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Show Impli lldes fjfert CHAPTER X Continued 13 I pointed to Hie legend sprinkling the front page of the Courier. "That I take It for grunted it's your signal for action find Hie guard at the door n:id (lie oilier things I've seen. I'm not entirely a fool, perhaps," I added i' senlfully. "No," said Marcus In a mollifying tone, "I figured you'd read the signs.'' "Well go on " I snapped. "There was a certain party objected to you. Nobody's doubted your squareness," square-ness," he added, "but It was a delicate question, sort of. You see we've watched everything closer than you know- he thought you were too too well acquainted with a certain other parly that some think is not wholly Hbove suspicion " He stopped. "Shorty was It he who objected?" I asked with a flash of intuition. "I'm not saying It wasn't," replied Marcus. We were silent for a moment. Marcus Mar-cus never then or thereafter spoke the name of the person tinder suspicion. I knew. And an illogical, paradoxical feeling of necessity for protecting her whose slonuor nock I had choked in Imagination but an hour before prompted me to ask : "You don't intend to harm her?" "We don't harm ladies in this camp," said Marcus. "No. Not ladies. Though there's some women on Pearl street nobody calls ladies who will be traveling to lower altitudes this morning. morn-ing. I want you to understand," he went on, shifting back to my personal considerations, "that it wasn't suspicion-of you on the part of the boys. Just delicacy." Just delicacy! The hot murder within me surged again. This was the crown of her offenses. For I knew that it was more than delicacy Marcus Mar-cus was simply trying awkwardly to , be kind. Of course, if I had the se crets of the vigilance committee I could not be trusted not to tell her . . . she had mad3 a fool of me. . . . But Marcus was talking on; and I, for very shame and pride, was forcing forc-ing myself to listen, even to make intelligent in-telligent answers. "I'.y the time you or anyone else leaves this building, what we're going to do will be public property. I can trust you with most of the rest. That robbery didn't happen spontaneous-like. spontaneous-like. It was kind of managed." "What?" I said sharply. "Was It just pretended?" A hope began to lawn in nie; a hope which Marcus dashed with his next words: "It was a robbery, all right. But you see we needed a kind of dramatic dramat-ic episode something that would get the whole camp het up, so we'd have public opinion with us. Some of the boys were for waiting thought it was only a matter of time until something of the kind happened. I wasn't. We had the insiders up to the proper heat. They might cool off If we waited. The wrong people might get killed and the wrong people hanged. So we arranged ar-ranged " "Who Ik 'we'?" "Oh. Taylor and Cohen and your friend Buck Hayden and a few others inside ring, you know we arranged to inform certain parties just when and how that shipment would reach the bank. It worked. I was sure it would, Taylor and Hutchlns showed nerve. Consented to be held up. It was dangerous, of course. If anybody blundered into the picture, one of the bfindlts might get nervous with his trigger finger. Still, we were looking out pretty careful to see that nobody walked across the stage. There was a man hidden In every cabin along that back alley. We watched 'em when they came In saw 'em mask watched 'em come out. They were the people we were after same outfit lliat held up the Cottonwood stage twice same outfit that held up the S,lii"vall Jackson paymaster." ' Why did you let thern go?" "Dangerous, d n dangerous, to .st ::'t a fight there. Probably they'd ! .-ivo got Taylor and Hutchins first " Then everybody on Main street vould have rushed up to see what the 'ooting whs about. We'd not only ! killed a lot of innocent people, we'd have spoiled the whole beauty beau-ty of our performance and maybe ! '.;!! (! public opinion against us. No, '!'" lor wouldn't stand for that.'' T.iit he. let them get away with !' boxes of gold?" The face of Marcus broke into a vivilo and his sharp eyes twinkled. "I suppose I'm talkin' too much with i::v mouth," he said. "But there's si:nie things you can't resist. They got away witi. our hell-box just that -Yoin-out job-type that I junked last uefk. Shut up tight in two steel strong boxes. Combination locks. Can't be opened without explosives we're takin' some rlsls of losin' our men. But when we do get them, there's no need of any decent citizen getting killed." "And afterward?" The smile went from his face, his expression set. "Lynching," he said. "Trial before a regular miner's court. Open and above board. ... No masks. Our affair Cottonwood City." Then, though I said nothing but only sat with my eyes on his face, he broke into self-justification : "You'd shoot a rattlesnake, wouldn't you? You'd step on a tarantula! Which Is better to string up a set of bandits, or to let a lot more innocent citizens get killed?" "And if you don't get them?" "There'll probably be one lynching just the same !" "Marshal MeGrath?" I Inquired, throwing out the most natural conjecture. conjec-ture. "Lord Almighty, no !" said Marcus. "That shooting fool! Though he may be among the missing by night," he added cryptically. I paused before I asked my next significant question: "Did you did your people watch them from the time they entered camp?" "Yes," said Marcus. A moment of charged, electric silence, and he added : "You were watching one of them !" I could get no voice to answer. My eyes still interlocked with his, I nodded. "I'm sorry, boy," he said, softly for him. "To h 1 with your sympathy !" I exploded so loudiy that the printers, busily distributing type, craned their necks at me. What Marcus might have answered to this, I do not know, for just then Taylor of the bank and Cohen the jeweler jew-eler pushed through the door. Outside Out-side of their conventional business suits, they wore full cartridge belts from which dangled scabbarded .45-caliber .45-caliber revolvers. Drawing Marcus into the single unoccupied corner, they held a close, whispered conference. confer-ence. Glancing round the office, I felt tension. The printers and Mannie Leaventritt had stopped work, drawn together ; with anxious, wondering eyes they were regarding that group in the corner. So suddenly that we all jumped, Mike the bartender appeared in the doorway. "The marshal is back. And he's got," he announced. "Any shooting?" asked Marcus anxiously. anx-iously. "Not a chance. Boys dropped on him from behind." "And ?" inquired Marcus. He glanced at the printers, and his lips appeared silently to form a name. "He's with us," replied Mike. "Unaccountably, Taylor and Cohen broke into strained, hysterical laughter. laugh-ter. Marcus turned to the carriers. "Get those papers out on the streets rustle!" he said. "Let anybody out that wants to go!" he called to the guard at the door. And then to Mike: "Cut the wolf loose !" Mike disappeared. There was a moment mo-ment of silent tension. Then from the street before our office sounded the note of a gong, beaten furiously. The distances gave back an echo of that metallic sound; all quarters of the horizon seemed to be imitating it, as though strong men were hammering every washboiler In camp, every dish-pan, dish-pan, every implement capable of imitating imi-tating a bell. "Let's look it over If we get separated, sep-arated, reassemble here In an hour," said Marcus. Taylor and Cohen swung their revolvers to handy positions before be-fore their hips and In nervous haste followed Marcus through the door, leaving me alone In the blackness of my own thoughts. A shuffle of many feet, w'lich evolved from confusion to steady rhythm, sounded on the unpaved roadway road-way without. The printers and even the press-boys were tearing off their aprons, scrambling into their coats, rushing through the doors. Numbly, almost Indifferently, I rose and followed fol-lowed ; and astonishment lifted me out of myself. Those knots of men whom, when I entered the ollice, I had marked loafing and whispering along the sidewalk, side-walk, had crystallized Into military formation. Four abreast they stood; and constantly the column grew as more and more shadowy figures emerged from the moonlight, fell into line. While I watched, a file-closer near me took off his wide, black hat, tossed it away ptilrod from under his coat the old, slouchy, long-peaked cap of the Civil war, put it on. I walked round the column. Noncommissioned Non-commissioned olllcers, busily arranging arrang-ing the ranks, shoving the men who carried rifle" to the fore, Imposing silence, stopped me again and again. Always the answer "Marcus .Handy's assistant" gave me passage. A third of these meli were wearing either that old Union cap, the black swashbuckling G. A. R. bat or the slouching wideawake of the Confederate Confed-erate army. And the reason for that quiet discipline of this mob-movement began to dawn on me. We were little more than a decade from Appomattox. Scarcely an American in camp beyond his twenties but had wallowed in the trenches of Vicksburg with Grant, dashed north to Gettysburg with Lee, marched through Georgia with Sherman, Sher-man, swept the Shenandoah with Sheridan, Sher-idan, or raided Ohio with Morgan. Trained soldiers, they had fallen at command into the old habit of discipline. dis-cipline. A voice low but authoritative sounded sound-ed from the entrance of the street, where dimly I saw the outline of a man on horseback. "Right-shoulder arms !" As the pieces slushed the moonlight, I could divide the veterans of the war from the young, undrilled recruits by the smart motion with which their guns came up to position. I perceived, too, that the rear ranks carried, instead in-stead of rifles, new hickory-wood pick-handles. pick-handles. But every man, whether equipped with gun or club, had a revolver re-volver belted outside of his coat. The camp, before these shadowy Instruments In-struments of vengeance and grim justice jus-tice formed In the moonlight, had gone to bed. There was no music In the air, no distant clamor of crowds. Then out of that silence came a woman's scream, a distant, hoarse chorus of male voices. I could see a jerky reflex re-flex action in the ranks, heard one or two quick, profane expletives which were silenced, as abruptly as though a sound-proof curtain had been drawn, by the busy noncommissioned officers. A horseman, pulling up at the corner where our little highway joined Main street, made a moving blotch in the night. The other horseman who seemed to he in command rode out from the shadows, took the head of the column. And his word of command came out clear and strong, for all Cottonwood Cot-tonwood to hear : "Forward guide left march !" As he wheeled his horse, his face came out clear in the moonlight, and I recognized rec-ognized him. This was Brown the "No," Said Marcus in a Mollifying Tone, "I Figured You'd Read the Signs." assayer. I remembered then that he had been a major of cavalry under Sheridan. Feet shuffled ; a drum gave a short roll ; then began the "Thump, thump, thump-thump-thunip" of an army march-step. The column swung left into Main street. I trailed along on the edges. Before Huffaker's hardware hard-ware store, Major Brown gave the command "Halt." Officers began splitting split-ting the column, dividing the riflemen from the pick-handle men. The riflemen, rifle-men, at command, marched on. From the others, a squad fell out of line, broke in the door with half a dozen kicks. Lights came on within ; a moment mo-ment later, the squad emerged with its arms full of assorted rifles, distributing distrib-uting them along the ranks. I became aware, now, of the street. The sidewalks side-walks were filling with half-dressed men and women. They spoke In whispers whis-pers or not at all ; and along the gutters gut-ters walked guards with drawn revolvers, re-volvers, keeping line. The distant, regular tramping 01 the riflemen stopped; then changed to irregular foot-beats. Evidently, the focus of interest lay in that direction. I hurried' on. Lanterns, backed by reflectors re-flectors and hung onto the seats or wheels of the wagons which always fringed the Tioneer corral, made a glaring blotch in the moonlight. There, as hazy with shadow yet as definite and characterized as though Rembrandt Rem-brandt had painted it, stood the ofh-cials ofh-cials of the vigilance committee. Shorty squatted on the ground, his stockv figure hardly less tall than when erect. His face lay in the shadow of his broad hat, but his attitude atti-tude implied alertness and command. He was pointing to a document. Above him leaned Cohen, his hands resting on his flexed knees, his derby hat pushed back. Buck, Marcus Handy and Myers of the Variety theater stood in conference, central group of the composition. Strung about them, I identified Siegel of the beer-hall, Taylor of trie bank, Hutchins his teller,- Lockhnrt superintendent of the Stonewall Jackson. Round the pole corral, bunt heavily to resist the rushes of wild horses in process of breaking, ran a circle of riflemen. Hammers sounded ; through the slash of light passed two men stringing barbed wire. At one side the remainder of the rifle company kept Its column of fours; and as I watched, a squad on some special mis-' sion marched away at a quick-step. Just as I stepped up beside the central cen-tral group, Shorty and Cohen rose erect, staring. I followed their glance. A company of men was coming round the corner. Some one twisted the reflector re-flector behind the lantern. In the circle of light advanced Town Marshal MeGrath, Me-Grath, handcuffed, a guard holding his arms on either side. Shoulders square, head erect he was a beautiful figure of defiance. "Book him, Mr. Cohen," said Marcus Mar-cus in his most matter-of-fact, businesslike busi-nesslike tone. "What charge?" asked Cohen, balancing bal-ancing a pencil above a black notebook. note-book. "I don't know," replied Marcus. "I swear I don't, whether to put you down, MeGrath, as an all-round crook or just a d n fool. Make it 'suspected 'sus-pected person' for the present, Mr. Cohen." But now the marshal had found that splendid singing voice of his. "D n you, Handy!" he cried. "This is how you're getting even. You ain't man enough to fight me. You can't fight except in your filthy newspaper " lie choked. "My way of fighting." replied Marcus Mar-cus cheerfully. "I can't shoot for cold beans, Mr. Ex-Marshal. And now I'm forced to give you some advice by way of saving your life, at least temporarily. tem-porarily. This corral is the county jail of the new municipal government. Thei?e guards here are armed with rifles containing genuine lead bullets. Their instructions are to shoot anybody any-body who approaches the fence. Chuck him in, boys !" MeGrath and his guards became shadows in the darkness dark-ness beyond the reflector-light ; vanished van-ished through the latch-gate of the corral. "May have to hang him anyhow, if he maintains that attitude," remarked Taylor sotto voce. "Keep the rope dangling over him he'll be a good boy before we're through," said Marcus Handy. Another group had come into the light Conway, guarded by three men. Deeper than ever over his gambler's face lay his mask of inscrutability. And gambler-fashion he bluffed, squaring squar-ing his shoulders jauntily as he passed these his strange judges. But from stiff lips, which managed nevertheless to achieve a jocular tone, he inquired: "When does the hangln' commence?" "You'll have time to think over your sins !" replied Marcus. "Book him as accomplice of thieves and confidence men, Mr. Cohen," and, rattling off the words mechanically, he . repeated the warnings and instructions he had .riven Chris MeGrath. g Now the groups were arriving fast, two or hree guards to each prisoner. om scattered spurts of oonversa lon henrd then and afterward that night, ! leaded Uiat the vigilance committee at the first call-issued by runners, with in ten minutes after the bank robbers rob-bers went their way-had raised the curtain on a drama already rehearsed. A. squad had dropped into the establishment estab-lishment of every person marked for " loafed or. thin excuses until the ciptu e of Marshal MeGrath Then came the signal: beating on tit, pans in lieu of a bell. Immediately, the committeemen had drawn, held up the Place, secured their man-or woman Not more than a hundred men had done the whole job ; claim owners of Havden hill, members of the "business element," including the squarer of the saloonkeepers, mine owners and managers man-agers from Liverpool hill, a few plain miners Twenty of the most determined deter-mined had attended to the Black Jack, center of trouble. Si Conway and his working force were no sooner removed than the committee closed the bar and games, counted and sealed the money on the tables, and opened a recruiting office Constantly, even at that moment mo-ment the squad thrown about the corral cor-ral was growing as men emerged from the shadows of Main street; gave some password, and fell in. Next after Si Conway arrived three of his dealers. The first in line, whom I had last seen raking in winnings at the roulette wheel with an air of careless care-less authority, walked on sagging knees as they say men go to the scaffold scaf-fold ; his mouth was a slobbering chasm in a waxy face. "What are you goin' to do with me?" he asked in jerks. "As much as you d n well deserve, probably," replied- Marcus. The sagging sag-ging form of the dealer vanished; behind be-hind him his two companions, maintaining main-taining like Conway their gambler bluff, went the same way of mystery. Among the succeeding arrivals were both strangers and acquaintances sharp-faced batteners on the wages of prostitutes whom I had seen loafing about the' entrance to Pearl street, a faro dealer whom "Judge" Colliver the lawyer had got free of cold-blooded murder, and, behind a knot of shuffling shuf-fling men whom I recognized but dimly dim-ly as faces seen In saloons and dives, Colliver himself. Evidently he had been dragged out of bed; for a red undershirt showed beneath his open overcoat, and his raven-black hair stood up like a mangy hairbrush. "This illegal proceeding is an outrage out-rage sir," he began. "In the name of the law you are violating " A dozen angry voices broke in on this; presently pres-ently Marcus dominated the clamor. "What you've needed for a h 1 of a time is a gag." lie said. "You'll get it, too, of you don't shut up. Go on inside, in-side, and keep away from that fence or you'll die quick." Round the corner sounded the high-pitched high-pitched voice of a woman, pouring a steady flow of talk which quavered and shrilled with expletive. Into the light came Red Nell, keeper of the most expensive and notorious "house" in Cottonwood. As she swung out both arms in a vain effort to rid herself her-self of the guards, there was a flash of many diamonds; and the paint on her lips and cheeks, overlaying a face contorted with uncontrolled anger, gave the effect of some grotesque mask. She got one hand loose, and pointed. "You I" she began, "You, Shorty Croly you, Izzy Cohen, you " Her language exploded Into filthy epithet. None answered. Even the ready Marcus Mar-cus seemed silenced. But suddenly the brutal and direct Shorty heaved forward his squat frame, laid hands on her, thrust her on. The rest was drowned In the clatter of the latch-gate. latch-gate. Marcus turned to Taylor. "That's all, isn't it?" Taylor consulted the list in his bands. "Yes, all checked up except " He broke off there. And, just then, an armed guard in a Union cap emerged from the latchgate Into the light. "That roulette dealer of Si Conway's Con-way's Is beefin' for a preacher," he said. The group by the wagon wheels exploded ex-ploded into harsh, nervous laughter. "How 'bout it?" Inquired Marcus. "What brand of preacher does the gentleman gen-tleman desire?" "He's askin' for the Methody this here Mr. Orcutt." "What say, boys," Inquired Marcus, addressing his fellows, "if we let Mr. Orcutt into the bullpen on condition he don't interfere with municipal affairs?" af-fairs?" Silence appeared to' give consent. con-sent. And then, just as another squad- of the armed forces detached Itself, wheeled round the corner Into Haiti street, there approached the largest prison gang of all a dozen disheveled men walking in a hollow square of the Vigilante "troops." These, by one or two recognized faces, I identified as the prisoners from the county jail, it had been cleared. Why? Taylor's remark, re-mark, "all checked off except" jumped Into memory. In the front of my mind grew the picture of that face for which I had been searching subconsciously sub-consciously as squad after squad of prisoners entered the latchgate. He had not been among them the man whom I bad shadowed to. . . . Save for the criminals from the county jail and perhaps Chris MeGrath, 'those prisoners In the stockade were probably prob-ably held for the public safety, were merely In process of being frightened half to death that they might accept dc-nrtation quietly. The humorous hints of Marcus all pointed to (hut. I'.r.t Marcus talking to me In the ollice! had spoken bluntly of trimmer events to come. ' (TO BH CONTINUED.) |