That Printer of Udell's Part 29

"Mebbe so," replied the other; "an' then agin he mighter ketched on an' 'lows ter fool us."

The other sprang up with an oath. "We uns aint got no call ter take chances," he growled; "best make sure." And with his rifle half raised, he looked anxiously along the trail, but the stranger had pa.s.sed from view.

A few minutes longer they waited and watched, discussing the situation; then returning to the mules, they rode out of the little gully and on down the branch in the direction the object of their suspicion had taken.

Just across the road from the mouth of the ravine down which the hunter had come, was a little log cabin, and in the low doorway an old woman sat smoking a cob pipe. "Howdy Liz," said one of the men, "Seed anythin'?"

"Yep," returned the woman. "He done ast th' way ter Simpson's. 'Low'd he'd been huntin' turkey an' lost hisself. I done tole him he orter git someone ter tromp 'roun' with him er he might git killed."

She laughed shrilly and the two men joined in with low guffaws. "Reckon yer right, Liz," said one. "Jake, why don't ye hire out ter him."

Jake slapped his leg. "By gum," he exclaimed, "that thar's a good ide'.

I shor' do hit. An' I'll see that he don't find nothin' bigger'n turkey too; less'n he's too durned inquisitive; then I'll be--." He finished with an evil grin. "You all tell Cap I've done gone ter hunt with Mistah Whitley ef I don't show up." And beating his mule's ribs vigorously with his heels, he jogged away down the road, while his companion turned and rode back up the little valley.

Jim Whitley, enraged at Frank's failure to rescue the papers held by d.i.c.k, and alarmed by the latter's letter telling him of young Goodrich's confession, had come into the wild backwoods district to await developments. He was more determined now than ever, to gain possession of the evidence of his crime, and in his heart was a fast-growing desire to silence, once for all, the man whose steady purpose and integrity was such an obstacle in his life. But he could see no way to accomplish his purpose without great danger to himself; and with the memory of the gray eyes that had looked so calmly along the s.h.i.+ning revolvers that night in the printing office, was a wholesome respect for the determined character of the man who had coolly proposed to die with him if he did not grant his demands. He feared that should d.i.c.k find Amy and learn the truth, he would risk his own life rather than permit him to go unpunished, and so he resolved to bury himself in the mountains until chance should reveal a safe way out of the difficulty, or time change the situation.

The afternoon of the day following his adventure in the little valley, Whitley sat on the porch of the post office and store kept by his host, telling his experience to a group of loafers, when the long mountaineer called Jake, rode up to the blacksmith shop across the street. Leaving his mule to be shod, the native joined the circle just in time to hear the latter part of Whitley's story.

"Lookin' fer turkey, war ye Mister?" asked Jake, with a wink at the bystanders.

"Yes, have you seen any?" replied Jim.

"Sure, the bresh's full of 'em ef ye know whar' ter hunt."

The company grinned and he continued: "I seed signs this mo'nin' in th' holler on yon side ol' Ball, when I war' huntin' my mule. An'

thar's a big roost down by th' spring back of my place in th' bottoms."

Whitley was interested. "Will you show me where they are?" he asked.

"Might ef I could spar' th' time," replied Jake slowly; "but I've got my c.r.a.ps ter tend."

Another grin went the rounds. "Jake's sure pushed with his c.r.a.ps,"

remarked one; "Raises mo' corn, 'n 'ary three men in Arkansaw," remarked another, and with this they all fired a volley of tobacco juice at a tumble bug rolling his ball in the dust near by.

Needless to say, the conversation resulted in Whitley's engaging the moons.h.i.+ner for seventy-five cents a day, to hunt with him; and for the next two weeks they were always together.

All day long the native led the way over the hills and through the deep ravines and valleys, taking a different course each day, but always the chase led them away from the little ravine that opened on the big road. When Whitley suggested that they try the country where he had lost his way, his guide only laughed contemptuously, "Ain't ye killin' turkey every trip. Ye jist foller me an' I'll sure find 'em fer ye. Ain't nothin' over in that holler. I done tromped all over thar' huntin' that dad burned ol' mule o'mine, an' didn't see nary sign. Thay's usen' 'round th' south side th' ridge. Ye jist lemme take ye 'round." And Jim was forced to admit that he was having good luck and no cause to complain of lack of sport. But he was growing tired of the hills and impatient to return to the city, while his hatred of the man whom he feared, grew hourly.

Jake, seeing that his employer was fast growing tired of the hunt, and guessing shrewdly, from his preoccupied manner, that hunting was not the real object of his stay in the mountains, became more and more suspicious. His careless, good-natured ways and talk changed to a sullen silence and he watched Whitley constantly.

One morning, just at daybreak, as they were walking briskly along the big road on their way to a place where the guide said the game was to be found, Take stopped suddenly, and motioning Jim to be silent, stood in a listening att.i.tude.

Whitley followed his companion's example, but for a minute could hear nothing but the faint rustle of the dead leaves as a gray lizard darted to his hiding place, and the shrill scream of a blue-jay calling his sleepy mates to breakfast. Then the faint thud, thud, thud, of a galloping horse came louder and louder through the morning mist.

Evidently someone was riding rapidly toward them.

"Whitley was about to speak, when the other, with a fierce oath and a threatening gesture, stopped him.

"Git inter th' bresh thar' quick an' do's I tell ye. Don't stop t'

plaver. Git! An' gimme yer gun."

Too astonished to do anything else, Jim obeyed, and hastily thrusting the rifle under a pile of leaves by a log near by, the moons.h.i.+ner forced his companion before him through the underbrush to a big rock some distance from the road. The sound of the galloping horse came louder and louder.

"Stand thar' behin' that rock 'n if ye stir I'll kill ye," whispered Jake; and taking a position behind a tree where he could watch Jim as well as the road, he waited with rifle c.o.c.ked and murder written in every line of his hard face.

Nearer and nearer came the galloping horse. Whitley was fascinated and moved slightly so that he could peep over the rock. A low hiss from Jake fell upon his ear like the warning hiss of a serpent, and half turning, he saw the rifle pointing full at him. He nodded his head, and placing his finger upon his lips to indicate that he understood, turned his face toward the road again, just as the horse and his rider came into view.

The animal, though going freely, was covered with dust and dripping with sweat, which showed a creamy lather on his flanks, and where the bridle reins touched his neck. The rider wore a blue flannel s.h.i.+rt, open at the throat, corduroy trousers, tucked in long boots, and a black slouch hat, with the brim turned up in front. At his belt hung two heavy revolvers, and across the saddle he held a Winchester ready for instant use. He sat his horse easily as one accustomed to much riding, but like the animal, he showed the strain of a hard race.

Whitley was so wrought up that all these details impressed themselves upon his mind in an instant, and it seemed hours from the moment the horseman appeared until he was opposite the rock, though it could have been but a few seconds.

The watcher caught one glimpse of the rider's face, square jawed, keen eyed, determined, alert, stained by wind and weather.

"Crack!" went the rifle behind Whitley.

Like a flash the weapon of the rider flew to his shoulder. "Crack!"

and the bark flew from the tree within an inch of Jake's face.

Whitley saw the spurs strike and the rider lean forward in his saddle to meet the spring of his horse. "Crack!" Jake's rifle spoke again.

A mocking laugh came back from the road as the flying horseman pa.s.sed from sight. Then, "I'll see you later," came in ringing tones, and the thud, thud, thud, of the galloping horse died away in the distance.

The mountaineer delivered himself of a volley of oaths, while Whitley stood quietly looking at him, his mind filled with strange thoughts.

The man who could deliberately fire from ambush with intent to kill was the man for his purpose.

"Who is he?" Jim asked at last, when the other stopped swearing long enough to fill his mouth with fresh tobacco.

"A revenoo, an' I done missed him clean." He began to curse again.

"He came near getting you though," said the other, pointing to the mark of the horseman's bullet.

"Yas, hit war' Bill Davis. Aint nary other man in the hull dad burned outfit could er done hit." He looked with admiration at the fresh scar on the tree.

"But what is he doing?" asked Whitley.

Jake looked at him with that ugly, mirthless grin. "Mebbe he's huntin'

turkey too."

Whitley laughed, "I guess he was goin' too fast for that," he said; but his companion's reply changed his laughter to fear.

"Thar's them that better be a follerin' of him mighty sudden."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you, Mister. The boys has had ther' eye on ye fer sometime.

We know yer huntin's all a blind, an' now Bill Davis he's come in. I aint right shor' myself er I'd a kep' mum an' he'pped 'em take ye."

Whitley turned pale. "Do you mean that the people here think I'm a revenue agent looking for moons.h.i.+ners?"

"That's about hit, Mister, an' they'll be fer takin' ye out ter night shor'."