OCR Text |
Show While he listened with every nerve on edge, a complete silence followed. It was not a light. Was it a signal? Almost five minutes passed when a second shot rang Into the n'mht. Denison tried to read the riddle The first shot had come from a revolver; re-volver; the second, sharper and less open, had come from a rifle. It all dawned on Denison they were signal shots. He whirled toward Pardaloe. "Hand me Clubfoot's gun, Bill," he said. Securing the gun, he Bred It twice In the air. "Some guesswork here, Clubfoot," he remarked, emptying and tossing the gun on the ground. "I don't know whether your answer was to be one or two." Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when a spatter of revolver re-volver shots rang across the creek. "Bill," exclaimed Denison, "that's a fight. If these birds make you the least trouble, shoot 'em. I'm going over." "How you goln' over?" called Pardaloe. Par-daloe. "Quickest way I can, Bill," he shouted. "The bridge." He was running for his horse. "You're crazy. It'll drop you a hundred feet, man 1" shouted Pardaloe. Parda-loe. "Watch your prisoners !" Denison was galloping away. Pardaloe, petrified, watched the disappearing horseman. Nothing but the sharp echo on his ears of flying hoofs convinced him he was not dreaming, for he never would have believed sober Bill Denison would take so slender a chance of getting across the creek alive. The clatter clat-ter of hoofs grew fainter. At times they ceased, and the old frontiersman's frontiers-man's breath choked him. Then, as if In answer to his straining ears came the hollow sound of tinof-beats tinof-beats on wood. Denison had reached the bridge. An instant later there came into Pardaloe's sight, In the distant moonlight, the ghostlike figure of a horse flying across the rotten bridge. Pardaloe divined at once that the pony had thrown his rider. Then, of a sudden, the riderless beast whirled with a spring and, as if somehow guided, shot ahead again he was a third of the way over. Pardaloe's jaws came together squarely and comfortably, for he GUNLOCK RAM o FRANK H. S SPEARMAN Copyright Frank H. Barman ' 1 CHAPTER XlV-Contlnued 16 "All sot, Bill," returned Pardaloe peacefully. "You hustled me so I got the wrong hat, boy." Denison was waspish with Impa-tlonce. Impa-tlonce. "Man alive, what difference does It make what hat you wear?" "A whole lot of difference," returned re-turned Pardaloe with warmth. "Had on my new hat. It might git plugged." Three men rode with Denison that night Pardaloe, Bob Scott, ntul frying Pan. The ponies were fresh and the men eager. They stopped at Gunloek. A light was still burning ln the living room of the ranch house. When the men pulled up in the yard. Denison sprang from the saddle, sad-dle, ran to the door, and knocked. "Who's there?" were the low words from within. "Is that you, Jane? It's Bill." She flung the door open. "Bill," she cried, "what are you doing here?" "I think I'm needed here. How's Henry Sawdy?" "Oh, he's badly wounded, Bill. How did you know?" "Bob Scott and John Frying Pan have strict orders to bring me ranch news of the kind that came today." "Ben Page rode In to get Dr. Carpy." "Tell me quickly, dear, what happened hap-pened this afternoon," he urged. "McCrossen rode out to get some things, so he said. I was sitting here sewing Bill, when In walked McCrossen. He said he was going away for good. I said I wished him good luck." Jane hesitated a moment. "He asked me to kiss him good-by. I said no. He got angry and swore he'd take as many as he wanted. I tried to run to the front door. He caught me, and I was fighting him in his arms when Henry Sawdy walked in at the kitchen door. "He turned on Sawdy. "Get out of here, Sawdy,' he shouted. I begged Sawdy to protect me. "'Let go that girl!" Sawdy said. "McCrossen turned on Henry, bis gun in his hand. "Henry didn't dare fire for fear of hitting me. McCrossen fired point-blank at Henry, and be fell in a heap. I screamed, tore myself loose, and ran out the front door and hid behind a tree." He comforted her as best he could. "I must see how bad Henry ts hurt, then I'm off with Pardaloe and Bob Scott after McCrossen. He's running off steers tonight." 'leclarernt',0nnm,,l,OrtrnR l imed Denison to Scott. "There's . overgrown trail through the Urn T ' Ule '" It's a long wav round and rough, ftm1 tney ok hen ' , 0lT PUISUlt- Kut th!'t "ny beat them yet." "I low so?" "They've got to double hack, lower low-er downstream to strike Deep Creek again with the cattle. We'll play it so, anyway, it's into the brush for us. We can't cross the horses here If I'm wrong, and they're above us .vet, It's safer to stick to this side, anyway." "Where can they strike the creek?" "About a mile above the old bridge." "How we goln' to get to them?" "We've got to cross that bridge." Scott smiled a sickly smile. "That bridge's been fallin' to pieces for ten years." "John," said Denison to Frying Pan, "feel out the scrub for us Let's go !" The riding was rough and the pace through the chaparral grueling. gruel-ing. The four men reached a point' where the creek bottom opened from a canyon out on low, rough country, and the rising moon shed more light. "We're a mile yet above the bridge," said Denison. "You and John ride up the canyon wall a ways, Bob, and take another look," he suggested. The Indians came back with news. "There's somethln' looks like what's left of a campfire near the bridge " "Push on !" exclaimed Denison. "They may have halted there." The riding grew worse. Thickets became almost Impassable. There never had been a trail down the west bank, and the job called for dogged endurance. Scratched and torn, the four reached an open breathing space where rock and shale ended the fight through the scrub. The moon, clearing the mountain peaks, revealed, re-vealed, at a distance below, the abandoned bridge. Not far from it, Denison could discern embers of the campfire Frying Pan had reported. "Where there's been a fire, there's been men," said Denison. "They may be there yet But we've got to watch both sides of the creek. Suppose Sup-pose you, Bob, and Frying Pan get over to the east bank " "How?" "The bridge." Scott grinned but shook his head. "There's ten feet of plankin' gone In one place from the floor of the old bridge. Nobody can cross that. We could maybe crawl across in the daytime not now." "We've got to get across somehow," some-how," Insisted Denison. "Bob, Is there any place up or down the creek where you and John cau get over?" "Not with horses." "Well, we must stop the cattle and whoever's with 'em. I'll get over, somehow, after you. Where's the planking off the bridge?" "The east end." "That's bad. No matter dust along. Two shots from you will bring me over. Anyway, yon stop anybody that comes along with the beef. We'll leave the horses here with Pardaloe, and while you're getting get-ting over I'll try to find out who these fellows are below at the fire. Bill," be turned to Pardaloe "if I need you, I'll whistle." "0. K.," assented the lanky Pardaloe. Pard-aloe. Denison, though anxious to get at what lay ahead of him, was forced "I want these steers. McCrossen And I want you." "These steers belong to me for wages, an' I've got twice as many back there yet. Now I've got Just one word for you, Denison: Get out of my way an' keep out of my way." "If you've got any rights in these cattle, turn 'em back to the Mead ows and lay your claim for wages before the Stockmen's Claims Board," retorted Denison. "What the hell's all this to yon? Do you claim 'em?" demanded McCrossen Mc-Crossen savagely. "1 don't claim a hoof, but 1 want to talk with you, McCrossen, before you jump to the Panhandle." "What about?" "About who fired my ranch house and about Henry Sawdy." "Tryin' to pick a quarrel with me. eh, Denison? Well, you needn't try very hard. I don't like you, Denison. Deni-son. I never did. I never had any use for you. Now will you pull off these bums that are millin' my steers ?" "Will you head 'em back for the Meadows and talk to me?" "No !" "No !" The two refusals were fast. But while the second was being uttered, ut-tered, Rebstock cried, "Crowd him. Dave!" and fired at Denison. The next Instant three horsemeu were plunging at one another on rearing horses and throwing their shots at one another in a very uncertain un-certain light. None of the three was new at the deadly game; each used his own pet tactics. McCrossen took his partner's advice. The three had talked twenty yards apart. McCrossen Mc-Crossen and Rebstock dashed in from two sides of the triangle to kill before Denison could retreat. In fact, retreat was out of the thinking. Denison, caught between the two men, was forced to divide his fire. With a blow stinging his left arm, he jumped his horse past the two, whirled, and came back outside, with McCrossen shooting at him fast. The maneuver of Den-ison's Den-ison's put McCrossen into Reb-stock's Reb-stock's line of fire. But hardly bad Denison whirled when he felt a sickening blow in the stomach from McCrossen's gun, hardly ten yards away. He bad been crouching on his horse's back and was already stirrup-loose, tie slid off and rolled like a cat toward to-ward the brush. Rebstock saw the trick but, forgetting that a wounded wound-ed man is the most dangerous man, he yelled and spurred straight .at him. The horse refused the smell of blood. He shied. Rebstock spurred him. As the horse reared, the feeble fee-ble light of the moon struck, tor an instant, Rebstock's features. Id that instant Deuison Bred point blank at him. Fully expecting that McCrossen would ride in to finish him, Denison Deni-son flipped open the loading gate of his gun instinctively, and punched out the empty shells. His head in a whirl, expecting that any instant McCrossen would be on him, Denison tried to reload. Just as he got the cartridge into his revolver, he caught the sound of a horse's hoofs and then heard Bob Scott calling. "Here, Bob," exclaimed Denison from the brush. "Look out Cor McCrossen." Mc-Crossen." Scott slipped off his horse. "McCrossen "Mc-Crossen won't bother for a while. Are you hit, Bill?" "I stopped a couple of slugs ! somehow. What about McCrossen?" he asked irritably. "He's lyin' over by the bridge. He wants to talk to you, Bill." "What the hell does he want to talk to me for?" "He asked me to tell you he did. You can't lose no time. Bill. Can you stand up?" "Twist a tourniquet around this arm before I try it, Bo'b. Don't trust McCrossen. Have you got his guns? He'd like nothing better than another an-other crack at me," muttered Denison, Deni-son, staggering, with Scott's help, to his feet. "McCrossen's stripped clean," declared de-clared Scott. "He's dyin'. That's the plain truth. Can't you make up your mind to see what he wants?" "Go ahead. But give me my gun and watch out." muttered Denison. In the light of the moon, McCrossen, McCros-sen, propped up by Frying Pan, reclined re-clined against the trunk of a half-grown half-grown tree. "Here's Bill, Dave," Scott spoke low and gently. "You said you wanted to speak to him." "Yes, Dave?" said Denison, haltingly. halt-ingly. "I'm done, Bill." "Dave," exclaimed Denison. "I'm sorry it had to end this way." "I talked pretty rough tonight," said McCrossen, brokenly, spitting the blood out of his throat. "That's all right, Dave." "Didn't really mean It all. You've always shot square, Bill. If some folks I've trained with had done that way, I mightn't be here tonight. to-night. Bill, a favor" "Go on, Dave." "I've got an old-maid sister hnok East. She's all I've got I'd hate her to know this come, rustlin', Bill." "It'll never be said, Dave." "Let It be a straight-out fight. Bill yon know." - (TO BE COXTIXl'ED) With Jane, he went to the bed on which Sawdy had been laid. Sawdy Saw-dy looked pleasantly surprised as Jane held up the lamp and he saw Denison. "Well, Bill," he said coolly, cool-ly, "the old foreman is Ehootin' us op today." "Henry, where are yon hit?" "In the side, Bill, but it ain't over-serious. You see, McCrossen" "Jane told me, Henry. Don't waste any strength talking.' "When I seen his game to hold Jane for a shield, I made up my mind to drop at his first shot " "You did a good job. Now keep quiet." Over the rim of the hills a full moon was rising Into a chadless Ekv Jane, with tightened Hps, her heart pounding In her throat her straining eyes tearless, stood n the open doorway watching the ghostly figures of the four horsemen silhouetted silhou-etted against the sky, as they made their way up the ridge that led to the hill divide. From the moment Denison and his companions crossed the divide, they were riding Into enemy coun- tr Frying Pan was asked to strike fa ther down and across the reservation; reser-vation; the rendezvous had been '-H'rcThreStoe way down the creek & he"Tc e trail along the east rnfofCSecreek but the nlght as thaesy silenf Denton "conjectured wroSngi; tt the cattle had been rrXf carefC' downstream torn Frying PM- lne tne ;sr; aHr:acsaTaec,rnn by" WaSoues tinned3' him closely Denison n.- Mtlon that without hk;BnSS horsemen had neither cattle no r Thp pasSed down j 8uers were :::: - i-p.-- cattle. to work down the slope slowly. Within a long earshot of the dying fire, he thought he heard voices. Since the men were still there, renewed re-newed caution was called for. He made out two voices. Flattening on the sand, he listened. lis-tened. The fire and the men were not over fifty feet away. Denison could hear their words. They were talking English, though one voice was guttural and revealed a Mexican. Mex-ican. As they were obviously waiting wait-ing for someone who had failed to appear, cold, and too lazy to keep up their fire, Denison made no bones about Intruding on the pair. The first the two men heard from him was a low but plain command: "Pitch up. boys!" The startled pair jumped to their feet "Up! Put 'em up," came a sharper order. Their hands went haltingly up. They looked around to see where the voice came from, and while they looked they heard a short whistle and saw a man emerge from the chaparral not twenty feet away. "Who the hell are you?" demanded demand-ed the smaller man of the pair with a bluster. His voice betrayed him to Denison. "I'm here, same as you are, to meet some cattle coming down the creek" returned Denison. "I m go-n! go-n! to help you. Clubfoot. Hands up Damn you. keep 'em where they "re!" While he spoke, he heard Pardaloe cluttering through the thicket "Bill," he added, as Parda-oe Parda-oe appeared "bring down the r'boyTa're waiting for the catJe same as we are." explained Denison when Pardaloe reappeared ?We don't need four hands on the l6 Take their guns. Tie 'em up t,U we,flStr?yS-" the mounts, PardH fr'rwa d gun in hand. He StanT0H the Pair while Clubfoot searched th pa. on Their Hands Went Haltingly Up. now understood. Denison was on that horse, clinging to Its back like a panther. But there was still the east-end plank gap to cross. Scott had said the big one was ten feet, but he had not seen It for a year. It might easily be twelve or fifteen feet; suppose it were twenty? With Denison more than halfway across, the clatter of hoofs grew fainter. One, two, three rifle snots rang out in fairly quick succession. To this day the gap that Denison jumped has never been measured. The reckless rider had been spotted spot-ted when be was less than halfway across. McCrossen, riding behind the cattle, had galloped forward when Rebstock ahead was Intercepted Inter-cepted and questioned by Scott. The half-breed's gun signals had been taken by Redstock as an attack, and he had fired back. Before either eith-er side really knew what It was all about, they were exchanging shots. But the Instant McCrossen saw the horse dashing along the rotten bridge, his sixth sense of danger guessed the rider for an enemy, and without a moment's hesitation he trained a rille on him and fired. By a chance that rarely favors desperate des-perate measures, Denison sprawled from the final leap across the bridge gap Into a fringe of sand and willows wil-lows that overgrew the eastern bridge approach. Threading the undergrowth on his trembling horse, Denison got away from the bridge as fast as he could ; somebody was still throwing rifle slugs toward It; but once away from the danger point, he lost no time In making himself heard. Denison, from the willows, called loudly, "Who's driving these cattle?" "The. man that owns em." shouted shout-ed McCrossen, riding out Into the open, fifty yards away. "Who the hell are you, hidin' ln that brush? If you're a man. show yourself." Denison pushed Into the open. -You're driving this hunch, McCrossen?" McCros-sen?" . r "I am. What do you want, Denison?" Deni-son?" he demanded angrily. |