it was a letter for Nick Kales, postmarked from the town -of Wheeler.</p> - -<p>Kales looked it over gloomily and put it unopened into his pocket. He -exchanged a word or two with Dutch Van Cleve aside, and a little later -they both approached Roper Bates, a saturnine, narrow-between-the-eyes -sort of a puncher.</p> - -<p>“Can yuh read?” queried Kales.</p> - -<p>“Well,” grinned Roper, “I ain’t no —— professional reader, as yuh -might say; but I <i>sabe</i> some of the alphabet.”</p> - -<p>“Yuh know how to keep your mouth shut, don’t yuh?”</p> - -<p>“Now,” said Roper seriously, “you’re guessin’ me dead center. Shoot -the piece, Kales.”</p> - -<p>Kales took out the letter and handed it to Roper, who looked at it -curiously.</p> - -<p>“It ain’t never been opened,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Me ’n’ Dutch can’t read,” explained Kales. “We’re askin’ yuh to -decipher it for us; <i>sabe</i>?”</p> - -<p>Roper took out the letter and laboriously spelled out the -pencil-written message.</p> - -<p>“It says,” began Roper:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p style='text-indent:0'>“Dear Nick: All set for a big one on Thursday the -eighteenth. Make it look good. Number 16. Hits there about nine o’clock. -Burn this up right away.</p> -<div style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>Very truly yours,</div> -<div style='text-align:right'>Wheat.”</div> -</blockquote> - -<p>Roper finished and looked up at Kales, who was staring intently at -him.</p> - -<p>“What’sa idea?” queried Roper seriously.</p> - -<p>Kales watched Roper’s face closely for several seconds and then took -the letter from him. He touched a lighted match to one corner of the -letter and envelop and watched them burn to a flimsy cinder.</p> - -<p>“You know somethin’ now,” said Kales meaningly, “and there ain’t no -use tellin’ yuh to keep your mouth shut.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, ——!” grunted Roper. “You make me tired. If the deal’s any good -I want in on it.”</p> - -<p>Kales and Dutch exchanged glances. Dutch was long of face, crooked of -nose and with a pair of round eyes which seemed to film over, instead of -blinking.</p> - -<p>“Whatcha think, Dutch?” queried Kales.</p> - -<p>“Aw’right,” nodded Dutch. “I don’t care.”</p> - -<p>“What about the rest—Red, Swede, Boots?” asked Kales. “This job is -big enough for all.”</p> - -<p>“All square,” declared Roper. “All square, and all broke. Put it up -to ’em, Kales.”</p> - -<p>The three men drifted down to the bunkhouse, where the other three -were playing seven-up, and Kales lost no time in feeling out the other -cowboys.</p> - -<p>“What are you fellers goin’ to do?” asked Kales. “She’s a long ways -to the next range.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the —— of it,” growled Red disgustedly. “I’m -broke—flat.”</p> - -<p>“You ain’t got nothin’ on me,” grunted Swede. “I don’t even own the -saddle I’m ridin’.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the answer to your question, Kales?” queried Boots Orson, who -was a trifle more intelligent than the rest and felt that Kales’ -question was not idle curiosity.</p> - -<p>“A certain job,” stated Kales bluntly, “might mean a big stake or it -might mean the penitentiary. Takes a lot of guts.”</p> - -<p>“You’re talkin’,” reminded Orson softly.</p> - -<p>“Am I?”</p> - -<p>Kales’ eyes swept the circle of cowboys, but read only interest in -their faces.</p> - -<p>“You—show—us,” said Red slowly, spacing his words widely. “I’m -game.”</p> - -<p>“—— right!” breathed Swede. “Shoot.”</p> - -<p>“Did yuh ever hear of Sunbeam?” asked Kales.</p> - -<p>“Yeah,” nodded Swede. “Minin’-town, about fifty miles from -Wheeler.”</p> - -<p>“Gold-minin’ town,” said Kales as if disputing Swede. “Lot of the -yaller stuff shipped out of there, but nobody knows when.”</p> - -<p>“There ain’t a —— mind-reader among us,” grinned Red.</p> - -<p>“That part’s all fixed,” explained Kales, nodding toward Roper. “He -read the letter.”</p> - -<p>“I read a letter,” agreed Roper, looking up from the manufacture of a -cigaret. “It didn’t fix nothin’ for me.”</p> - -<p>“Lemme tell yuh about that letter,” urged Kales. “That feller who -wrote it is Pat Wheat, and an old bunkie of mine. He works for the -express company as a shotgun messenger. That’s how he knows things, I -reckon.</p> - -<p>“Me and him have been workin’ for a big stake, and he knowed I was -here; so he tips me off. Pat will be ridin’ shotgun on this shipment, -and she’s a cinch that we’ll crack out of here with a lot of -<i>dinero</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Hold up the train?” queried Red.</p> - -<p>“You’re —— right. Cut off the baggage-car and take it a few miles. -Won’t have nobody to handle except the engine crew. Pat’ll take care of -the messenger.”</p> - -<p>“I <i>sabe</i> the place,” grinned Roper joyously. “We can flag her -down jist short of the S bridge, cut off the money-car and run down to -the mouth of San Gregario Cañon. She’s a dinger of a place to make a -getaway.</p> - -<p>“Have the horses planted there, and we can ride the rocky bottom of -that dry creek for a mile. Never leave a track.”</p> - -<p>“How about the rest of the train?” queried Boots. “There’s six of us. -Passengers pack money and jewelry.”</p> - -<p>Kales nodded slowly and stared at the ceiling for a while before he -said:</p> - -<p>“Yeah, that might be a good scheme, at that. We’ll cut the telegraph -wire. Won’t be a —— of a lot of passengers, but it might pay to do it. -If it was a reg’lar main-line train with sleepers, I’d say it wouldn’t -pay, but on a branch line like this it’s a cinch to pile out or into -them old cars.”</p> - -<p>“When do we git action?” queried Roper. “Did that letter say, -‘Thursday’?”</p> - -<p>“It did,” nodded Kales; “and this is Tuesday. We’ll work out the -details later.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t come too soon to suit me,” yawned Red. “Since Cleve Hart got -bumped off it’s been kinda slow around here.”</p> - -<p>“Hart was a —— fool,” declared Kales.</p> - -<p>“Any old time yuh start monkeyin’ with women, you’re a fool.”</p> - -<p>“Do yuh think that’s why he got his?” asked Red.</p> - -<p>“Cinch. He thought he’d run a blazer on that shepherd and take his -woman, but he got his shirt filled with buckshot.”</p> - -<p>“Where’d this Sarg person figure in on the deal anyway?” queried -Boots, who was with the sheriff when they arrested Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>Kales grinned, showing some very bad-shaped teeth.</p> - -<p>“Sarg never shot Hart. I know a few things about that long -<i>hombre</i>, y’betcha. He’s a pistol fighter, Sarg is; and -a —— good shot. Do yuh think he’d pick up a shotgun when he -had a loaded six-gun in his holster?</p> - -<p>“Sarg pistol-whipped Sunbeam town, so they tells me, and pulled out -without a scratch. I don’t <i>sabe</i> what he’s doin’ down here, ’less he -hired out his gun to the sheep outfits.”</p> - -<p>“Do yuh reckon the woman killed Hart?” queried Roper -interestedly.</p> - -<p>“She shore did, pardner.”</p> - -<p>Kales was emphatic.</p> - -<p>“Hm-m-m,” mused Roper.</p> - -<p>He had seen Mrs. Kirk, and Roper was not overloaded with -scruples.</p> - -<p>“Freel’s scared,” observed Swede. “He ain’t made no move to take Sarg -to the penitentiary yet.”</p> - -<p>“Them boys from the Tin-Cup outfit swore they’d hang Sarg if they got -a chance,” stated Red, “and Freel ain’t takin’ no chances. They’re sore -at the judge for not hangin’ Sarg.</p> - -<p>“’Course the sheep are closer to the Tin-Cup than to any of the other -outfits, and if the law decides in favor of sheep—blooey! They’ll swarm -plumb into Tin-Cup range. ’Course the law’ll only give ’em an even break -with the cattle; but the —— law don’t stop to figure that cattle can’t -live on an even break with sheep.”</p> - -<p>“After that there sermon,” stated Roper piously, “the choir will rise -and sing. What in —— do we care what the sheep do to Moon Valley? -We’re leavin’ here; <i>sabe</i>?”</p> - -<p>“And with freight all paid,” added Kales, grinning. “Tomorrow we all -pull out, eh? Me and Dutch’ll pull out from Crescent City after we’ve -planted the fact that we’re leavin’ for good. We’ll spring it that Roper -and Swede left over Table Rock Pass t’day.</p> - -<p>“Mebbe Red and Boots better stay here at the ranch. Might look bad if -we all drifted at the same time, eh?</p> - -<p>“And suppose we all meet in San Gregario Cañon, down near the mouth -of it, about dark on Thursday? Me and Dutch’ll have things framed, wires -cut and all that.”</p> - -<p>The rest of the gang nodded in agreement, except Roper, who said:</p> - -<p>“Let Boots pull out with Swede, and I’ll stay here. I owe a few -dollars in Crescent City, and I might want to come back here some day. -I’ll ride down with you and Dutch and then come back here.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s all right,” grunted Kales. “Fix it any old way yuh want -to.”</p> - -<p>And thus are honest men drawn into evil paths through the need of a -few dollars. But the question still remains: Who is an honest man, who -is broke, with easy money in sight?</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Roper Bates had little stomach for a train-robbery, but he did have a -little plan of his own. Money did not mean so much to Roper as a pretty -face. He had seen Mrs. Kirk, and the memory of her caused him to -calculate deeply.</p> - -<p>Roper was not an ignorant person, but a queer kink in his mental -make-up caused him to believe that it was inconsistent that this pretty -woman should be the wife of a despised sheep-herder. To him it was very -unreasonable; a condition to be remedied at once. He did not take the -woman’s position into consideration at all.</p> - -<p>Roper was no handsome hero; rather he was a homely cowpuncher; but -his mirror, if he ever used one, only reflected Roper Bates, which was -sufficient for Roper Bates. He was a top-hand, a good pistol shot and -took a bath in the Summer. All of which raised him far above the level -of sheep-herders.</p> - -<p>He had no intentions of being at the mouth of San Gregario Cañon at -dark; but he did not mention this fact, as it was nobody’s business -except his own. He was free, white and well past twenty-one. Also, on -this particular Thursday he had imbibed freely of the juice that cheers, -and the world was made up of pastel shades.</p> - -<p>He lounged past the jail and almost ran into one of the Tin Cup -punchers, known as “Jimmy Longhair,” who seemed to be making an -indifferent getaway from the rear of the jail. Jimmy was the long-haired -puncher who had been with the sheriff at the capture of Skeeter -Bill.</p> - -<p>“<i>Hyah</i>, Hair,” greeted Roper jovially. “How’sa dandruff?”</p> - -<p>Jimmy Longhair glared evilly from under the floppy brim of his -sombrero, but made no reply. He was a trifle touchy about his hair, but -did not want to get tough with Roper Bates.</p> - -<p>“Whatcha tryin’ to do—break in the back door?” continued Roper, -grinning.</p> - -<p>“None of yore —— business!” growled Jimmy.</p> - -<p>“Go to the head of the class,” gulped Roper. “I betcha I know what -yuh was tryin’ to do. You Tin Cup snake-hunters want to lynch Sarg, and -when yuh find that Freel won’t let yuh, yuh sneak around tryin’ to shoot -him through the back winder.”</p> - -<p>“Aw-w-w, ——!” disgustedly. “No such a —— thing.”</p> - -<p>Roper rocked on his heels and considered Jimmy Longhair -appraisingly.</p> - -<p>“Listenin’?”</p> - -<p>Jimmy proceeded to roll a cigaret, which gave him an alibi to neglect -an answer. Then the door of the sheriff’s office opened and shut, and -Freel came past them. He barely looked at them, but neither gave him -more than a passing glance.</p> - -<p>“Listenin’,” declared Roper again. “Jist like a —— cholo. I’d be -’shamed.”</p> - -<p>“You go to ——!” growled Jimmy.</p> - -<p>“I betcha,” nodded Roper soberly. “I betcha m’ life.”</p> - -<p>Whether Roper was willing to bet his life on the truth of his -statement or in agreement with Jimmy Longhair’s order, made no -difference to either of them. Roper turned on his heel and went after -more bottled cheer, while Jimmy Longhair secured his bronco and hit the -dusty road toward the Tin Cup ranch-house.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>While the rest of the Valley of the Moon folks moved along in their -own dumb way, Skeeter Bill chafed in the confines of his small cell. Old -Solitaire had beaten him something over two hundred times, which also -got on his nerves to a certain extent. Freel had told him that his stay -was not to be much longer, which did not serve to brace his spirits to -any extent.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill had gone over every inch of his cell, trying to dope out -a scheme to escape; but that jail was not built for any such hope. -Skeeter knew that he did not have one chance in a thousand to miss the -wide doors of the penitentiary.</p> - -<p>Freel brought in his supper, but did not seem in any mood for -conversation.</p> - -<p>“Anybody’d think you was the one goin’ t’ prison,” observed Skeeter. -“My gosh, yo’re gloomy, Freel.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah? I hadn’t noticed it, Sarg.”</p> - -<p>Freel sat and watched Skeeter eat his supper, and took away the -dishes without a word. There was no question in Skeeter Bill’s mind that -Freel was worried over something.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, he thought, there was danger of a lynching. Freel had told -him of the threats that had emanated from the Tin Cup ranch, and Skeeter -had heard enough about the Tin Cup gang to know that they were not given -to idle gossip. Their immediate range was almost in smelling distance of -the sheep outfits.</p> - -<p>The Tin Cup gang had declared openly that a prison sentence was far -too lenient for a sheep-herder who had killed a cattleman, and that they -were willing to go on record as saying that Skeeter Bill would never -serve one day in the penitentiary for this crime.</p> - -<p>Because of this threat Freel had delayed taking Skeeter to the -penitentiary. He did not want to lose his prisoner to a mob of lynchers, -and he knew that a battle might result in dire calamity for the house of -Freel.</p> - -<p>As long as Skeeter Bill was behind the strong walls of the jail he -knew that the Tin Cup outfit would not try to take him. They were no -fools, and knew that the jail was built to withstand a heavy -assault.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill had stretched out on his bunk for the night, when Freel -came to the cell door without a light and spoke to him. Skeeter got up, -and Freel ordered him to dress.</p> - -<p>From without came the dull rumble of thunder, and a weak flash seemed -to light up the room a trifle.</p> - -<p>“Goin’ t’ rain?” asked Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Hope to —— it rips things loose,” said Freel softly. “Suits me -fine. Dressed? Put this on.”</p> - -<p>He handed Skeeter a full-length slicker coat, which he put on.</p> - -<p>“Gimme your right hand,” whispered Freel, and Skeeter felt the circle -of steel click around his wrist as Freel snapped the handcuff.</p> - -<p>Another click showed that Freel had locked the other cuff to his own -left wrist.</p> - -<p>“Come on, easy,” ordered Freel, and they went softly to the back -door, which Freel unbarred, and they passed out into the night, which -was as black as the proverbial black cat.</p> - -<p>Gusts of wind filled the air with clouds of dust, and from the -western range came the thudding roll of heavy thunder. The drouth of the -valley of the Moon River was about to be broken.</p> - -<p>Freel led Skeeter Bill wide of the town, the lights of which were -blotted out in the dust-clouds and dark. They stumbled across the -railroad track and swung back toward the depot, where Freel led Skeeter -in behind a pile of old ties.</p> - -<p>Lightning flashed across the sky, but even its light came to them in -murky flares, owing to the dust.</p> - -<p>“I reckon that ——- is about to bust,” said Freel.</p> - -<p>“Let her bust,” grunted Skeeter. “This is the first time I never was -timid about —— bustin’.”</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t have picked a better night,” declared Freel with much -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” agreed Skeeter. “I allus said it would be a wet night -when I went to the penitentiary. I don’t mind sneakin’ out of the pen, -but I hate like —— to have t’ sneak into one.”</p> - -<p>“Rather be lynched?”</p> - -<p>“Danged ’f I know. That’s kind of a foolish question, don’tcha think? -I ain’t never talked with no folks after they’ve stretched hemp. It may -be a —— of a lot of fun, but I wasn’t raised t’ look upon it as a -pastime.”</p> - -<p>“Train comin’,” grunted Freel as the headlight glowed far down the -hazy distance and to their ears came the faint whistle of a -locomotive.</p> - -<p>Slowly the train ground to a stop at the station, and Freel led his -prisoner to the front one of the two coaches. These cars were not -vestibuled, but had open steps. Forty miles farther on, at the town of -Cinnabar, they would connect with the main line, where the passengers -might secure sleeping-car accommodations for the trip Eastward.</p> - -<p>Through a whirl of wind and dust Freel and Skeeter Bill entered the -smoking-car, where even the swinging oil lamps were dimmed by the dust, -which seeped in through the window-casings and doors.</p> - -<p>With a lurch the train started ahead again; but Freel seemed -undecided about sitting down. Not over half a dozen men were in the -smoker, and none of them paid any attention to Freel and Skeeter -Bill.</p> - -<p>“—— the dust!” choked Freel. “Let’s try the rear car; it can’t be -any worse than this one.”</p> - -<p>The wind fairly tore the door-knob from Freel’s hand, and they groped -their way across the connecting platforms, a roaring, creaking, -clattering maelstrom of wild elements and protesting wood and metal.</p> - -<p>Into the door of the rear car they went while the door crashed shut -behind them and weaved their way down the narrow aisle. A heavy lurch -threw Skeeter almost into an occupied seat, and the jerk of the -handcuffs swung Freel with him.</p> - -<p>For a moment Skeeter balanced with his one free hand against the back -of the seat, almost circling the neck of one of the occupants; and the -face that stared up at him was the face of Mary Leeds.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>At the approach to the S bridge, about two miles from Crescent City, -four men—Kales, Bowen, Van Cleve and Orson—crouched near the track. -Swede Sorenson had been left with the horses at San Gregario Cañon, and -Roper Bates had never shown up.</p> - -<p>A swirl of wind and rain caused them to hug the side of the fill, -while overhead the lightning crackled wickedly. The great mass of -storm-clouds seemed fairly to press against the earth, and the flashes -of lightning seemed to bring only a gleam from the glistening rails.</p> - -<p>“——’s recess!” swore Kales as he shielded a lantern inside his -slicker, trying to light it.</p> - -<p>The others crowded around him as he managed to get it lighted, and -Van Cleve gave him a red handkerchief to tie around the chimney.</p> - -<p>Kales braced himself against the wind and fought his way on to the -track, where he placed the danger signal; but before he could get back -to the rest, the wind hurled the lantern upside down, smashing the -chimney.</p> - -<p>“What’ll we do now?” yelled Bowen into Kale’s ear. “We can’t light it -ag’in!”</p> - -<p>“Build a fire on the track!” yelled Van Cleve.</p> - -<p>“Try it!” replied Kales bitterly. “You’d have a —— of a sweet time. -Looks like we’d have to pass it up, boys.”</p> - -<p>“They’d never see a lantern in this storm anyway,” cried Orson.</p> - -<p>For several moments there was silence as each man tried to figure out -some scheme for stopping the train. Suddenly the figure of a man almost -brushed Kales’ arm and climbed past him on to the road-bed. Several -other men followed him closely—bulky, indistinct figures in the pall of -rain, their footsteps drowned out in the roar of the elements. A few -feet past, and they were blotted out.</p> - -<p>“Who in —— was that?” roared Kales into Bowen’s ear.</p> - -<p>Bowen had no more idea than Kales had, and the other two added their -questions.</p> - -<p>“Sheriff and some men, do yuh think?” asked Kales.</p> - -<p>“Mebbe Bates got drunk and talked too much,” volunteered Van Cleve. -“—— him, he never showed up!”</p> - -<p>“I betcha he’s got a gang to double-cross us!” yelled Orson. “Roper’d -do that.”</p> - -<p>“—— ’em, they’ve got a light,” swore Kales. “Look!”</p> - -<p>Like a tiny pin-point of red, a light glowed down nearer the end of -the bridge. It flickered as the storm beat down, and at times it -disappeared entirely when the heavy wind howled out of the depths of -Moon River.</p> - -<p>“Roper must ’a’ told!” declared Van Cleve.</p> - -<p>“But the —— fool knowed we’d be here,” argued Red at the top of his -voice. “Mebbe he talked too much, but didn’t tell about us goin’ after -the stuff.”</p> - -<p>That seemed more reasonable to Kales, and it began to look as if -there might be a battle over the treasure.</p> - -<p>“What’s our move, Kales?” yelled Orson. “It’s goin’ to mean a battle, -and the sheriff might ask questions of wounded men.”</p> - -<p>Kales had slid a Winchester carbine from under his slicker, and now -he humped forward, resting it across the wet rail. For an instant the -red light seemed to glow brighter, and the rifle report seemed weak in -all that roaring world; but the red light glowed no more. It is doubtful -if the report of the rifle could be heard fifty feet away.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the elements seemed to combine in one mighty, roaring crash; -and Kales and his men were flung against the bank of the fill, as if -hurled and held by a mighty hand, and a solid wall of rain descended -upon them.</p> - -<p>For a moment they were stifled; but after the mighty deluge and roar -there came a space of silence, as if the storm were preparing for -another mighty onslaught; and in that brief space of silence, while the -world seemed white from the lightning’s glow, there came the splintering -grind of tearing timbers and the hiss and roar of wild waters.</p> - -<p>“My God!”</p> - -<p>Kale’s voice was a scream.</p> - -<p>“The bridge! It’s goin’ out!”</p> - -<p>“To —— with it!” yelled Bowen. “That old cloud——”</p> - -<p>But the rest of his voice was swept away in the rush of wind, and the -four men huddled low under the meager protection of the fill.</p> - -<p>But Kales managed to grasp Bowen by the arm and yell into his -ear:</p> - -<p>“The train, you —— fool! It’ll go into the river; don’t yuh -understand? Nothin’ can stop it!”</p> - -<p>Kales sprang to his feet and staggered on to the track just as two -indistinct figures appeared out of the murk, coming from toward the -bridge. They had discovered their shattered lantern and had come to -investigate.</p> - -<p>One of them fired at Kales, and the report of the gun sounded like -the weak pop of a toy pistol. Kales staggered back as he swung up his -carbine and fired. More men were coming out of the gloom, and Kales’ men -began shooting blindly.</p> - -<p>Kales had been hit through the shoulder. After firing one shot his -heel caught in the rail and he fell backward off the road-bed. Another -whirl of rain blotted out the world, except for short, orange-colored -flashes which seemed to dart here and there.</p> - -<p>Kales got back to his feet, dizzy and sick, fighting to stay upright. -He was a gunman, an outlaw, a man without a conscience; but the thought -of that train running off the rail-ends of that ruined bridge, plunging -into the swollen torrent, was as a nightmare to him.</p> - -<p>Blindly he started down the track toward town, stumbling, weaving in -the wind, which tore at his slicker with the tenacity of a bulldog. His -left arm was useless, but with his right hand he clutched his -six-shooter, while his lips repeated continually, as if he was afraid he -might forget—</p> - -<p>“One shot—close to trucks.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>It was as a dream to Skeeter Bill—this looking into the eyes of Mary -Leeds; and the awakening came when Freel yanked sharply on the handcuff. -It was then that Mary Leeds shifted her eyes and saw that Skeeter Bill -was linked to this other man. His eyes shifted to the other occupant of -the seat and looked into the face of Mrs. Porter, erstwhile washer of -shirts for Sunbeam town.</p> - -<p>“Skeeter Bill Sarg!” exploded Mrs. Porter. “Well, I’ll be -everlastin’ly hornswoggled!”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m,” said Skeeter foolishly; “me and you both.”</p> - -<p>“Skeeter Bill,” parroted Mary, reaching out to him as if not -believing her eyes.</p> - -<p>“The same,” nodded Skeeter. “I—I——”</p> - -<p>“C’m on,” ordered Freel, pulling on the handcuff.</p> - -<p>Mary looked wonderingly at Freel and up at Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Me ’n’ him are kinda close pals,” said Skeeter with a smile. -“There’s a tie that kinda binds us to each other.”</p> - -<p>“I—I don’t understand,” faltered Mary.</p> - -<p>“F’r ——’s sake, whatcha handcuffed for?” demanded Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>“Well—” Skeeter squinted at the storm-drenched window—“well, I’m -takin’ a long trip f’r murderin’ a man.”</p> - -<p>“You never did!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter got to her feet and turned on Freel, who did not -understand what it was all about.</p> - -<p>“You never murdered nobody!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter fairly snorted her unbelief. “Yuh might ’a’ killed a man, -but he had an even break with yuh, boy.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter smiled and shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Anyway, it’s too late t’ argue it, Mrs. Porter. How’s everybody in -Sunbeam?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter did not seem interested in that question, for at that -moment the shrill warning shriek of the locomotive whistle came to them, -and they were all hurled into confusion, when the engineer threw his -engine into reverse and opened the sand-box.</p> - -<p>Mary Leeds and Mrs. Porter were thrown forward into the rear of the -forward seat, while Skeeter Bill and Freel sprawled into each other in -the aisle. There came a series of lurching jars which threatened to -splinter the old coaches, and the train jerked to a standstill.</p> - -<p>Freel and Skeeter were clawing blindly to get back on their feet when -the rear door was flung open and two men came in—two masked men, -carrying six-shooters. Freel lurched sidewise against the arm of a seat -and whipped out a gun from his shoulder holster. One of the masked men -fired at him, and the shot swung Freel back a trifle; but he fired -deliberately, and the man who had shot him went down.</p> - -<p>Another shot thudded into Freel; but he was shooting calmly, slowly; -and the other man lurched back against the rear door, dropping his gun. -His hat fell off, disclosing the long locks of Jimmy Longhair.</p> - -<p>A shot was fired from the other door, and the bullet smashed into a -basket of firebombs near the rear door.</p> - -<p>“Tin Cup gang,” said Freel hoarsely. “They—got—me.”</p> - -<p>He swayed back into Skeeter, who caught him in both arms, swung him -up off the floor and lurched for the back door, which had swung open, -letting in a flood of rain and wind. Jimmy Longhair swayed into him as -he went past; but Skeeter Bill hurled him aside, sprang on to the -platform, kicked at another man who was coming up the left-hand steps -and sprang out into the darkness just as another bullet buzzed past his -head.</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill had expected to strike solid ground within a short -distance; but he seemed to be falling through great space, whirling in a -pall of wind and rain.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he shot feet first into the whirling river and seemed to go -to a great depth—down—down—down until his lungs shrieked with the -pain of it all; but he still kept both arms locked around the -unconscious sheriff.</p> - -<p>Then they seemed fairly to shoot out of the depths and were into the -air again; out in a whirling world of floating bush, stumps, trees. It -was impossible for him to see where they were or where they were going; -but he realized that the train had stopped on the bridge, and that he -had deliberately jumped into the Moon River.</p> - -<p>Then something drove him sidewise, fairly hurling him through the -water, and the roots of a tree whipped him across the face. Skeeter -tried to grasp it with his free hand; but it eluded him, and in -floundering for it his feet touched bottom and he felt a slackening of -the rush of water.</p> - -<p>“That danged tree shoved me out of the current,” he told himself. -“Whatcha know about that?”</p> - -<p>Holding the sheriff tightly to himself, he moved carefully to the -left, feeling with each foot. They were still neck-deep in the flood, -but there was no longer any pressure against him.</p> - -<p>Once he went into a hole over their heads, but got out quickly and -felt the willows on the bank brush against his face. The bank was fairly -high; but he managed to get Freel up ahead of him, after which he -crawled out and lay flat on his face for several minutes, trying to -collect himself.</p> - -<p>Bill turned Freel over on his back and felt of his heart. It was -still beating, but jerky.</p> - -<p>“Pardner, I betcha yo’re water-logged quite a lot,” gurgled Skeeter. -“I know —— well that I am. But you’ve likely got enough holes in yore -carcass to drain yuh pretty quick.”</p> - -<p>Carefully he searched the sheriff’s pockets until he found the key to -the handcuffs. His wrist was cut and torn, but he chuckled with joy as -the cuff opened easily and he was free once more.</p> - -<p>“Now let ’em take me,” he grunted wearily as he searched the sheriff -for a gun; but there was none.</p> - -<p>He had lost the gun in the car.</p> - -<p>Skeeter got to his feet and tried to figure out which way to go. He -was going back to see Kirk and get a gun. That was the least Kirk could -do for him. He was going to win free; going to get a horse and a gun and -the valley of Moon River would see him no more.</p> - -<p>He moved slowly away into the brush, feeling his way carefully. -Suddenly he stopped. The idea had just struck him that he might make -folks think he was dead.</p> - -<p>If he removed the handcuff from Freel and threw him in the river, who -would know that they had ever been linked together? Mary Leeds and Mrs. -Porter would in all probability never be questioned. And if they did, -they would, or possibly might, tell a white lie to help him out. It was -worth chancing.</p> - -<p>He felt his way back to Freel and started to lift him up. It would be -a simple matter to drop him over the bank. Freel would never -suffer—never realize, because he was already unconscious, perhaps -dying.</p> - -<p>But suddenly the words of old Judge Tareyton came back to him:</p> - -<p>“I know how yuh feel, Skeeter Bill. God put a spark of something into -all of us—a spark that flares up once in a while. It will build a big -flame for you—if you’ll let it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right, judge,” said Skeeter, staring into the darkness and -rain, speaking aloud, but all unconscious of it. “Mebbe this is my spark -workin’. Bein’ a murderer don’t set me free, old-timer. Yuh can’t lie to -yourself and get away with it.”</p> - -<p>Swinging the sheriff’s unconscious body up in his arms, he stumbled -away through the brush, going by instinct for the higher ground, while -behind him the river roared as if in anger at being cheated.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Kales’ men did not long dispute with the Tin Cup gang. The game was -not worth the candle to them, as they did not intend to battle for a -chance to hold up the train, and also they did not know who the Tin Cup -gang were.</p> - -<p>While they believed that Roper Bates had talked too much and had -given away the secret of the big gold shipment, the Tin Cup gang fought -to keep any one from stopping them from taking Skeeter Bill off the -train. Jimmy Longhair had heard the sheriff tell Skeeter that he was to -leave very soon, and, with the gang planted near the bridge, Jimmy had -watched the back door of the jail and had seen Skeeter and Freel come -out.</p> - -<p>“Monk” Clark, the owner of the Tin Cup, had sworn to “get” Skeeter -Bill, and Monk was no idle boaster; but he did not reckon on -interference.</p> - -<p>The train was into them and lurching back against the reversed engine -before they knew just what damage they had suffered; but Monk rallied -his men and swung into the train, as it stopped on the last remaining -arch of the bridge, with the pilot of the engine almost hanging out over -the flood.</p> - -<p>When Monk boarded the rear car, it was only to find that Skeeter Bill -and the sheriff had gone overboard and that Jimmy Longhair and Benny -Harper were down and out from the sheriff’s six-shooter.</p> - -<p>Things were looking extremely bad for the Tin Cup gang, and Monk lost -no time in herding his men off the train, leaving their wounded. The -train backed off the bridge and stopped, but the Tin Cup gang were -already mounting and riding away. There was no question in the mind of -Monk Clark that Skeeter Bill and Freel had died in the flood.</p> - -<p>He gathered his men to him and delivered his orders:</p> - -<p>“Boys, I don’t know how many people seen or recognized us, nor how -much we’re goin’ to be blamed for this; but we might as well be hung for -goats as for sheep. Let’s finish the business by wiping out every -sheep-camp in the country. Make it one big night, and to —— with -tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>Without a reply his men spurred ahead with him. They were already in -bad and were willing to go the limit now.</p> - -<p>Inside the train, all was confusion. No one seemed to know just what -had happened; but the engine-crew knew that a warning torpedo had -exploded just in time to prevent them from going into the river.</p> - -<p>When the train backed off the bridge and stopped, Mrs. Porter and -Mary Leeds got off the rear steps. They were both dazed over the swift -succession of events, and Mrs. Porter swore piously when they heard some -one say that the sheriff and his prisoner had jumped into the river.</p> - -<p>Without knowing why they did it, both of them clawed their way -alongside the train, trying to get back to the bridge; and when half-way -the length of the train it started backing toward Crescent City, leaving -them alone in the rain.</p> - -<p>The beams of the receding headlight faded out in the storm, leaving -them in total darkness. Neither was dressed for wet weather, and the -drifting rain drenched them in a few minutes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, why did he jump?” queried Mary Leeds, staring into the distance, -where the waters hissed against the piling of the bridge.</p> - -<p>“He took a chance, child,” soothed Mrs. Porter. “When yuh look at it -ca’m-like, the river ain’t no worse than livin’ out your life in the -penitentiary.”</p> - -<p>“But he couldn’t have been guilty,” insisted Mary.</p> - -<p>“Not of murder,” agreed Mrs. Porter wearily, “but mebbe things broke -so he couldn’t prove it. Skeeter Bill would shoot, y’ betcha. Prob’ly -looked like murder to the law. You kinda liked Skeeter, didn’t yuh, -Mary?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Mary wistfully. “He is only a big, rough man, -who does not deny that he is a lawbreaker, but he is honest and—when he -smiles——”</p> - -<p>“I know what yuh mean,” said Mrs. Porter softly when Mary hesitated. -“Bill was all right, y’betcha. Why, he never wore a shirt over a week, -and he allus took off his hat t’ me. I’ve seen him take off his hat t’ -honkatonk girls, too. Seems like he respected women—all of -’em—thataway.”</p> - -<p>Together they stood in the drenching rain and thought of Skeeter -Bill. Finally Mrs. Porter said:</p> - -<p>“Well, we ain’t doin’ poor Skeeter any good out here. God rest his -soul, and that’s about all I can say. I wonder how far it is back to a -town.”</p> - -<p>Mary shook her head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Somehow I have no desire to go anywhere. I feel so -tired now.”</p> - -<p>“You need a good shot of booze,” declared the practical Mrs. Porter. -“We’ll both catch a dandy cold in this rain. Come on, let’s slop back to -some town.”</p> - -<p>They started slowly down the railroad track, picking their way over -the ties, which seemed to rise up and catch their feet. They could only -see a few feet beyond them; but the storm seemed to be breaking, and -already there were rifts in the clouds, where light strips hinted at a -moonlight soon to come.</p> - -<p>They had gone only about a hundred yards when they heard the -crunching of gravel ahead of them, and a huge, misshapen thing seemed to -rise up out of the brush beside the track and flounder out in front of -them.</p> - -<p>The two women clutched at each other in fear until a voice came to -them—</p> - -<p>“Pardner, you’re harder t’ handle than a salamander, and yuh weigh a -ton.”</p> - -<p>“Skeeter!” called Mary wildly. “Skeeter Bill!”</p> - -<p>“Huh!” grunted Skeeter and turned to meet Mary, who was stumbling -down the track to him.</p> - -<p>“You!” he panted. “You!”</p> - -<p>And then wonderingly—</p> - -<p>“Don’t we meet in the dangdest places, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“You’re not drowned?” asked Mary half-hysterically.</p> - -<p>“No’m, I don’t reckon so—not yet. Howdy, Mrs. Porter.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Bill Sarg!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter was half-crying.</p> - -<p>“Well, you!”</p> - -<p>“What’sa matter?” queried Skeeter. “And what are you folks doin’ out -here in the wet? Where’s the train?”</p> - -<p>“It went,” said Mrs. Porter, waving one arm down the track. “We—we -went to look into the river, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” laughed Skeeter, shifting the weight of Freel’s body, “I had -all the looks I wanted. I jumped into the darned thing—me ’n’ the -sheriff. I dunno how he liked it. Reckon it was all right, ’cause he -slept through it all.”</p> - -<p>“Wasn’t he shot?” asked Mrs. Porter. “Them two men was -shootin’——”</p> - -<p>“Hit him twice, I think.”</p> - -<p>“But what was it all about?” asked Mary.</p> - -<p>“Me,” chuckled Skeeter. “Them fellers wanted t’ take me away from the -sheriff and make a tree decoration out of me.”</p> - -<p>“Hang yuh?” exclaimed Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>“Yes’m, I suppose they had that in mind. They kinda hate -sheep-herders.”</p> - -<p>“Was you herdin’ sheep, Skeeter Bill?”</p> - -<p>“Nope. It was just a case of bein’ nice and handy to a sheep outfit, -and no way t’ prove a alibi. Of course them fellers ain’t particular, -Mrs. Porter. ’F they hated a laundry and caught me washin’ m’ -shirt——”</p> - -<p>“Whop!” exploded Mrs. Porter. “Don’t drag the dirty shirts into this, -Skeeter Bill. Whatcha goin’ to do with the sheriff? ’F they catch yuh -ag’in, won’t they send yuh to the penitentiary?”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m—’f they don’t lynch me first; but I’ve gotta get help for the -sheriff.”</p> - -<p>“Well, yuh ain’t goin’ back to town,” declared Mrs. Porter. “You -never murdered nobody, and you’re a fool to shove your neck into a handy -rope. Vamoose while the travelin’ is wide open.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter considered the idea thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“You can go to another country,” added Mary Leeds.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve gotta get this sheriff— I know what I can do. By cripes, -I’ll pack him to Kirk’s camp and let him haul Freel t’ Crescent City. ’F -I ain’t mistaken, I can travel to the right and hit that sheep outfit -dead center. You folks keep straight down the railroad, and you’ll hit -Crescent City.”</p> - -<p>“Not me!” declared Mrs. Porter. “If you’re goin’ huntin’ for a -sheep-camp in the dark, I’m goin’ along.”</p> - -<p>“I shall go too,” said Mary firmly.</p> - -<p>“Whatcha goin’ to do?” grumbled Skeeter. “Two t’ one, and I’m loaded -down. It ain’t reasonable—not any; but mebbe yo’re just as well off. -It’s a —— of a trip, any old way yuh take it. C’m on. We’ve gotta get -out of this cut before we can start across-country.”</p> - -<p>It was at least two hundred yards to where the cut opened into more -level country. Just before they reached the end of the cut a bulky -object seemed to drag itself across the rails and halted in the center -of the track.</p> - -<p>The two women hung back, not realizing that it was a man; but Skeeter -Bill plodded on with his burden until he reached the prone figure -stretched between the rails.</p> - -<p>“More danged cripples around here!” exclaimed Skeeter Bill, peering -down at the man. “Who are you, pardner?”</p> - -<p>“I’m Kales,” panted the man. “Nick Kales.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter eased his burden to the ground. “Kales, eh? I ’member you, -Kales. You said that the judge didn’t have any guts, ’cause he didn’t -hang me.”</p> - -<p>But Kales had collapsed again and did not answer.</p> - -<p>“Must ’a’ been one of the gang who tried to hold up the train,” said -Skeeter. “Got plugged for his trouble.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter dug into Kales’ pockets and secured matches, which he -proceeded to light in order to examine Kales’ hurts.</p> - -<p>“He sure got plugged,” nodded Skeeter. “I dunno how many times he got -hit, but it looks like his gun busted and tore his right hand all to -thunder. Hm-m-m!”</p> - -<p>“Almost got enough to start a hospital,” observed Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>Skeeter was searching Kales’ pockets again. In the outside pocket of -the slicker he found a full bottle of whisky. He drew out the cork and -forced some of it into the outlaw’s mouth. Kales strangled and tried to -sit up.</p> - -<p>“Here, take a drink,” urged Skeeter, and succeeded in getting a -fair-sized drink down Kales’ throat.</p> - -<p>“Feel better?”</p> - -<p>Kales coughed and tried to get to his feet. “Hang on to yourself,” -advised Skeeter. “Take it easy until yuh feel better.”</p> - -<p>But Kales got to his feet and clung to Skeeter, talking -incoherently.</p> - -<p>“Can yuh walk?” asked Skeeter.</p> - -<p>“Walk?” muttered Kales. “Walk?”</p> - -<p>“Yeah—move your feet for’ard and back and carry yore body along at -the same time. I betcha he can,” continued Skeeter; and then to Mrs. -Porter: “Can yuh kindly help hang on to him? I reckon we’ll add him to -our collection.”</p> - -<p>“He came here to lynch you.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Porter was a trifle indignant at the idea of taking Kales -along.</p> - -<p>“Yeah, tha’s a fact,” admitted Skeeter Bill; “but he fell down on the -job. Let’s go.”</p> - -<p>He swung the inert Freel back across his shoulder and started off -down the track, with the stumbling Kales hanging to the sleeve of his -coat and being assisted to some extent by Mrs. Porter. Bringing up the -rear came Mary Leeds, wanting to be of help to some one, but unable to -decide just where to begin.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Roper Bates had consumed considerable whisky that day, but had not -succeeded in getting so drunk that he forgot his plans. It was after -dark when he rode away from Crescent City, heading toward Kirk’s -sheep-camp.</p> - -<p>The fact that a big storm was coming did not bother Roper Bates. His -mind still carried a picture of the pretty woman at the sheep-camp, and -he was sufficiently filled with liquor actually to believe that he was -going to do her a real favor by taking her away from her plebeian -husband.</p> - -<p>The last quarter of a mile he rode in a whirl of dust while the -thunder jarred the world about him; but he was storm-proof. He -dismounted near the door, and his horse immediately moved into the -shelter of the cabin wall.</p> - -<p>The door was not barred; so Roper Bates surged inside and shut the -door behind him. The cabin was lighted with a single lantern, which -swayed from a rafter, and it took him several moments to get his -dust-filled eyes accustomed to the dim light.</p> - -<p>The pretty woman was sitting on the edge of the built-in bunk, -staring at him. There was some one in the bunk, who moved restlessly and -coughed dryly.</p> - -<p>“What do you want here?” asked the woman hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>Roper Bates wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He did not know -what to say just then. From overhead came a crashing snap of thunder, -and the woman seemed to crouch lower on the bunk. Successive flashes of -lightning made the room bright with a white glare.</p> - -<p>Roper moved in a little closer and stared at the man in the bunk. He -could see the man’s face now; it was very pale.</p> - -<p>“What’sa matter—sick?” asked Roper thickly.</p> - -<p>The woman nodded dumbly, and turned to put her hand on the sick man’s -forehead. She turned back and repeated her question—</p> - -<p>“What do you want here?”</p> - -<p>“I—dunno.”</p> - -<p>Roper Bates really did not know. Somehow he seemed to forget just why -he had come there.</p> - -<p>“Been sick long?”</p> - -<p>Roper jerked his head toward the sick man.</p> - -<p>“Three days and nights,” nodded the woman. “I haven’t had any sleep, -and no one comes here.”</p> - -<p>“Three days and nights,” parroted Roper. “You been settin’ there all -that time?”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t slept,” she corrected him wearily.</p> - -<p>“Nobody to help yuh?”</p> - -<p>Roper shook his head, as if answering his own question.</p> - -<p>“Nobody? For ——’s sake!”</p> - -<p>He moved in close to the side of the bed and looked down at Kirk.</p> - -<p>“He’s the sheep-herder, ain’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—and my husband,” defiantly.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh—your husband,” agreed Roper thoughtfully. “A sheep-herder -for a husband.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk got up from the bunk and faced Roper Bates.</p> - -<p>“What difference does that make?” she demanded. “We took this job -together. If he’s a sheep-herder, so am I. No matter if he does herd -sheep—he’s as good as you are.”</p> - -<p>“Good as I am,” parroted Roper thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“He had to live in the hills, and there was nothing else for him to -do. We had to live.”</p> - -<p>“Had to,” agreed Roper slowly.</p> - -<p>“And he’s my husband,” repeated Mrs. Kirk, very near to the verge of -a breakdown, “and I love him more than anything in the world.”</p> - -<p>Roper peered closely at her and looked at the man in the bunk.</p> - -<p>“More ’n anythin’—in—the—world! Well, I’ll be eternally ——!” -blurted Roper.</p> - -<p>It was beyond his comprehension; yet he could get a glimmering of the -idea.</p> - -<p>“And nobody ever comes here,” said Mrs. Kirk bitterly. “They hate a -sheep-herder so much that nobody cares what becomes of us.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t it ——?” agreed Roper. “Now, ain’t it, though?”</p> - -<p>The little cabin shook in the heavy wind, and the rain beat in -through the walls and the patched window-panes.</p> - -<p>“Stormin’ outside,” observed Roper vacantly, and grinned at his own -wit as he added, “and some of it’s comin’ in out of the wet.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly he turned to Mrs. Kirk.</p> - -<p>“You ain’t scared of me, are yuh?”</p> - -<p>“No, I am not afraid of you. Why should I be?”</p> - -<p>Roper did not say, but studied the face of the sick man for a while -before he looked up at Mrs. Kirk.</p> - -<p>“Yuh say yuh love him—more ’n—anythin’—even if he is a -sheep-herder?”</p> - -<p>“God knows I do. Why do you ask me that question?”</p> - -<p>“And yuh ain’t afraid of me?”</p> - -<p>“Not one bit,” declared Mrs. Kirk. “What are you going to do about -it?”</p> - -<p>“Stay and help yuh all I can, ma’am. I ain’t one of them lousy -persons which looks down upon a sheep-herder. I reckon yore husband is -quite some top-hand, when he’s up and doin’ his stuff.”</p> - -<p>“Jim is my pal.”</p> - -<p>“Whatcha know?” grunted Roper. “Whatcha know? Ma’am, you lay down and -take a nap, and I’ll take care of him.”</p> - -<p>There was one home-made rocking-chair in the room, and Mrs. Kirk sat -down in it.</p> - -<p>“I can not sleep, but it is a godsend to have some one here to talk -with,” she said wearily.</p> - -<p>“Yes’m,” nodded Roper slowly. “Nobody ever called me that name before, -but it’s all right, I reckon.”</p> - -<p>He slowly rolled a cigaret, and as he drew his lips across the edge -of the paper he glanced at Mrs. Kirk. She had fallen asleep, with her -head pillowed in her arm.</p> - -<p>For a long time Roper stared at the floor, with the unlighted cigaret -between his lips. He was trying to solve a problem which has never been -answered; nor will it ever be, “Why does this woman love this man?”</p> - -<p>Roper studied the face of the sick man. Kirk was a very -ordinary-looking man. He was not big. Roper shook his head. It was a -problem far beyond his ken.</p> - -<p>He sifted the tobacco out of his cigaret paper and humped over with -his chin in his hands. He had come there to take that woman away from -her undeserving husband; and here he was, acting as nurse to that very -husband.</p> - -<p>For the better part of an hour he sat there like a statue, thinking -of things that had never entered his head before. He did not want that -woman now, and he wondered why he had ever wanted her. Where did he ever -get the idea of taking her away from her husband?</p> - -<p>Suddenly he heard the thudding of horses’ hoofs as a body of horsemen -drew rein at the doorway. A man’s voice cursed openly—</p> - -<p>“Git out of this, you —— sheep-herders!”</p> - -<p>The voice aroused Mrs. Kirk, and she sat up, staring around. Somebody -stumbled over the step and grasped the door. Roper Bates knew what it -meant. The cattlemen had come to clean up the sheep-camps.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the door was flung open, and three men filled the doorway. -Quick as a flash Roper Bates threw up his six-shooter and fired at the -lead man, who had a Winchester rifle leveled from his shoulder.</p> - -<p>The man seemed to spin on his heel, and the rifle discharged into the -ceiling, while the other men shot back with him as they jerked him out -of the doorway. The door swung shut behind them, and Roper Bates’ last -shot splintered the edge of it as it closed.</p> - -<p>The room was full of powder-smoke. Mrs. Kirk had darted to the bunk -as if to try to protect her husband, while Roper Bates was half-kneeling -in the middle of the room, stuffing cartridges into his six-shooter.</p> - -<p>“Got me in the leg,” he grunted; “but I made ’em pay for comin’ in -without knockin’.”</p> - -<p>He got carefully to his feet, yanked a blanket off the bed and -managed to stumble over to the window, where he flung the blanket across -the rough frame, cutting out the view from outside.</p> - -<p>A bullet flicked in through the window and tore a slash in the -blanket, but the latter remained in place. Roper was hopping on one foot -along the wall, getting close to the door, when a man called from -without—</p> - -<p>“—— you, we’re comin’ after yuh!”</p> - -<p>“Come on!” challenged Roper. “Open that door and grab a harp.”</p> - -<p>Several bullets splintered through the door following his defiance, -and one of them bit deeply into Roper’s ribs. He swayed closer to the -door, but did not waste lead in reply.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk saw that Roper had been hit hard and started toward him, -but he waved her back.</p> - -<p>“Oh, why don’t you let them in?” she begged. “They will not hurt you. -Why do you fight for us?”</p> - -<p>“This ain’t no job for a woman and a sick man,” he stated hoarsely, -“and it’s ’bout all I’m good fer.”</p> - -<p>“Why did we ever come here?” said Mrs. Kirk weakly.</p> - -<p>Roper turned his white face toward her and shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Ma’am, I’ve asked m’self that same question. Down in Indiany, they -farm with a plow instead of a six-gun. But I never left there of my own -accord. I was only three year old, and m’ folks kinda hoodled me along -with them.”</p> - -<p>Roper was deadly serious. He was bleeding badly and barely able to -brace himself against the log wall.</p> - -<p>“If you don’t come out of there you’ll wish to —— yuh had!” yelled -a voice.</p> - -<p>“And if you come in here you’ll wish t’ —— yuh hadn’t,” answered -Roper.</p> - -<p>Another bullet splintered the door near the latch and thudded -harmlessly into the wall.</p> - -<p>From without came the sound of earnest conversation, and a voice -called again.</p> - -<p>“We’re goin’ to stampede your sheep, and if you ain’t out of there -when we come back we’ll dynamite your shack.”</p> - -<p>There came the sound of horses speeding away over the wet ground. -Roper walked dizzily back to the table, where he sat down heavily in the -rocking-chair.</p> - -<p>“We must get out of here.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk was nervously looking around the room, as if debating just -what to save from the promised dynamiting.</p> - -<p>“Tha’s all right,” grunted Roper dazedly. “Don’tcha worry. Them -jaspers ain’t got no dynamite; but I’m bettin’ they’ve got some respect -for a sheep-herder now.”</p> - -<p>“But we must get to a doctor—for—you.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind me, ma’am. Ain’t nobody worryin’ about me. I’m jist Roper -Bates, cowpuncher. Got a hole in m’ leg and one in m’ bellows, but I’m -feelin’ fine, y’ betcha—betcha.”</p> - -<p>Roper Bates sank lower in his chair, and the heavy six-shooter fell -to the floor.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>It was a sadly bedraggled party which picked its way through the -dark. There were no lights to guide them, no trail nor road. Skeeter -Bill, under the double burden of Kales and Freel, traveled by instinct. -Kales babbled meanngless things and wanted to lie down, but Skeeter -doled out bad whisky to him and steadied him on one side, while Mrs. -Porter guided him from the opposite side.</p> - -<p>Through mesquite and sage they blundered along, sliding into washouts -partly filled with muddy water, falling over rocks, crashing into brier -patches, where the women left sections of their clothes.</p> - -<p>As in a dream Mary Leeds followed. She had no sense of direction, and -her feet had long since lost any sense of feeling. She was reduced to a -mere dumb creature, following the man she loved. Ahead of her he -struggled; a huge, queer-shaped hulk, uncomplaining, patient.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t you tired, Skeeter Bill?” asked Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>“Years and years ago,” laughed Skeeter; “but I’m sure paralyzed now. -Mr. Kales, I wish you’d watch where yo’re puttin’ yore feet. I don’t -mind walkin’ on m’ feet, but I hate like —— t’ have you doin’ it.”</p> - -<p>From afar came the sound of firing as the Tin Cup gang rounded up and -stampeded the sheep. Skeeter stopped and listened for a moment and -hurried on.</p> - -<p>“I’m scared,” admitted Skeeter. “Scared that somethin’ is happenin’ -to the pals.”</p> - -<p>“Who are the pals?” panted Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>“Man and his wife. He’s sick and she’s stickin’ to him. -Sheep-herder.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter shifted his burden slightly.</p> - -<p>“They ain’t jist husband and wife—they’re pals—bunkies,” he went -on. “<i>Sabe</i> what I mean, Mrs. Porter?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, Skeeter Bill.”</p> - -<p>“Dangdest thing I ever seen,” said Skeeter. “Kinda gives a feller a -new idea of a wife. ’F a feller had a wife that was a pal t’ him— Say, -by cripes, we found the shack!”</p> - -<p>Just beyond them loomed the outlines of the little sheep cabin, but -without a light showing.</p> - -<p>“Lemme do the talkin’,” said Skeeter. “It ain’t safe to be a stranger -around here.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter went close to the door and called: “Mrs. Kirk! Yoohoo! Mrs. -Kirk!”</p> - -<p>For several moments there was silence, and then—</p> - -<p>“Who is it?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk’s voice sounded very weak.</p> - -<p>“Skeeter Bill Sarg, who went after groceries.”</p> - -<p>The splintered door creaked, and a faint light came from the -interior.</p> - -<p>“Why, I—I—” stammered Mrs. Kirk, astonished beyond measure to hear -his voice.</p> - -<p>She stepped aside and stared white-faced at Skeeter and his burden -and at the others with him. Skeeter stared at Roper Bates, asprawl in -the chair, and at the form under the blankets on the bed.</p> - -<p>He lowered Freel to the floor and propped Kales up between the table -and the wall. Mary Leeds and Mrs. Porter were staring at Mrs. Kirk while -Skeeter Bill chafed his benumbed arms and neck and haltingly introduced -them.</p> - -<p>“What’s he doin’ here?” asked Skeeter, pointing at Roper Bates.</p> - -<p>Haltingly Mrs. Kirk told of what had happened a short time before, -while Roper Bates roused up sufficiently to look around dazedly. He -looked from Mrs. Kirk to Skeeter Bill and nodded weakly.</p> - -<p>“Pals,” he whispered. “Him—and—her.”</p> - -<p>“Y’betcha, pardner,” nodded Skeeter, and walked over to the bunk, -where he looked down at Kirk.</p> - -<p>Bill went back to Freel and examined him. The sheriff was still -alive, but unconscious. Kales was still mumbling incoherent things, but -was too weak to do more than hold up his head.</p> - -<p>“Kirk’s better off here than anywhere else,” stated Skeeter Bill; -“but I’ve gotta git the rest of the cripples to a doctor pretty danged -quick. Yuh still got the old horse and the wagon, Mrs. Kirk?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirk nodded, and Skeeter turned to Mrs. Porter.</p> - -<p>“You keep house here while I hitch up.”</p> - -<p>“But you can’t go back to town,” declared Mrs. Porter. -“They’ll——”</p> - -<p>“I betcha they will,” smiled Skeeter; “but it’s a case of three t’ -one. ’F I don’t hand these three men over to a doctor they’ll all -die.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter patted Mrs. Porter on the shoulder as he started for the -door.</p> - -<p>“Mebbe they’ll only send me to the penitentiary, yuh see.”</p> - -<p>It was only a few minutes’ work for Skeeter to hitch up the old horse -and drive up to the door. He carried the three men out of the house and -placed them in the wagon-box on an old quilt.</p> - -<p>“You and Mary stay here with Mrs. Kirk,” said Skeeter to Mrs. Porter. -“I’ll see that somebody comes after yuh in the mornin’.”</p> - -<p>He turned to Mrs. Kirk and held out his hand.</p> - -<p>“If I don’t see yuh ag’in—good luck to you and yore pal.”</p> - -<p>“Well, we’ll sure see yuh, won’t we?” queried Mrs. Porter -quickly.</p> - -<p>“I shore hope so, but yuh can’t sometimes always tell. Mebbe I better -tell you folks good-by, too.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, ——!” blurted Mrs. Porter inelegantly and turned back into the -shack, while Mary Leeds came slowly up to Skeeter and took hold of his -sleeve.</p> - -<p>“Skeeter Bill, can’t I go with you?”</p> - -<p>“I— Mebbe yuh better not,” softly. “She’s a rough old road, and yuh -can’t tell what might——”</p> - -<p>“Does a pal mind rough old roads, Skeeter Bill?”</p> - -<p>Mary was looking up into his face, a world of yearning in her eyes. -Skeeter’s hand came up and touched her drenched, wind-blown hair for a -moment, and he shook his head.</p> - -<p>“There are no rough roads to a pal,” said Mary; and without a word -Skeeter Bill helped her on to the rickety seat.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Crescent City was greatly excited over the events of the evening. The -storm had taken a great toll in property, and the town was filled with -ranchers whose places had been flooded in the big cloud-burst.</p> - -<p>The train had backed into town, bringing two badly wounded men and a -tale of a narrow escape from going into the river and of a mysterious -hold-up, in which the sheriff and his prisoner had perished in the -river. And to cap it all, a wounded sheepherder had ridden into town and -told of a gang of raiders who had destroyed his camp and herd.</p> - -<p>Jimmy Longhair and Bennie Harper, the two men who had been shot by -the sheriff, were stretched out in the Moon River saloon and -gambling-house while a doctor worked over them. The place was filled -with hard-faced cattlemen who argued and declared pro and con.</p> - -<p>Among those present were Bowen, Van Cleve and Orson. Swede Sorenson -was still in San Gregario Cañon, unable to cross the river back to the -Lazy H, and not knowing what had happened to their well-laid plans.</p> - -<p>None of the three had been hurt in the skirmish with the Tin Cup -gang, and had walked back to Crescent City. None of them had the -slightest idea where Kales was; but they were under the impression that -Kales had been shot. They did not know whether to stay in town or to -make a getaway while the going was good.</p> - -<p>Judge Grayson, who had been summoned, was greatly affected over the -news of Freel’s death. He tried to get some kind of a statement from -Longhair or Harper, but both of them refused to talk. They were both -from the Tin Cup ranch, but they would say nothing to implicate any more -of their outfit.</p> - -<p>The train crew were in the saloon, adding their voices to the general -hum of conversation. It had been a narrow escape for them, and they were -willing to admit that they were very fortunate to be alive.</p> - -<p>“I heard that torpedo,” stated the engineer, a grizzled old veteran, -“and I hossed over the old Johnson-bar. The wind usually blows away the -sand, but I guess the Lord was with us this time, ’cause it stayed on -the rail. We sure upset folks a-plenty, but stopped with the pilot -hangin’ out over the water. Wouldn’t have been a chance in the world -except for that torpedo.”</p> - -<p>“Who placed the torpedo?” queried the judge. “And what do you mean by -a torpedo?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a little metal case which is fastened to the rail,” explained -the engineer. “It’s flat on each end and high in the center, with lead -straps to clamp onto the rail. When the engine wheel hits it, the thing -pops loud. Two of ’em is a slow-signal, ordering you to go cautious, but -when only one pops, you better stop quick.”</p> - -<p>“I understand,” nodded the judge. “But who placed that one on the -rail?”</p> - -<p>No one seemed to know.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know who put it there—” the engineer shook his head—“but I -do know that he saved a lot of us this night.”</p> - -<p>“Amen to that,” agreed the judge.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was a commotion at the door, excited voices, the -scrape of footsteps; and in came Skeeter Bill, carrying the sheriff in -his arms. The crowd parted and let him through. He placed the sheriff on -the floor, turned and went back out of the door, while men crowded -around and looked down at Freel, who was still alive.</p> - -<p>Before any one had time to call the doctor from his labors with the -other two men Skeeter came back in with Kales. He placed him with Freel -and went back without a word.</p> - -<p>“My God!” exclaimed the judge piously. “What next?”</p> - -<p>Back came Skeeter Bill again. This time he was carrying Roper Bates, -and following him was Mary Leeds. Skeeter placed Roper on the floor and -stood aside as the doctor came bustling through the crowd, answering some -one’s hail.</p> - -<p>Men looked queerly at Skeeter, but no one made any move to interfere -with his freedom. Swiftly the doctor worked in his examination. Bowen, -Orson and Van Cleve moved close together and watched closely, hoping -against hope that Kales had not, and would not, tell what he knew.</p> - -<p>“Any chance for them, doctor?” asked the judge.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think so. Freel is badly hurt, but is suffering mostly from -loss of blood. This other man—” indicating Bates—“has been hit twice, -but I think he will recover. This third man has a nasty hole in his -shoulder, and he appears to have lost nearly all the fingers on his -right hand. Perhaps his pistol exploded. Who is he?”</p> - -<p>“Name’s Kales,” said a bystander. “Hired gunman.”</p> - -<p>Kales stirred and opened his eyes, looking curiously up at the circle -of faces.</p> - -<p>“Did it stop?” he whispered weakly. “The train?”</p> - -<p>“It stopped in time,” said the judge.</p> - -<p>“Dropped—my—gun.”</p> - -<p>Kales spaced his words widely, and frowned heavily as if in deep -thought.</p> - -<p>“I knowed that it took one torpedo to stop the train.”</p> - -<p>He stopped and took a deep breath.</p> - -<p>“Women and children—men—the—bridge—gone. No—gun—so—I——”</p> - -<p>Kales tried to smile but only succeeded in contorting his homely -face.</p> - -<p>“The wind was too -strong—blew—the—cartridge—off—the—rail—so—I——”</p> - -<p>He licked his lips and tried to lift his injured hand, but the effort -was too great. “I—I held it on the rail.”</p> - -<p>“God!” cried the engineer wonderingly. “He lost his hand from holding -a cartridge on the track.”</p> - -<p>“A hired gunman,” said Skeeter Bill softly. “A paid killer.”</p> - -<p>“Where did Roper Bates come in on this?” demanded a bearded -cow-man.</p> - -<p>Roper Bates was trying to sit up, and one of the crowd assisted him -while another gave him a drink of liquor.</p> - -<p>More men were coming into the door, clumping heavily in their wet -boots. They shoved to the front—the Tin Cup outfit, with Monk Clark at -their head. He looked at Skeeter Bill and blinked his eyes rapidly. It -was like looking at a ghost. His eyes switched to the three men on the -floor, and Roper Bates was looking up at him.</p> - -<p>Clark’s men had halted behind him. One of them pointed at Skeeter and -said:</p> - -<p>“There’s the —— murderin’ sheeperder, Monk! He didn’t drown.”</p> - -<p>Mary Leeds moved in closer to Skeeter, and he put an arm around -her.</p> - -<p>“Murderin’ ——!” gasped Roper Bates. “He only killed a man, Monk. -You and your gang tried to kill a woman. If I hadn’t been there you’d -’a’ done it, too.”</p> - -<p>The man who had given Roper Bates the drink was forcing a drink -between Freel’s lips, and Freel choked over the fiery liquor. The man -lifted Freel’s head a little higher, and Freel’s eyes slowly opened.</p> - -<p>For a full minute he studied the crowd, and his eyes shifted to -Skeeter Bill.</p> - -<p>“What—happened?” he muttered. “They—shot——”</p> - -<p>“I jumped into the river with yuh,” smiled Skeeter, “and then I -packed yuh plumb over to the sheep-herder’s shack and then brought yuh -here.”</p> - -<p>Freel digested this as he studied Skeeter closely.</p> - -<p>“You unlocked the handcuffs—when?”</p> - -<p>“After I got yuh out of the river.”</p> - -<p>“And—you—stayed?”</p> - -<p>Skeeter’s mind flashed back to the bank of the river, in the -drenching storm and darkness, when he started to toss the sheriff back -into the flood.</p> - -<p>“Yeah,” said Skeeter slowly. “I stayed.”</p> - -<p>“You—had—your—chance,” said Freel painfully.</p> - -<p>“I know I did.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter’s voice held no regrets.</p> - -<p>“I could ’a’ got away, Freel.” he went on. “But you wasn’t to blame -for what was bein’ done t’ me. You was only doin’ your duty.”</p> - -<p>Freel motioned for another drink, and the man gave him a generous -portion.</p> - -<p>“Duty!”</p> - -<p>Freel’s voice was so low that the crowd shifted in closer to hear -what he was saying.</p> - -<p>“I was doin’ my duty, Sarg? No, I wasn’t. I was glad the judge gave -you life, instead of the rope. I’ll tell you why.”</p> - -<p>Freel’s eyes shifted around the crowd, and he nodded.</p> - -<p>“Remember the day Cleve Hart was killed? I got shot that day—just a -scratch. I was in that sheep-herder’s cabin when Cleve Hart came. -He—they told me he had said things about the woman who lived there.</p> - -<p>“I picked up the shotgun and came out. Maybe he didn’t recognize me, -but he shot. I killed him and rode away.”</p> - -<p>“You killed him!” exclaimed the judge. “You?”</p> - -<p>“Me,” admitted the sheriff. “I—got—scared—afterwards. -I’m—a—coward, judge.”</p> - -<p>Men looked at each other in amazement, and many of them looked at -Skeeter Bill, who had his arms around Mary Leeds and was staring into -space.</p> - -<p>“Judge,” called Freel softly. “Listen to me, judge. Will you find -McClelland? I think he’s in Cinnibar now. Tell him I said to take these -—— sheep out of the valley of Moon River right away.”</p> - -<p>“Why, how can you order them out?” asked the judge.</p> - -<p>“They—belong—to—me, judge. -I—I—didn’t—know—they’d—start—so—much—trouble.”</p> - -<p>Skeeter Bill moved slowly toward the door with his arm around Mary -Leeds, and the Tin Cup gang, yet to pay for their misdeeds, removed their -hats as the lanky cowpuncher and the girl went past, paying no heed to -any one.</p> - -<p>Outside, they climbed on to the rickety seat, turned the old gray -horse around and started back toward the sheep-camp. The old wagon -creaked in every joint, protesting against such continuous service; and -the old gray horse shuffled along over the wet, misty road, taking its -own gait, while two figures sat very close together on the lop-sided -seat—two pals who found each other in the storm.</p> - -<p class='theend'>THE END</p> - -<div class='tm'> - <p>Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 30, 1922 - issue of <em>Adventure</em> magazine.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLAMES OF THE STORM ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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