With Hoops of Steel Part 14

With Daniels, Whittaker and Halliday in the lead and the others trailing on close behind, they came down the middle of the street on a half run, plainly revealed in the bright moonlight. They expected to find the Democrats battering down the jail door, if they were not already taking the prisoner out, and all their attention was turned toward that building. Presently they saw that the entrance and all the street round about were silent and apparently deserted, and they concluded that the rescuing party was already inside the jail. Daniels turned and made a hus.h.i.+ng gesture.

"Softly, boys," he said in a repressed voice. "Come along as quietly as you possibly can and get up to the door in a bunch. Have your guns ready."

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when from the darkness and silence of a _portal_ a block beyond them came a flash and a report, and on the instant a dozen more blazed out along that side of the street, for half a block.

The sheriff's party came to a sudden stop, stunned for a moment by the complete surprise. One of their number threw out his hands and sank down groaning into the dust.

"We're ambushed, boys! It's a trick!" shouted a man in the rear, and he started off as fast as his legs could carry him. Another and another followed his example, and three others picked up the wounded man and carried him away. Daniels and Halliday and three or four others returned the fire, guessing at the location of the enemy, but one of their party fell to the ground and another dropped his pistol as his arm suddenly went limp and helpless.

"It's nothin' but a trick to get us out here and kill us," said Daniels.

"It's no use to stand here and make targets of ourselves in the moonlight," added Halliday. "We'd better get out as quick as we can."

They picked up the wounded man, and supporting him between two others, sought the shadow of the sidewalk and hurried away, followed by a jeering "Whoo-oo-oo-ee" in Nick Ellhorn's well-known voice.

"No more shooting, boys!" shouted Judge Harlin. "We've buffaloed 'em--let 'em go!"

"You're always spoilin' the fun, Judge," Nick complained. "This job was too easy! Now, did you ever see such a pack of cowards start on a lynchin' bee? But I reckon they've learned one lesson and won't try to lynch Emerson again in a hurry."

The next day excitement ran higher than ever. The Republicans, smarting under their defeat, were in a white heat of indignation over what they believed was a deliberate plan to ambush and kill their leading men. The Democrats, while they were jubilant over their victory, were equally indignant over what they declared was an attempt, by the very men who ought to have protected him, to lynch Emerson Mead. In reality, each side had been trying to protect him and uphold the law, but each scoffed at and spurned the story of the other. Main street was in two hostile camps and all the fire-arms in the town that were not already in evidence in holsters and hip pockets, were brought to the center of hostilities and placed within handy reaching distance in shops and offices. Behind the bar in each of the saloons was a stack of shot-guns and rifles. The sidewalk on each side of the street was constantly crowded, but n.o.body crossed from one side to the other.

The women began to feel the war spirit and early in the day Judge Harlin's wife and John Daniels' wife, who were ordinarily the dearest friends, pa.s.sed each other on the street without speaking. The ladies of Las Plumas were accustomed to meet at frequent teas, luncheons and card parties on terms of the greatest cordiality, but long before night, if any one whose masculine affiliations were on one side met one belonging to the other, they pa.s.sed with a haughty stare.

Sheriff Daniels was much disturbed over the situation, fearing that he would be unable to keep his prisoner in jail. He talked the matter over with his advisers and together they decided that the best plan would be to get Emerson Mead out of town for the present, and accordingly a telegram was sent to the sheriff of the adjoining county asking permission to lodge Mead temporarily in his jail. The Democrats heard of this plan, and Nick Ellhorn fumed indignantly. Judge Harlin was secretly pleased, and contrived to send word to Colonel Whittaker, Sheriff Daniels and Jim Halliday that he approved their plan and would do his best to control the Democratic faction while they were making the change. He did not tell Nick Ellhorn that he had done this, but he reasoned with that loyal friend at great length on the matter.

"But see here, Judge," Nick replied to all his arguments, "I got Emerson into trouble this time and I've got to get him out. If he hadn't been chasin' around alone, tryin' to get me out of the beastly drunken sc.r.a.pe I'd been fool enough to get into, this wouldn't have happened. You know it wouldn't, Judge. It's all my fault, and I've got to get Emerson out of it."

"That's all right, Nick. Your loyalty to Emerson does you great credit. Much more than your judgment does. But if you'll just wait a week or two the grand jury will p.r.o.nounce on his case, and they're bound to let the bottom out of the whole thing. They'll never find a true bill against him, with no evidence to go on and no proof even that Will Whittaker is dead. Then Emerson will come out a vindicated man and they will have to let him alone after that. His interests will not suffer now by his being detained a few days, and he will gain in the respect of the community by submitting quietly. Take my advice, Nick, and keep still, and let matters follow their legal course for the next week or two."

"A week or two, Judge! And let Emerson stay in jail all that time?

When he's no more right to be there than you or me! Sure, now, Judge!

and what do you-all take me for, anyway?"

"For a sensible man, Nick, who will see the reason in what I have been saying and will take my advice in the matter."

Nick leaned his face on his hand and gloomed across the desk at the big judge, who sat calm and judicial on the other side. Judge Harlin pleased himself much by believing that he could handle Nick Ellhorn better than any other man in the county, except Emerson Mead, and he liked to have the opportunity to try his hand, just as he liked to drive a nervous, mettlesome, erratic horse. He could drive the horse, but he could not manage Nick Ellhorn. The tall Texan had learned not to batter words against the judge's determination, which was as big and bulky as his figure. He simply gave tacit acquiescence, and then went away and did as he pleased. If his scheme succeeded he adroitly flattered the judge by giving him the credit; if it failed he professed penitence and said how much better it would have been to follow the judge's advice. He saw that Judge Harlin had decided to allow Emerson Mead to stay in jail until the grand jury should meet, so he presently said:

"Oh, I reckon you-all are right about it, Judge, but it's d.a.m.n hard on Emerson. But if it's the only way to keep this blamed town from fallin' to and gettin' rid of itself I reckon we'll have to let him stand it." He got up and walked up and down the room for a few minutes and then, with his black eyes dancing and a broad smile curling his mustache around the dimple in each cheek, he went to the telegraph office and sent to Thomson Tuttle a telegram which read:

"Get off the train to-morrow at Escondida and ride to Bosque Grande, where you will find Missouri Bill with horses and instructions."

Escondida was the first station on the railroad north of Las Plumas and the Bosque Grande was a river flat, covered with a dense growth of cottonwoods and willow bushes through which the railroad ran, about midway between the two towns. Missouri Bill was one of Mead's cow-boys who had come in with the herd of cattle.

When it became known that Emerson Mead was to be taken to the Silverado county jail to await the session of the grand jury and that the Democrats would not object to the scheme, the war feeling at once began to abate. The town still rested on its arms and glared across Main street, each party from its own side. There was no more talk of extreme measures and there were no more threats of blood letting. So things went on for a few hours, until the matter of Mead's transfer to the Silverado jail was finally settled. Then all the town looked on while Judge Harlin strolled leisurely across the street, nodded to Colonel Whittaker and Sheriff Daniels, and the three men went into the White Horse saloon and clinked gla.s.ses together over the bar. A little later Jim Halliday went to the Palmleaf and he and Joe Davis joined in a friendly "here's luck." After which all the town put away its guns and went quietly about its usual affairs.

The Republicans frankly gave out that Emerson Mead would be taken away on the north bound overland train, which pa.s.sed through Las Plumas in the middle of the day. Nick Ellhorn decided that this was told too openly to be true. He guessed that the journey would be made on a "local" train which pa.s.sed through the town in the early morning and that Sheriff Daniels hoped, by thus secretly carrying off his prisoner, to forestall any possible attempt at a rescue. Accordingly, he sent another telegram to Tuttle to be in the Bosque Grande for this train and started off Missouri Bill with two extra horses before daybreak on the second morning after the fight.

With Sheriff Daniels beside him and Jim Halliday walking close behind, Emerson Mead stepped into the rear coach of the "local" train with none to witness his departure other than the handful of regular travelers, and a half dozen well armed Republicans who were at the station to help prevent any attempt at escape. Mead greeted these with smiling good nature, as if there were no thought of quarrel between them, and cast his eyes about for sight of his own friends. Not one could he see. He did not know what plan for his a.s.sistance Ellhorn and Tuttle might have schemed, he did not even know that Tuttle had gone away, but he felt sure they would not allow him to be taken away from Las Plumas any more than they would allow him to remain in jail longer than the earliest possible moment at which they could get him out. So he went along quietly and good-naturedly with his keepers, his eyes watchful and his mind alert, alike for any relaxation of their vigilance which would give him a chance of escape, and for the first sign from his friends.

Nick Ellhorn did not appear on the station platform at all. He rushed up from the opposite side just as the train was starting and jumped on the steps of the smoking car. Inside he saw a man whom he knew, and, sitting down beside him, they smoked and chatted and laughed together until the train reached the edge of the Bosque Grande, when Nick walked leisurely into the baggage compartment which formed the front half of the smoking car. He nodded a friendly good morning to the baggage man, handed him a cigar, lighted a fresh one himself, and with one eye out at the open door stood and bandied a joke or two with the train man. Presently he caught sight of a bunch of horses behind a willow thicket a little way ahead and saw a big, burly figure near the track.

Then he leaped to the top of the tender, and in another moment was sitting with his long legs dangling from the front end of the coal box. "Whoo-oo-oo-ee!" sounded in the ears of the engineer and fireman, above the rattle of the train and the roar of the engine. They looked around, astonished and startled by the sudden yell, and saw themselves covered by two c.o.c.ked revolvers.

"Stop your old engine before she gets to that trestle yonder or I'll blow both of you through your headlight!" yelled Nick.

The engineer knew Ellhorn and he yelled back, "What for, Nick?"

"Never mind what for! Stop her quick or--one, two--"

The engineer waited no longer, but let his lever forward with a sudden jerk. The wheels ground and sc.r.a.ped and the train trembled and stood still with the rear coach only a few feet in front of Tuttle's post.

Inside the car, Halliday, who sat in the seat behind Mead and the sheriff, had walked to the front end of the car and was drinking at the ice-water tank when the train came to a sudden stop. He went to the front platform and looked up the track to see what was the matter.

Seeing nothing there he turned to face the rear. By that time Tom Tuttle was on the back platform and nothing was to be seen in that direction. So he turned to the other side of the platform and looked diligently up and down the road. Sheriff Daniels and his prisoner were sitting on the opposite side of the train from that on which Tuttle was entering. The sheriff stepped into the next seat and put his head out of the window. Mead's faculties were on the alert, and when he heard a quick, heavy step leaping up the back steps of the car he knew, without turning his head, that it was either Tuttle or Ellhorn.

He leaned over the back of the seat in front of him and jerked the sheriff's pistol from its holster just as Tuttle stood beside him.

Daniels jumped back, as he felt his gun drawn out, and found himself, unarmed, confronted by c.o.c.ked revolvers in the hands of two of the best shots in the territory. He yelled for Halliday, and Mead and Tuttle backed quickly toward the rear door. The train was moving again as Halliday came rus.h.i.+ng in, and Tuttle, disappearing through the back door, transferred his aim from the sheriff to the deputy. Halliday knew well that if he fired he would shoot to his own death, and he paused midway of the car, with his gun half raised, as the two men leaped from the moving train.

"Much obliged!" yelled Nick Ellhorn, jumping to the ground from his perch on the coal box. Daniels and Halliday stood on the rear platform as the three men leaped on the horses which Missouri Bill had ready beside the track. Daniels shook his fist at them in rage, and Halliday emptied the chambers of his six-shooter, but the bullets did no more damage than to cut some hairs from the tail of Mead's horse.

Ellhorn waved his sombrero and shouted his loudest and longest "Whoo-oo-oo-ee!" Tuttle yelled "Buffaloed!" and Mead kissed his hand to the two angry men on the rear platform of the departing train. Then they put spurs to their horses and rode away over the plains and the mountains. They stopped over night at Muletown, and reached Mead's ranch about noon the next day.

CHAPTER XIV

Wellesly waited in silence and apparent resignation until his captors disappeared down the canyon and the last sound of the horses' feet stumbling over the boulders melted into the distance. Then he began wriggling his body and twisting his arms to see if there were any possibility of loosening the rope. It would give just enough everywhere to allow a very slight movement of limbs and body, but it was impossible to work this small slack from any two of the loops into one. Wellesly pulled and worked and wriggled for a long time without making any change in his bonds. Then he put all his attention upon his right arm, which he could move up and down a very little. He had a narrow hand, with thumb and wrist joints as supple as a conjurer's, so that he could almost fold the palm upon itself and the hand upon the arm. One turn of the rope which bound his arms to his body was just above the wrist, and by working his hand up and down, until he rubbed the skin off against the bark of the tree, he managed to get this band a little looser, so that, by doubling his hand back, he could catch it with his thumb. Then it was only a matter of a few minutes until he had the right arm free to the elbow. On the ground at his feet lay a match, which had dropped there when his captors rifled his pockets. If he could only get it he might possibly burn through some of the bands of rope. He thought that if he could get rid of the rope across his chest he might be able to reach the match. He worked at this with his one free hand for some time, but could neither loosen nor move it. He picked at it until his finger-ends were bleeding, but he could make no impression on its iron-like strands.

A breeze blew the lapel of his light coat out a little way and there his eye caught the glint of a pin-head. He remembered that Marguerite Delarue had pinned a rose in his b.u.t.tonhole the day before he left Las Plumas. He had been saying pretty, half-loverlike nothings to her about her hair and her eyes, and to conceal her embarra.s.sed pleasure she had turned away and plucked a rosebud from the vine that clambered over the veranda. He had begged for the flower, and she, smiling and blus.h.i.+ng so winsomely that he had been tempted to forget his discretion, had pinned it in his b.u.t.tonhole. It had fallen out unnoticed and he had forgotten all about it until the welcome sight of the pin brought the incident back to his memory. With a little exclamation of delight he thrust his free hand upward for the pin, but he could not reach it. Neither could he pull his coat down through the bands of rope. He worked at it for a long time, and finally stopped his efforts, baffled, despairing, his heart filled with angry hopelessness. Again the breeze fluttered the lapel, and with a sudden impulse of revengeful savagery he thrust down his head and snapped at the coat. Unexpectedly, he caught it in his teeth. Filled with a new inspiration, he kept fast hold of the cloth and by working it along between his lips, he finally got the head of the pin between his teeth. Then he easily drew it out, and, leaning his head over, transferred it to his fingers.

He drew a deep breath of exultation. "Now," he thought, "this settles the matter, and I'll soon be free--if I don't drop the pin. My blessed Marguerite! I could almost marry you for this!"

Carefully he began picking the rope with the pin, fiber by fiber, and slowly, strand by strand, the hard, twisted, weather-beaten cords gave way and stood out on each side in stubby, frazzled ends. The pin bent and turned in his fingers, and the blood oozed from their raw ends.

But he held a tight grip upon his one hope of freedom, and finally the rope was so nearly separated that a sudden wrench of his body broke the last strands. He put the bent, twisted, b.l.o.o.d.y pin carefully away in his pocket and, stooping over, found that he could barely reach the match on the ground. He was able to grasp also two or three dry twigs and sticks that lay near it. On the bark of the pine tree to which he was tied were many little b.a.l.l.s and drops of pitch. He felt over the surface of the tree as far as he could reach and pulled off all that he could get of this. Then he found that the only part of the rope that he could at once reach and see was that directly in front of his body. He turned and twisted, but there was no other way. If he attempted to burn it anywhere else he would have to guess at the best way to hold the match, and he might waste the precious heat in which lay his only hope.

He stuck the pitch in a ring around the rope where it circled his body just below the stomach. Then he set his teeth together, and with his face gone all white and sick-looking, lighted the match and held it under the pitch. Eagerly he watched the little flames dart upward over the rope. He flattened his body against the tree as the scorching heat reached his skin. The match burned low, and by its dying flame he lighted one of the dry twigs. It was full of pitch and burned up brightly. The flame leaped up and caught his s.h.i.+rt. Holding the burning stick in his mouth he slapped the fire with the palm of his one free hand and soon smothered it, before it had done more than scorch the skin of his chest. The cloth of his trousers charred under the fire and held a constant heat against his body, and the pain from the blistering wound almost made him forget his desperation. Twice he started impulsively to fling away the tiny brand, but quick remembrance of his desperate situation stopped the instinctive movement, and, with grinding teeth, he held it again under the rope.

The smell of the burning flesh rose to his nostrils and sickened him.

He felt himself turning faint. "I can not stand it!" he groaned and flung away the burning twig. In an instant he realized what he had done, and stooping over he tried to reach it where it blazed upon the ground. But it was too far away. In an agony of hopelessness he seized the rope with his one free hand and jerked it with all his strength.

It broke at the burned place and left him free as far as the hips, although the left arm was still bound to his body.

An empty tin can caught his eye in the gra.s.s a little way off. It was out of his reach, but he saw a stick on the ground part way around the tree. By twisting and stretching his body to the utmost he could reach the stick, and by its aid he soon had the can in his hand. The top had been almost cut out, and holding the can in his hand and the flying leaf of tin in his teeth he worked and twisted and pulled until he tore it out. Its edge was sharp and jagged, and sawing and cutting with it he soon freed himself from the remaining bonds of rope. As the last one dropped away and he stood up and stretched himself in the shade of the pine tree he found that he was trembling like a leaf and that a cold sweat covered him from head to foot. s.h.i.+vering, he stepped out into the hot suns.h.i.+ne.

But he had no time to waste on a nervous collapse. He found some tea in the pack, and hastily stirring up the embers of the breakfast fire, he made the coffee pot full of a brew as strong as he could drink.

There was also part of a small sack of flour, and he quickly mixed a paste of flour and water and spread it over the deep, blistered burn on his abdomen. Then, with a can of baked beans in one hand and the coffee pot of tea in the other, he started down the canyon.

The tiny stream from the spring grew smaller and smaller and finally lost itself in the thirsty earth. For a little way farther the straggling vegetation and the moist sand showed its course, but long before he reached the mouth of the canyon all sign of water disappeared and nothing remained but hot sand and barren rocks. When he reached the larger canyon through which they had come up from the plain two days before, he hid behind some huge boulders and watched and listened for sign of his captors. He thought he heard the faint sound of a horse's hoofs far in the distance. He started from his hiding-place and ran down the canyon, hoping to get out of sight, if it should be his two enemies returning, before they could reach the place. He was still trembling with the exhaustion of the forenoon's long nervous strain, and when his foot slipped upon a stone he could not save himself from a fall. He went down full length upon the sand, and half his precious store of tea was spilled. He dared not take the time to go back and make more. There was still left nearly a quart of the strong liquid, and he thought that if he would be very careful and remember to swallow only a little each time it might take him safely across the desert. He hurried on, running where the way was smooth and hard enough, and again clambering over boulders or ploughing heavily through the sand.

When he came to the mouth of the canyon and looked out over the low, rocky hills and the sandy, white waste beyond, the sun was already in its downward course. He was red and panting with the heat, which had been well nigh intolerable between the high, narrow walls of the canyon, and his whole body smarted and glowed as if it had been encased in some stinging hot metal. He carefully studied the sky line of the Fernandez mountains, which rimmed the desert on the west, and marked the pa.s.s through which he and his companions had come, impressing it upon his mind that he must keep that constantly before his eyes. It seemed easy enough, and he said to himself that if he just kept his face toward that pa.s.s he would have no trouble and that he would certainly reach it before noon the next day. He listened intently for sounds from the canyon, but could hear nothing, and with much relief he decided that he must have been mistaken and that he would be safe from immediate pursuit.

"I'm lucky so far," he said to himself as he started on the faintly marked trail across the barren foothills, "even if I did spill my tea.