Shoe-Bar Stratton

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE TRAP

  "Yuh out last night?" brusquely inquired Gabby, as they were dressing nextmorning.

  A direct question from the eccentric individual was so novel that Buckpaused in buckling on his cartridge-belt, and stared at him in franksurprise.

  "Why, no," he returned promptly. "Were you, Bud?"

  "I sure wasn't. I didn't budge after my head hit the mattress. What gaveyuh the notion, old-timer?"

  "Door unlatched," growled Gabby, continuing his preparations forbreakfast.

  "Is that all?" shrugged Bud. "Likely nobody thought to close it tight."

  Gabby made no answer, but his expression, as he went silently about hiswork, failed to show conviction.

  "Ain't he a scream?" inquired Bud an hour later, when they had saddled upand were on their way. "I don't wonder Tenny can't get nobody to stay incamp with him. It would be about as cheerful as a morgue."

  "Must have got soured in his youth," remarked Stratton. "I had to put up aregular fight to get him to look after the pack-horse till somebody cantake it back to the ranch-house. Where do we hit this trail you weretelling me about?"

  "About a mile and a half further on. It ain't much to boast of, butchances are we won't meet up with a soul till we run into the main road amile or so this side of Perilla."

  Bud's prediction proved accurate. They encountered no one throughout theentire length of the twisting, narrow, little-used trail, and even whenthey reached the main road early in the afternoon there was very littlepassing.

  "Reckon they're all taking their siesta," commented. Bud. "Perilla's agreat place for greasers, yuh know, bein' so near the border. There's aheap sight more of 'em than whites."

  Presently they began to pass small, detached adobe huts, some of them themerest hovels. A few dark-faced children were in sight here and there, butthe older persons were all evidently comfortably indoors, slumberingthrough the noonday heat.

  Further on the houses were closer together, and at length Bud announcedthat they were nearing the main street, one end of which crossed the roadthey were on at right angles.

  "That rickety old shack there is just on the corner," he explained. "It'sa Mexican eating-house, as I remember. Most of the stores an' decentplaces are up further."

  "Wonder where Hardenberg hangs out?" remarked Stratton.

  "Yuh got me. I never had no professional use for him before. Reckon mostanybody can tell us, though. That looks like a cow-man over there. Let'sask him."

  A moment or two later they stopped before the dingy, weather-beatenbuilding on the corner. Two horses fretted at the hitching-rack, and onthe steps lounged a man in regulation cow-boy garb. A cigarette dangledfrom one corner of his mouth, and as the two halted he glanced up from thenewspaper he was reading.

  "Hardenberg?" he repeated in answer to the question. "Yuh mean thesheriff? Why, he's inside there."

  Bud looked surprised and somewhat incredulous. "What the devil's he doin'in that greaser eatin'-house?"

  The stranger squinted one eye as the cigarette smoke curled up into hisface. "Oh, he ain't patronizin' the joint," he explained with a touch ofdry amusement. "He's after old Jose Maria for sellin' licker, I reckon.Him an' one of his deputies rode up about five minutes ago."

  After a momentary hesitation Stratton and Jessup dismounted and tied theirhorses to the rack. Buck realized that the sheriff might not care to beinterrupted while on business of this sort, but their own case was sourgent that he decided to take a chance. At least he could find out whenHardenberg would be at leisure.

  Pushing through the swinging door, they found themselves in a single, longroom, excessively dingy and rather dark, the only light coming from twounshuttered windows on the north side. To Buck's surprise at least a scoreof Mexicans were seated around five or six bare wooden tables eating anddrinking. Certainly if a raid was on they were taking it very calmly. Thenext moment he was struck by two things; the sudden hush which greetedtheir appearance, and the absence of any one who could possibly be the manthey sought.

  "Looks like that fellow must have given us the wrong tip," he said,glancing at Jessup. "I don't see any one here who--"

  He paused as a wizened, middle-aged Mexican got up from the other end ofthe room and came toward them.

  "Yo' wish zee table, senors?" he inquired. "P'raps like zee _chile concarne_, or zee--"

  "We don't want anything to eat," interrupted Stratton. "I understandSheriff Hardenberg is here. Could I see him a minute?"

  "Oh, zee shereef!" shrugged the Mexican, with a characteristic gesture ofhis hands. "He in zee back room with Jose Maria. Yo' please come zisway."

  He turned and walked toward a door at the further end of the long room,the two men following him between the tables. But Buck had not taken morethan half a dozen steps before he stopped abruptly. That curious silenceseemed to him too long continued to be natural; there was a hint oftension, of suspense in it. And something about the attitude of the seatedMexicans--a vague sense of watchful, stealthy scrutiny, of tense,quivering muscles--confirmed his sudden suspicion.

  "Hold up, Bud!" he warned impulsively. "There's something wrong here."

  As if the words were a signal, the crowd about them surged up suddenly,with the harsh scrape of many chair-legs and an odd, sibilant sound,caused by a multitude of quick-drawn breaths. Like a flash Buck pulled hisgun and leveled it on the nearest greaser.

  "Get out of the way," he ordered, taking a step toward the outer door.

  The fellow shrank back instinctively, but to Buck's surprise--the averageMexican is not noted for daredevil bravery--several others behind pushedthemselves forward. Suddenly Jessup's voice rose in shrill warning.

  "Look out, Buck! Behind yuh--quick! That guy's got a knife."

  Stratton whirled swiftly to catch a flashing vision of a tall Mexicancreeping toward him, a long, slim knife glittering in his upraised hand.The fellow was so close that another step would bring him within strikingdistance, and without hesitation Buck's finger pressed the trigger.

  The hammer fell with an ominous, metallic click. Amazed, Buck hastilypulled the trigger twice again without results. As he realized that insome mysterious manner the weapon had been tampered with, his teethgrated, but with no perceptible pause in the swiftness of his action hedrew back his arm and hurled the pistol straight into the greaser's face.

  His aim was deadly. The heavy Colt struck the fellow square on the mouth,and with a smothered cry he dropped the knife and staggered back, flingingup both hands to his face. But others leaped forward to take his place, adozen knives flashing in as many hands. The ring closed swiftly, and frombehind him Stratton heard Bud cry out with an oath that his gun wasuseless.

  There was no time for conscious planning. It was instinct alone--thatprimitive instinct of every man sore pressed to get his back againstsomething solid--that made Buck lunge forward suddenly, seize a Mexicanaround the waist, and hurl him bodily at one side of the closing circle.

  This parted abruptly and two men went sprawling. One of them Buck kickedout of the way, feeling a savage satisfaction at the impact of his bootagainst soft flesh and at the yell of pain that followed. Catching Jessupby an arm he swept him toward one of the tables, snatched up a chair, andwith his back against the heavy piece of furniture he faced the mob. Hishat was gone, and as he stood there, big body braced, mouth set, and haircrested above his smoldering eyes, he made a splendid picture of force andstrength which seemed for an instant to awe the Mexicans into inactivity.

  But the pause was momentary. Urged on by a voice in the rear, they surgedforward again, two of the foremost hurling their knives with deadly aim.One Stratton avoided by a swift duck of his head; the other he caughtdexterously on the chair-bottom. Then, over the heads of the crowd,another chair came hurtling with unexpected force and precision. It struckBuck's crude weapon squarely, splintering the legs and leaving him onlythe back and precariously wobbling seat.

  He flung this at one of the advancing men a
nd floored him. But another,slipping agilely in from the side, rushed at him with upraised knife. Hewas the same greaser who, weeks before, had played that trick about theletter; and Buck's lips twitched grimly as he recognized him.

  As the knife flashed downward, Stratton squirmed his body sidewise so thatthe blade merely grazed one shoulder. Grasping the slim wrist, he twistedit with brutal force, and the weapon clattered to the floor. An instantlater he had gripped the fellow about the body and, exerting all hisstrength, hurled him across the table and straight through the near-bywindow.

  The sound of a shrill scream and the crash of shattered glass camesimultaneously. In the momentary, dead silence that followed, one couldhave almost heard a pin drop.