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Show By WILL IRWIN ' WNC Sorrlo Coprrtrht br Will Irwin : . -agBBSaiiP CHAPTER XI Continued 15 "All, those proceeding are legal, then !" exclaimed the stranger, with v. luit appeared to he an air of genuine relief. "In that case " "Miner's law. ISest law that Is. But you'll git a trial," cut In Shorty; and tlie captive's eyelid flickered. "That will be all from you Just nov. Tie Ms arms, hoys, and bring him along." r.aclt toward the clearing we started, led hy the group convoying the captive, cap-tive, lie had an easy, athletic walk. lOverylhlng about him, in fact the accent, ac-cent, the precise speech, the cool, formal for-mal manner suggested the gentlemen. gentle-men. I'erhaps almost too much the gentleman. We were well out. In the clearing before be-fore I looked ahead; so much did this man whom I had captured for death liold my Insane attention. Out of the woods came the cowboy, leading that little black horse on which the posse had mounted the gagged and helpless Charlie' Meek. The saddle was empty. I saw then that a figure lay shrunken and huddled across our path. The leading group stopped beside It. The whole frame of the captive gave a Jerk and then settled back, as by effort ef-fort of the will, Into a pose of easy nonchalance. I hurried forward. Charlie Meek. He was bleeding from a hole In the chest; the side of Ids head was all asmear with another wound. The gag still stretched his Jaws; over It ran a bloody foam. But his wounded torso heaved; and there was a pleading Intelligence In his eyes. "Belter git that thing out of his mouth," said Shorty with a touch of softness. " 'Taln't needed no more." Some one untied the gag. His eyes rolled until they showed only the whites; the muscles of his face drew: Ids Jaws moved as though the last instinct in-stinct In him, the talkative, was for speech. Then his throat rattled and : "He's gone!" said Shorty. I looked rip at the captive. And other eyes, now that the curtain had fallen on Charlie's tragedy, followed mine. He was perhaps a trifle pale; but so, I suppose, were we all. "Would one of you gentlemen mind slipping that rope a little farther up my right arm?" he asked. "It will liold me Just as securely and won't .chafe so much thank you." They led him on; seated him by the clump of trees. But Shorty, looking down at the body, vouchsafed unasked a word of explanation. "Darn thoughtless of me," he said. "Ought to tied him to a tree up by the liorses. Had some loony idea of keeping keep-ing him where we could all watch him. When those road agents come out by the cabin, the boys there on the ridge showed a little excitement, I guess. Anyhow, Matt, that fool cowboy from the slaughter house, lost his head and let go the bridle. And this" Shorty Cropped his contemptuous pronoun not untenderly "took his chance and dug Us heels Into his hoss. Matt got him here" he pointed to Charlie's breast "and and somebody In the posse got film here. Then the boys down below tiad to shoot Hey I Here comes the Killer I" Over the ridge marched another captive cap-tive tall, rangy, bearded. Vaguely I tad been trying to account for the Bfth bandit. This evidently was he. I,ed toward the clump of trees, he passed me. He had a pair of strange, etarlng, light-brown eyes, which eeemed to look through and over the members of the posse, crowding round or following like little boys. Shorty ran forward, barking an order. Left alone, I followed. The tall man and my captive were facing each other ; and their eyes showed no recognition ; only faint curiosity. Then they were ld away, made to sit down under separate trees. Shorty, all executive force again, sent one squad up for the horses, another down for the bodies. A half-score of us, temporarily unoccupied, un-occupied, withdrew beyond earshot of the captives. Tongues began to wag. They questioned me about my feat; ,y I, who had gone on this hunt a suspected person, was now a hero. I liad taken my man with my nuked 1..-'.!h!s. I evaded answer. Then the I nsse fell again Into boasting and reminiscence rem-iniscence ; and to me, as reporter for t ie Courier, all nddressed their narrate narra-te i.s. Never did Journalist hear any s'ury less curiously, for my own mo-i mo-i itn! of exultation in tragedy was I assing. But I heard nevertheless, i nd absorbed half consciously the l-irkground to the night's events. I 1 ave heard It ninny times since from I,. tier authority, have put it together in logicul detail. And because I have much more to tell, let me here finish villi that. lOvcn before the robbery of the Cot-Ibiiwood Cot-Ibiiwood stage, the bunk nnd express company had taken serious I bought concerning the raids on their treasure shipments. From their own funds lor an appeal to the county was worse ' (han useless they had hired Mike the bartender and two other detectives detec-tives who never then or thereafter showed (heir hands or reveal"1 their Idi-tilllles. The criminals and extortionists extor-tionists of our camp were all roughly Inlerloc'ked ; one group knew the gossip gos-sip of the others. Moreover, they had grown careless with Immunity. Every night Mike the bartender plucked gems from drunken Hps. Suspicion fastened on the five men who worked occasionally that remote, unpromising unpromis-ing claim above Forty-Rod. One of them had followed the futile chases of Marshal McGrath after the latest stage robbery and the hold-up of the Stonewall Jackson pay roll, and. matching notes with Ills fellow who watched the claim, had learned "some one's" code of signals by gunshot. The place of Marshal McGrath In this criminal scheme of tilings long remained re-mained a matter of doubt. Finally the detectives and their employers rated him for what he was an anachronism, an-achronism, a back number, representa- . live of an era from which Cottonwood camp had emerged. Meantime Mike had plucked another gem of Information from the tipsy gossip of the Silver Dollar. The "Killer," that member of the gang who had wanted to torture the Stonewall Jackson paymaster, had grown dangerous. danger-ous. On any big job he was likely to shoot prematurely, recklessly. The rest of the bandits had quarreled with him. What pressure they could put upon a wild man like him, unless it was knowledge of his manifold crimes, I know not. At any rate, they subdued sub-dued him to their policy. The next time they went out they would leave him behind to guard the cabin and watch the approaches. On the night of action, a band of eight men, picked from the vigilance committee for nerve and marksmanship, marksman-ship, hid In the bushes above the claim. After supper, they saw four of the Inmates start through the moonlight moon-light to the little horse corral on the hillside above. A candle still burned in the cabin ; by which they knew that things were going as expected. Two expert plainsmen stalked the claim this, It seems to me yet, was the most valorous deed of that night. Luck served them ; the Killer went out presently for a pail of water. When he returned, his right hand occupied, they rose up behind him, .poked two muzzles into his ribs. Having satisfied satis-fied themselves that he would not talk, the squad bound and gagged him and, disposing themselves In the cabin or in the woodpile, waited for dawn. When the bank robbers, having received re-ceived the double signal for "all safe," should' return to the eabLn, the vigilantes vigi-lantes intended to let them enter, to get the drop, and to capture them alive. By prearrangement, Charlie Meek was not arrested with the marshal. Marcus wanted to see what he would do. As Marcus expected, he turned on the marshal, announced his own virtue, asked to lead the posse. Letting Let-ting him fire the signal, thereby putting put-ting in our hands the last piece of convincing con-vincing evidence, was an afterthought, a final detail arranged between Marcus Mar-cus and Shorty before we started. So far, the elaborate program had gone through with machine-like smoothness not a break or slip. I marvel yet that In taking possession of the town and arresting so many dangerous characters the vigilantes never had to fire a shot before Charlie Meek was killed. The horses had come. Up from the hollow, men had borne the three corpses. All, by virtue of good marksmanship, marks-manship, had mercifully died in their tracks. They rolled Charlie's body over, roughly composed It, laid out the others beside It. The first was that man with a short black beard whom I had seen giving orders to my captive In the Black Jack the night before. Last ni-ght every time my mind formed that phrase, I had a kind of vague wonder to think that years and ages had not passed since the set ting of yesterday's sun. He had been struck squarely in the forehead by two heavy bullets at once, and mutilated most horribly. . . . Shorty was bellowing orders "Git those bodies onto horses! Tie up the prisoners and mount 'em! You, Matt, rustle back to camp and tell Mr. Handy Han-dy we're comln' ride! Don't anybody else go ahead this job ain't over." Glad for anything that would break my " tumbling, fluttering thoughts, I hurried to my horse. CHAPTER XII The sun had fully risen over the Pyrites, was dancing even on the westward west-ward ' slopes, when from a grove of dwarf pine our shoddlly solemn procession pro-cession emerged Into the straggling litter of cabins bordering. Cottonwood. Horsemen were swinging now round the line of shacks which marked the rear approaches of Main street. Behind Be-hind them ran pedestrians. One man had recognized Charlie Meek, was shaking his list at the dead bandits . . . he would know belter presently. present-ly. . . , Before and behind, riders of the posse were slipping bits of news from the corners of their mouths to friends In our fringe of camp-followers . . . my own name. . . . Men were pointing me out. . . . "And never even went to his gun," I heard. . . . My captive ahead rode with his back straight, Ills head up . . , if lie would only sag or droop ... his spirit defied mine. . . . This was Main street. How the vigilance committee had grown I A cordon of armed guards stretched on both sides of the way. ... A woman looked from a cabin door, raised a hand to- a pale forehead, crossed herself. ... I must not look at the crowds again. ... I might see what matter If I did see . . . ? Men crowding about me . . . congratulations ou my nerve . . . Marcus repeating: "It's great, boy!" . . . Buck reassuring me that he always said I ought to have been In the game from the first . . . others . . . the touch of their hands were loathsome . . . would they ever let me alone? . . . Ah, now the committee had gone Into conference . . . flashes of light on their Intentions. Inten-tions. . . . "He won't take long," I heard from Shorty . . . Mayor Brown was to be judge. . . . "Well, come on ! Let's get' It over with !" Marcus commanded. Then his sharp, strained countenance turned my way and he seemed again aware of me. "Coming along to the proceedings, boy?" And that Inquiry Jerked me out of the haze into the light. I would not, I could not attend that trial because of what I knew and would not tell, but mostly because that softening picture pic-ture rose again the blue eyes of Constance Con-stance Deane. Guilty she might be My Captive Rode With His - Back Straight, His Head Up. If He Would Only Sag or Droop His Spirit Defied De-fied Mine. guilty of course she was ; nevertheless. I could not face her reproach. And Marcus, peering into my face, must have guessed something of this ; for his expression softened and : "All right !" he said. Then, as though finding for me a logical way out, he added : "S'pose you stay here on guard." .Others were listening now; and for their benefit he went on with a jocularity jocu-larity I knew to be assumed : "You brought him in, and you keep him. Hey, McNeill, Bowles ! You're to stay here on guard. Mr. Gibson's In command." com-mand." The door had opened again. The Killer emerged between two guards, his hands now unbound. There was a welt above his wrist where the rope had cut. . . . But he walked straight. Some one had given me the key. Some one had commanded that I was to open the door only on signed order or personal demand of the central committee. Down the street walked the captive and his guards. The beelike swarm about the courthouse court-house became active, moved, 'shifted. Heretofore it had been silent or nearly near-ly so ; merely buzzing with subdued conversation. Now, its members broke into audible speech, even into vociferation. A large squad of guards had detached Itself, marched away; It disappeared into that alley which led to the Pioneer corral. Ten minutes later it emerged augmented. Between the ranks I discerned the tall form of Chris McGrath, framed by an tin-ranked tin-ranked crowd. Ah, there were the prisoners of the Pioneer corral, they who were held for deportation. There was Colliver; there was Bed Nell. The squad aligned itself and its captives before the log assay office beside the courthouse. From the peak of Its gable extended a new timber. It had not been there before. ... A horse was being led into the crowd a barebacked bay horse. The guards were beating men away from him ; and the babble had stopped. The only sound was the shuffle or thump of feet on the board sidewalks. Men had come through the courthouse door. Above them emerged a form, bareheaded, bare-headed, blindfolded, hatless they were lifting him on to the horse. They were leading the horse toward the beam. The Killer's head was wagging as though he was talking. There seemed no benefit of clergy and Marcus had summoned a clergyman clergy-man for the gambler who lost his nerve. I knew then that his speech was but blasphemy; that the Killer, on whose departing soul lay the blood of twenty men, was dying as he had lived. There was a man on the beam . . . tying a rope. . . . Some one standing on a chair had dropped the loop over the Killer's neck. His head wagged ; was still. The horse gave a violent leap out from under him. ... A murmur that was a wail from the crowd. ... A man on the outskirts pitched over on to his face. . . . The heaving shoulders, the blinded heud, visible above the spectators, were spinning. . . . And a voice walled and choked In my ear : "Oh, G d oh, G d!" The prisoner stood at the window. His hands clutched the bars. His eyes stared. His. loose mouth had fallen open. His head was wobbling on his shoulders. And his despairing glance clutched at mine. "Let me go !" he pleaded. "Let me go !" I shook my head. "Then send for my wife" the words came out of him in spurts, in jerks. "She'll she might get me out of this. For G d's sake, send for my wife !" "Who Is your wife?" It was as though some one else spoke. "Mrs. Deane Irs. Constance Deane Mrs. Barnahy's place" he was sagging sag-ging from the bars now. "She came to get me out of this. All the way to make me stop this. My God, if I'd listened to her, I'd have been a decent man " and then, as though the sense hack of his emotion warned him that he was making a fatal admission, his mouth snapped shut, something like intelligence returned to his eyes, and he finished weakly: "Send for my wife." Mechanically I repeated, I do not know why : "Get back from the window !" For I was Robert Gilson again; like a naked soul at the judgment seat I saw what insane jealousy had made of me, what I had done to the woman I loved, what a thing I had been. . . . And I turned, ns though the motlou would relieve me of my thoughts, and saw her; and thought for an instant I was seeing a vision. She stood at the jail door. One hand rested on the latch. The other clasped round her head a black shawl. Her blue eyes, ....,.T.'.TAT.'.T.W.T.',T4T4T.T.'.TAT.'. swimming In anxiety which I took for reproach seized mine, clutched them. "You!" she said. "You! ' "Is this your husband?" I asked-MYes. asked-MYes. Quick! Have you the key? "Then give It to me!" Her hand, her eyes pleaded. "You say you love '"No" I said, "I will do it myself." And while I was saying that-so quick Is thought-I had formed both a determination de-termination and a plan. All save ui stood watching that drama of a passing pass-ing soul, their eyes captives of horror. My fellow guards were not watching. My roan, with his trick of speed, stood at' the door. I moved forward to act. She raised her hand as though to protest, pro-test, dropped It as though realizing that she would waste time. I threw the reins over my saddle horn, I turned the key In the lock. It grated. I glanced Involuntarily over my shoulder. shoul-der. McNeill and Bowles had not heard the sound. My captive was crouched on the floor, half collapsed. As I entered his eyes went wild. "Listen," I said, "and get yourself together if you want to live ! There's a horse at the door. Here is my hat. It's a different color from yours. Follow Fol-low me out. Get on to the horse as quietly and quickly as you can" Instantly control came to his face, his limbs. But I staggered the six steps to the door. "Walt a moment!" I said. I placed myself by the saddle, on the side toward the crowd. A tiny practical consideration troubled my mind for an instant and was as Instantly dispelled. I was tall, he short but I rode still with the short eastern leather he could reach my stirrups. He mounted so suddenly that his foot, crossing the saddle, struck my back. The beat of a trot, a lope he was gone. . . . I looked back toward the crowd. McNeill Mc-Neill had turned his head. . . . but this phenomenon of a galloping horse appeared neither to warn nor to interest in-terest him. His gaze turned back toward that suspended torso, again moving and swaying toward those-bound, those-bound, convulsed arms. No one else had seen. I was facing Constance now. "Oh, you must go, too !" she cried. "And you?" said I. "I am responsible for this I will face the responsibility !" she said simply. sim-ply. And her eyes were superb. "No, I am responsible," I said. "It was I who caught him. It is you who must go. I will face It." "And I will not go !" she replied simply, sim-ply, firmly. I saw I could never move her. "Then we will both stay." Looking into my eyes, she must have read a determination equal to her own. Her look lightened a little. "Perhaps I can find a way out," she said. For her, I knew there was a way out. They were not hanging women. Marcus had elected only to deport Red Nell, and had withheld even that punishment pun-ishment from Constance herself, suspect sus-pect though he held her. For me the vigilance committee had only one punishment pun-ishment for such as me. It was immunity im-munity or death. The Killer was gone at last. He had been a long time dying. Some one, j probably one of the doctors, had an- nounced this, I felt. For the crowd buzzed again In talk. Now the guards were carving a way between the courtroom court-room and the Jail ; and I filled my lungs and squared my shoulders for my ordeal. If I died I must carry one thing across with me. And as a slow-moving body of men emerged from the courthouse, moved between the lines, I spoke it like a last request. "Constance, you love me, don't you?" I asked. "Yes," she said simply, and pressed my hand before she released her hold. "But I have tried to do my duty. And how I have blundered " Her voice, her delicious voice, broke here. But she controlled herself and smiled reassurance re-assurance Into my eyes. So we stood until the central committee reached us, and Shorty, marching with two guards, said : "Give me the key !" And as he said this, he cast at Constance a frown of surprise and disapproval. I had been forming my plan. I had not dared confide it to Constance. It would give the refugee more time all or nothing for me now ! I saw that Taylor was not with the central committee. com-mittee. And' swallowing my sickening sicken-ing fears, I lied. "The key?" I said, affecting surprise as well, as I could. "Why, the door's unlocked. No one's In there. Mr. Taylor Tay-lor came und took him away witli a guard !" "Sounds to me like a d n lie!" said Shorty, ills eyes traveling from me to Constance. "What" but Marcus cut him off. "Taylor was in the courtroom last time I saw him. One of you guards you, Robertson go look for him." The face of Marcus seemed ten years older. His bright eyes had gone dim; the dark bristles of his unshaven cheeks emphasized the waxy yellow of his complexion. And through my anxiety my mounting terror, my battle for resolution, I spared energy for regret that I was deceiving him,, my friend my partner. Buck, too. ... Between the tile of guards Taylor came running. The crowd, sensing some hitch in the proceedings, was pushing toward the Jail. The guards were forcing them back. Taylor hud reached our group. "What's this?" lie pauled. "What's this about taking away the prisoner? I haven't even seen him !" The voice of Constance, rich, level even : "No, gentlemen. I let him K." "That isn't so!" I cried. bad tb0 key. I unlocked the door and released him." (TO UI COKT1NUKU.) |