Crooked Trails and Straight Part 49

d.i.c.k and Curly rose from behind the rocks where they had been placed and closed the trap on Blackwell. The paroled convict let out one yell.

"I give up. G.o.ddlemighty, don't shoot!"

His rifle he had already thrown away. With his arms reaching above him, his terror-stricken eyes popping from his head, he was a picture of the most frightened "bad man" who had ever done business in Arizona.

Half way down the lane Cranston was. .h.i.t. He sank to his knees, and from there lopped over sideways to his left elbow. In the darkness his voice could be heard, for the firing had momentarily ceased.

"They've got me, Soapy. Run for it. I'll hold 'em back."

"Hit bad, Bill?"

"I'm all in. _Vamos!_"

Stone turned to run, and for the first time saw that his retreat was cut off. As fast as he could pump the lever his rifle began working again.

The firing this time did not last more than five seconds. When the smoke cleared it was all over. Soapy lay on his back, shot through and through.

Blackwell had taken advantage of the diversion to crawl through the strands of barbed wire and to disappear in the chaparral. Bill had rolled over on his face.

Curly crept through the fence after the escaping man, but in that heavy undergrowth he knew it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. After a time he gave it up and returned to the field of battle.

d.i.c.k was bending over Stone. He looked up at the approach of his friend and said just one word.

"Dead."

Cullison had torn open Cranston's s.h.i.+rt and was examining his wounds.

"No use, Luck. I've got a-plenty. You sure fooled us thorough. Was it Sam gave us away?"

"No, Bill. Curly overheard Soapy and Blackwell at Chalkeye's Place. Sam stood pat, though you were planning to murder him."

"I wasn't in on that, Luck--didn't know a thing about it till after the boy was shot. I wouldn't a-stood for it."

"He wasn't shot. Curly saved him. He had to give you away to do it."

"Good enough. Serves Soapy right for double crossing Sam. Take care of that kid, Luck. He's all right yet." His eye fell on Flandrau. "You're a game sport, son. You beat us all. No hard feelings."

"Sorry it had to be this way, Bill."

The dying man was already gray to the lips, but his nerve did not falter.

"It had to come some time. And it was Luck ought to have done it too." He waved aside Sweeney, who was holding a flask to his lips. "What's the use?

I've got mine."

"Shall we take him to the house?" Maloney asked.

"No. I'll die in the open. Say, there's something else, boys. Curly has been accused of that Bar Double M horse rustling back in the early summer.

I did that job. He was not one of us. You hear, boys. Curly was not in it."

A quarter of an hour later he died. He had lied to save from the penitentiary the lad who had brought about his death. Curly knew why he had done it--because he felt himself to blame for the affair. Maybe Bad Bill had been a desperado, a miscreant according to the usual standard, but when it came to dying he knew how to go better than many a respectable citizen. Curly stole off into the darkness so that the boys would not see him play the baby.

By this time the men from the Flatiron were appearing, armed with such weapons as they could hastily gather. The situation was explained to them.

Neighboring ranches were called up by telephone and a systematic hunt started to capture Blackwell.

Luck left his three riders to help in the man hunt, but he returned with Curly and Maloney to Saguache. On the pommel of his saddle was a sack. It contained the loot from the express car of the Flyer. Two lives already had been sacrificed to get it, and the sum total taken amounted only to one hundred ninety-four dollars and sixteen cents.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PRODIGAL SON

They found the prodigal son with his sister and Laura London at the Del Mar. Repentance was writ large all over his face and manner. From Davis and from the girls he had heard the story of how Soapy Stone had intended to destroy him. His scheme of life had been broken into pieces and he was a badly shaken young scamp.

When Luck and Curly came into the room he jumped up, very white about the lips.

"Father!"

"My boy!"

Cullison had him by the hand, one arm around the shaking shoulders.

"What----what----?"

Sam's question broke down, but his father guessed it.

"Soapy and Bad Bill were killed, Dutch is a prisoner, and Blackwell escaped. All Spring Valley is out after him."

The boy was aghast. "My G.o.d!"

"Best thing for all of us. Soapy meant to murder you. If it hadn't been for Curly----"

"Are you sure?"

"No question about it. He brought no horse for you to ride away on. Bill admitted it, though he didn't know what was planned. Curly heard Soapy ask Blackwell whether he had seen your body."

The boy shuddered and drew a long sobbing, breath. "I've been a fool, Father--and worse."

"Forget it, son. We'll wipe the slate clean. I've been to blame too."

It was no place for outsiders. Curly beat a retreat into the next room.

The young women followed him. Both of them were frankly weeping. Arms twined about each other's waists, they disappeared into an adjoining bedroom.

"Don't go," Kate called to him over her shoulder.

Curly sat down and waited. Presently Kate came back alone. Her s.h.i.+ning eyes met his.

"I never was so happy in all my life before. Tell me what happened--everything please."