The Heart of the Range

by William Patterson White

  CHAPTER XXV

  STRATEGY

  Racey Dawson and Rack Slimson, rising a hill on the way to Farewell,simultaneously turned their heads and looked at each other. Rack'sexpression was dolefully sullen. Racey's was hard and uncompromising.

  "Who was it put you up to this?" asked Racey.

  "What?"

  "Coming out here after me."

  "I didn't come out after you, I tell you!"

  "Shore, shore," soothed Racey, "I know all about that. Who put you upto it?"

  "I dunno what yo're talkin' about."

  "The ignorance of some people," said Racey, recalling sundry occasionswhen other folk had oddly failed to grasp his meaning.

  They rode onward silently.

  When they reached the southern slope of Indian Ridge, Racey headed tothe east. A spirit of unease lit heavily upon the sagging shoulders ofRack Slimson.

  "You ain't goin' straight for Farewell," he remarked at a venture.

  "I ain't--no."

  "I thought you was."

  "I am--but not straight."

  "Huh?" Rack Slimson wrinkled his forehead at this.

  "We're goin' in town from the side," explained Racey Dawson.

  This, too, was a puzzler. "Why?" queried Rack Slimson.

  "So's nobody will know we're coming till we're there." The smile withwhich Racey garnished his answer was chilling to the soul of Mr.Slimson.

  "But I don't see--"

  "You wouldn't. I'll tell you how it is all in words of one syllable.You and me are coming into town from the east where that draw is andthose shacks behind the dance hall. We'll leave our hosses in thedraw, and proceed, like they say in the army, on foot. Then you andme--"

  "But why me?" Rack Slimson desired to know. "What are you alwaysputting 'me' in for?"

  "Because yo're a-going with me, Rack, that's why. Yo're a-going withme while I'm hunting for Coffin and Honey Hoke and Punch-the-breezeThompson and Peaches Austin. Those four will likely be together, see,and I wanna use you for a breastwork sort of."

  "A breastwork!" cried the now thoroughly upset Mr. Slimson. "Abreastwork!"

  "Shore a breastwork. I'll shove you ahead of me into the saloon and ifthey--there's four of 'em, y'understand--cut down on me you'll be inthe way."

  "But they'll down me!"

  "I'm counting on that."

  "But--"

  "Aw, shut up, you ---- skunk! You come out to Moccasin Spring onpurpose to get me to come to Farewell and be peaceably shot by DocCoffin and his gang. Can't tell me you didn't. I know better."

  "I didn't! I didn't! I--"

  "Aw right you didn't. In that case you got nothing to scare you. IfDoc and his outfit ain't got any harsh thoughts against me they won'tshoot when we run up on 'em. That'll prove yo're telling the truth,and I'll beg yore pardon. I'll do more'n beg yore pardon. I'll eatyore shirt an' my saddle."

  Racey's assurance that he would do the right thing if his suspicionsproved unfounded did not appear to cheer Rack Slimson.

  "I--lookit here," he began, desperately, "can't we fix this here upsome way? I dunno as--"

  "Shore we can fix it up," interposed Racey, heartily. "Go after yoregun any time you feel like it. I been letting you keep it on purpose."

  Rack Slimson did not accept the invitation. He had not the slightestdesire to go after his gun. He was not fast enough, and he knew it.

  "It ain't necessary to do that," said he.

  "Suit yoreself," Racey told him calmly. "Hop into action any time youfeel like it. Of course before we get to that draw outside Farewellwhere we're gonna leave our hosses I'll have to take yore gun away.Later I might be too busy to do it--and I can't afford to take _every_chance. Not with four or five men. You can see that yoreself."

  Rack Slimson saw. He saw other things too. Oh, there was no warmth inthe sunlight, and the sky was a drabby gray, and he was filled withbitterness unutterable.

  "We'll be at the draw some time soon," suggested Racey ten minuteslater.

  But Rack Slimson's hands continued to remain in plain sight, the whileRack gnawed a thin and bloodless lip.

  When at long last the draw opened before them Racey calmly reachedover and removed the saloon-keeper's sixshooter. After satisfyinghimself that the weapon was fully loaded he stuffed it down inside thewaistband of his trousers. Then he buttoned the two lower buttons ofhis vest and pulled the garment in question over the protruding butt.

  For a space of time they rode the bottom of the draw. Where a fewheavy willows grew about a tiny spring Racey pulled in.

  "We'll leave the cayuses here," said he. "We're right close in back ofMarie's shack."

  They dismounted, tied the horses to separate willows, and climbed theside of the draw.

  "No hurry," cautioned Racey, for Rack Slimson was showing signs of anervous haste. "Besides, I want to pat you all over for a hideout."

  Behind the blind end of Marie's shack Rack Slimson submitted tobeing searched for concealed weapons. Racey found none, not even apocket-knife.

  "Let's go," said Racey Dawson. "We'll go to yore saloon first. And youpray hard that nobody sees us from the back window."

  They diagonalled down past the stage company's corral to the housenext door to the Starlight.

  "They haven't seen us yet," Racey observed, cheerfully, to RackSlimson whose wretched knees had been knocking together ever since hehad dismounted. "Slide over this way a li'l more, Rack. Now take offyore spurs."

  Racey stooped and removed his own. And not for an instant did he losethe magic of the drop. As a matter of fact, he had kept Rack coveredfrom the moment Rack set his boot-soles to earth. Rack's spurs jingledon the ground. Racey let them lie. His own spurs he jammed each into ahip pocket.

  "I'll have to be careful how I sit down now," he remarked, jocularly,to Rack Slimson. "You ready? Aw right. You know the way to theStarlight's back door."

  The back door of the saloon was wide open. They entered on tiptoe, theproprietor in the lead.

  "Remember," whispered Racey, when he discovered the back room to beempty, "remember, I'm right behind you. Keep on yore toes."

  He held Rack Slimson by the belt and pushed him toward the door givinginto the front room. This door was shut. They paused behind it.

  "He oughta be along pretty soon," complained a fretful voice thatRacey recognized as belonging to Honey Hoke.

  "We don't mind waiting," chimed in Punch-the-breeze Thompson.

  "It's the best thing we do." This was big Doc Coffin speaking.

  The two behind the door heard a bottle-neck clink against the rim of aglass.

  "You better not take too much," advised Thompson.

  "Aw, who's takin' too much?" flung back Honey Hoke.

  "Well, you don't see the rest of us touching a single drop, do you?Speaking personal, I wouldn't drown _my_ insides with liquor when I'mdue to go up against a proposition like Racey Dawson."

  Here was praise indeed. Racey thumbed Rack Slimson in the ribs. Rackturned his head and saw that Racey was grinning. Rack grew even morespineless.

  "You see," pointed out Racey in a sardonic whisper. "Yo're up againstthe pure quill, feller."

  Which remark at any other time would have been in the worst possibletaste, but license is extended to men in peril of their lives.

  "They're at the table in the corner beside the bar, this end, ain'tthey?" resumed Racey. "Ain't it lucky the door opens that way?"

  Then he was silent for a time while he strove to catch the accents ofPeaches Austin. He wanted to know if they were all four at the onetable. But Peaches was either not talking or elsewhere. A moment laterthe question was answered for him by Honey Hoke.

  "If he slips by Peaches without Peaches seem' him--" began Honey.

  "Aw, hownell can he?" sneered Doc Coffin. "They's Peaches camped downin front of the blacksmith shop right where he can see the trail allaway down Injun Ridge. A dog couldn't get past Peaches without beingseen, let alone a two-legged man on a four-legged hoss."

 
"S'pose he goes round the ridge," offered the doubter, unconsciouslyhitting the nail on the head.

  "He won't," declared the confident Doc. "He'll come boiling right inlike he owned the place. Don't you lose no sleep over _that_."

  "Maybe Rack couldn't find him," pursued Honey Hoke, and an answeringquiver ran through the frame of Rack Slimson.

  "Rack will find him all right," said Punch-the-breeze Thompson.

  "He might be suspicious of Rack, alla same," Honey Hoke wavered on.

  "Not the way Rack will tell him. Didn't we fix it up just what Rackwas to say and all before he went? Shore we did. He won't make nomistake, Rack won't. You'll see."

  "And anyway," broke in Doc Coffin, "they's four of us to take care ofany mistakes."

  At which the three laughed loudly.

  "I hope," Racey whispered in Rack's rather grimy left ear, "I hope youheard all those fellers said. Proves I was right, don't it? Nemminenodding yore head more'n once. Hold still. Yo're doin' fine. Yep, I'mshore glad we stood here a-listenin' like we have. Makes me feel aheap easier in my mind about you. Otherwise I might always have had adoubt I did right. I'd have been shore, y' understand, but I wouldn'thave been _dead_ shore."

  At which the unfortunate Rack came within an eyewink of fainting. Asit was his stomach seemed to roll over and over. He began to feel alittle sick.

  "The bartender now," went on Racey after a moment, "is he likely tomix into this?"

  "I dunno," breathed Rack.

  "Who is he? I ain't been in yore place for some time."

  Rack told him the name of the bartender, and Racey nodded quite as ifRack were facing him and could see everything he did.

  "Then that's all right," whispered Racey. "I know that feller. He's afriend of Mike Flynn's. He won't do anythin' hostyle. Let's go rightin. Open the door. G'on, damn yore soul, or I'll blow you apart!"

  Rack Slimson opened the door and immediately endeavoured to spring toone side. But he reckoned not on the strength of Racey Dawson. Thelatter swung Rack back into place between himself (Racey Dawson) andthe table at which Doc Coffin and his two friends were sitting.

  It was a painfully surprised trio that confronted Racey and hisunwilling barricade. The bartender was likewise surprised. Heimmediately fell flat on the floor. Not so the three men at the table.They sat quite still and stared at the man and the gun behind the bodyof their friend Rack Slimson. They said nothing. Perhaps there wasnothing to say.

  "I hear you were expectin' me, Doc," drawled Racey, his eyes brightwith cold anger. "Whatsa matter?" he added. "Ain't three of you enoughto take care of any mistakes?"

  At which Doc Coffin's right hand flashed downward. Racey drove anaccurate bullet through Doc Coffin's mouth. The bullet ranging upward,and making its exit through the parietal bone, let in the light onDoc's hitherto darkened intellect in more ways than one.

  Doc Coffin's forefinger, tightening convulsively on the trigger of itswearer's sixshooter, sent an unaimed shot downward. But previous toembedding itself in a floor board, the bullet passed through HoneyHoke's foot. This disturbed Honey's aim to such an extent that insteadof shooting Racey through the head he shot Rack through the hat.

  Racey, attending strictly to his knitting, bored Honey Hoke with abullet that removed the top of the second knuckle of Honey's righthand, shaved a piece from the wrist bone, and then proceeded tothoroughly lacerate most of the muscles of the forearm before finallylodging in the elbow. Thus was Honey Hoke rendered innocuous for thetime being. He was not a two-handed gunfighter.

  As yet Punch-the-breeze Thompson had remained strictly neutral. Hishands were on the table top, and had been from the beginning.

  "It's yore move, Thompson," Racey said with significance.

  "Then I'll be goin'," said Thompson, calmly. "See you later--maybe."

  So saying he rose to his feet, turned his back on Racey, and walkedout of the place. Racey had no illusions as to Thompson, but heobviously could not shoot him in the back. He let him go. Watchingfrom a window he saw Thompson go to the hitching-rail in front of thesaloon, untie his horse, mount, and ride away northward.

  And the blacksmith shop in front of which Peaches Austin was supposedto be on guard lay at the south end of the street. Where, then, wasThompson going?

  "Where's he goin'?" he demanded of the now wriggling Rack Slimson.

  "Huh? Who? Punch? I dunno."

  "Where's Jack Harpe?"

  "I dunno."

  "Yo're a liar. Where is he?"

  "I dunno! I dunno! I tell you! Yo're gug-gug-chokin' me!"

  "Yo're lying again. If I was choking you you couldn't talk. Yo'retalkin', ain't you? Where's Jack Harpe?"

  "I dud-dud-dunno," insisted Rack Slimson, his teeth chattering asRacey shook him.

  "Is he in town?"

  "I dud-dunno."

  "Is Thompson going after him, do you think?"

  "I dud-dunny-dunno!"

  "I guess maybe you don't, after all," Racey said, disgustedly,flinging the unfortunate saloon-keeper from him with such force thatthe fellow skittered quite across the floor and sat down in thewashpan into which the bartender was accustomed to throw the brokenglassware.

  "Ow-wow!" It was a hearty, full-lunged howl that Rack Slimson utteredas he bounded erect and clutched at his trousers.

  Racey's eyes brightened at the sight. "Y' oughta known better than tosit down in all that glass. I could 'a' told you you'd get prickles inyou. Why don't you stand still and let yore barkeep pick 'em out foryou? You can get at most of the big pieces with yore fingers," headded to the bartender, who was gingerly emerging on all fours roundthe end of the bar. "And the little ones you can dig out with asharp knife. Yep, Rack, old-timer, I'll bet you won't carry any moremessages on horseback for a while."

  There was a sudden crashing thud at the back of the room. Honey Hokehad fallen out of his chair. Now he lay on the floor, his legs drawnup and the back of his frowsy head resting against a rung of the chairin which still sat the dead body of Doc Coffin.

  Racey went to Honey and spread him out in a more comfortable position.

  Calloway and Judge Dolan entered the saloon together.

  "We thought we heard shootin'--" began Galloway, staring inastonishment at the grotesque posture Rack Slimson had assumed thebetter to endure the ministrations of the bartender.

  "We heard shootin', all right," said Judge Dolan, his glance sweepingpast Slimson and the bartender to the rear of the room.

  "What's happened, Racey?" queried Dolan, striding forward. "Both of'em cashed?"

  Racey shook his head. "Doc Coffin passed out," said he in a hard, dryvoice. "But Honey Hoke's heart is beatin' regular enough. Guess he'sonly fainted from loss of blood."

  The Judge nodded. "They do that sometimes." Here he looked at DocCoffin's body lying humped over the table, an arm hanging free, thehead resting on the table-top.

  "Were they rowin' together?" was the Judge's next question.

  Racey gave him a circumstantial account of the shooting and theincidents that had led up to it. The Judge heard him through without aword.

  "They asked for it," said he, when Racey made an end. "'Sfunny Punchdidn't pick up a hand. Tell you what you do, Racey: You come to myoffice in about a hour. Nothing to do with this business. I got nofault to find with what you done. Even break and all that. Somethingelse I wanna see you about. Huh? What's that, Piggy?"

  The place was beginning to fill up with inquisitive folk from thevicinity, and Racey decided to withdraw. He went out the back way.Closing the door, he set his shoulders against it, and remainedmotionless a moment. His eyes were on the distant hills, but theyneither saw the hills nor anything that lay between.

  "I had to do it," he muttered, bitterly. "I didn't want to downhim. But I had to. They were gonna down me if they could. Andhe--they--they asked for it."