CHAPTER TWELVE
THE TRAP
Guerilla Melody regarded the judge without expression. "Huh," hegrunted. "Huh."
The judge did not look at him. He had cheated Melody in a cattle dealthe previous year and had since found himself unable to look Melody inthe eye. Some villains are like that. They are usually of the cheapervariety.
"It's good and dark now," observed Billy Wingo, "and the moon will risein another hour. We don't want it to be too high when we strike theWalton ranch. Why the smile, Judge? Oh, I know. You think we'll beseen by one of your friends when we're leaving, and he'll get to theranch ahead of us. I doubt it, Judge. You know we ain't going by wayof Main Street. No, we're going out back of the corral. Thecottonwoods grow right up close to the back of the corral, and if welead our horses and hug the posts, there ain't much chance of anybodyseeing us. No. Come along, Judge, lessee how my clothes fit you."
Within the quarter-hour they rode out of a belt of cottonwoods into theHillsville trail, three wooden-faced men and the wretched judge. Thelatter rode in front, with head bowed on hunched shoulders.
Where the snow permitted they trotted, but most of the time they wereforced to walk their horses. Four times before they reached the drawleading to the Walton ranch they floundered through drifts thatpowdered the horse's shoulders.
At the mouth of the draw the trail to Walton's was clotted with thetracks of a few ridden horses.
"I guess," remarked Billy Wingo, "that Skinny Shindle came this way allright when he brought that note from Walton's."
The judge shivered, but not with cold. He was very miserable andlooked it.
The moon lifted an inquiring face over the rim of the neighboring ridgeand threw their shadows, thin and long, across the green-white snow.
"We turn here toward Walton's, Judge," suggested Billy, when the juristcontinued to ride straight ahead.
The judge pulled up.
"I'm not going to Walton's!" he cried aloud. "I'm not going, I tellyou! You can't make me! You can't."
His voice broke at the last word. He threw his arms aloft in a wildgesture. The features of the face he turned toward Billy werecontorted with emotion. He gibbered and mowed at them in themoon-light. He looked like an inmate of Bedlam. He was certainly in abad way, was Judge Driver.
Suddenly he lost his head. He clapped heels to his horse's flanks inan effort to escape. But both Billy Wingo and Riley Tyler had beenwaiting for precisely such a move ever since leaving Golden Bar. Tworopes shot out simultaneously. One fastened on the red-and-whitepinto's neck, the other settled round the Judge's shoulders. The paintpony stopped abruptly. The judge flew backward from the saddle and hitthe snow on the back of his neck.
The three friends dismounted and gathered around the judge. Rileyloosened his rope. The judge lay still and gasped and crowed. Thewind had been considerably knocked out of him. When he sat up, he waspromptly sick, very sick. The paroxysm shook him from head to heels.
It was half an hour before he was able to stand on his feet withoutsupport. The three boosted him into the saddle, mounted their ownhorses and proceeded along the draw.
Whenever the judge made as if to check his horse, which he did morethan once, Billy Wingo would crowd his horse forward and kick thepinto. Their progress may be said to have been fairly regular.
A mile from the ranch house they climbed the shelving side of the drawand rode across the flat to where a straggling growth of pine andspruce made a black, pear-shaped blot along the smooth white slope of asaddle-backed hill. The tail of this evergreen plantation ran outacross the flat from the base of the hill almost to the edge of thedraw they had just quitted. A tall spruce, towering high above hisfellows, formed the tip, as it were, of the stem of the pear.
Beyond and below this spruce, where the draw met lower ground and lostits identity as a draw, was the Walton ranch house. On the flat theevergreens barred the four riders from the eyes of any one watchingfrom the house.
The four men reached the trees, rode in among them. Three of themdismounted and tied their horses. The fourth remained in the saddle.Said Billy Wingo to the fourth:
"Get down."
The judge got down. Swiftly his hands were tied behind his back, andhis eyes were thoroughly blindfolded with his own silk handkerchief.
"Now, boys," said Billy, lowering his voice, "I guess we know what todo. You, Judge, won't have to say anything, but if anybody else thinkshe has to say anything, he's got to do it in a whisper, and a skinnywhisper at that. Let's go."
As Billy uttered the last low words Guerilla Melody seized the judge'sright arm and forced him into motion. With Riley Tyler leading thejudge's mount, the three men scuffled in among the trees on the backtrail.
Billy Wingo stood silently in his tracks until the trio were out ofearshot, then he padded to the spruce and halted behind it. He removedhis overcoat. From a voluminous pocket he took what appeared to be aroll of cloth. He shook out the roll and discovered the common orgarden variety of cotton nightshirt, size fifty.
"If whoever's in the house can pick me out from the snow after I'mwearing this, I'll give his eyes credit," he muttered, pulling on thegarment in question over his head.
He buttoned the nightshirt with meticulous care, fished a washed floursack from a hip pocket and pulled it over his head. A minute or twolater he was joined by Riley Tyler.
"If I didn't know it was you," whispered Riley in a delighted hiss,"I'd be scared out of a year's growth. Those eyeholes are plumbgashly."
"I expect," said Billy grimly. "Get on your outfit. I guess you ain'tneeded, but we can't afford to take any chances."
Riley Tyler threw off his blanket capote, dragged from an inner pocketa disguise similar to the sheriff's and hurriedly put it on.
"Don't come till you see the signal," cautioned Billy, "and if you hearany shots before I give the signal, stay right here where the cover'sgood and drop anybody you see running away. Y'understand?"
"You bet."
"Judge swallow it all right?"
"Down to the pole. He thinks we're all three with him."
Billy nodded. "Better move along the draw about twenty yards," was hisparting order. "You can't see the side the cedars are on from here."
Boldly, without any attempt at concealment, he walked straight to theedge of the draw. Below him barely fifty yards distant were thesnow-covered buildings that were the Walton ranch house, the bunk houseand the blacksmith shop. He could not see the corrals. They laybeyond the crowding cottonwoods growing beside the little stream thatsupplied the ranch house with water.
He half slid, half walked down the side of the draw and headed straightfor the ranch house. He could not see lamplight shining through any ofthe windows. But there was a faint glow at the farthest of the windowsin the side of the house. This window he knew was one of threelighting the front room, a room that ran clear across the house. Thisside of the house was clear of young trees and bushes. But on theother side of the house, the north side, Hazel had planted young cedarsto serve as a windbreak. These cedars grew within a yard of the house.
Without any fear of being discovered, so confident was he that it wouldbe impossible to see him against the white background, he approachedthe blacksmith shop, slid between it and the empty bunk house and cameto the right angle end of the kitchen. His gun was out, be it known,but he held it behind his back. He wanted no touch of blackness to marthe hue of his costume.
At the corner of the kitchen he dropped on his knees and one hand.Here behind the windbreak the snow was no more than two or three inchesdeep, and he crawled along the side of the house toward the faintlyglowing window that was his goal, at walking speed.
Crouched beneath the window he laid his ear close to the window silland listened. For a space he heard nothing, then feet shuffled acrossthe floor and there was the "chuck" of a log being thrown on the fire.Then the shuffle of feet again.
Silence.
Inch by inch Billy raised a slow head above the window sill. When hiseyes were level with the lower crosspiece of the sash, he paused. Fora long time he could see nothing within the room but the fire in theruddy jaws of the fireplace with its attendant pile of logs, and a bigchair over which had been thrown a buffalo robe. Then after a time hesaw, beyond the chair, the boot soles of a man lying on the floor. Thebody of the man lay in the shadow cast by the big chair.
There was something about those boot soles that told Billy that the manwas dead.
"I figured it would be this way," Billy told himself. "I didn't seehow else it could be. Damn their souls! They don't stop at anything!"
He continued to stare unblinkingly into the room and after a time hemade out the dim lines of another man's figure sitting on the tablebeside one of the front windows. The head of this other man was turnedaway from Billy. He was watching the draw through the front window.But there was no life in the draw--yet.
Billy waited. He continued to wait. His feet began to get cold. Theygradually grew numb. The hand that held the six-shooter began to havea fellow feeling, or lack of it rather, with the feet. He changedhands and stuffed the chilled hand under his nightshirt into hisarmpit. A cramp seized his left knee. He straightened it gingerly andironed out the cramp with the back of his gun hand.
The cold crept up both legs. When it reached his middle a cramp fellhammer-and-tongs upon his right knee, calf and sole of his foot. Hestraightened that leg and dealt with it like a brother.
S-s-suschloop! A section of snow several yards square slid off theroof and avalanched upon him. At the sound the figure at the windowturned as if shot. Billy, by a supreme effort of will, stifled theimpulse to dodge and held his body motionless. He was covered withsnow. Snow was down the back of his neck as well as on the window sillin front of his mouth. To all intents and purposes and to any eye hewas a pile of snow fallen from the roof.
Swiftly the figure on the table walked across the room to Billy'swindow and looked out. Billy remained with considerable less movementthan the proverbial mouse. The snow, while it covered his head, didnot completely conceal his forehead and eyes. But Billy reckoned onthe reflection of the firelight on the window-pane to blind somewhatthe man within. For a few seconds the man stood looking out the windowover Billy's head. The pile of snow he gave but the most passing ofglances.
But to the frozen nucleus of the snow pile it seemed that the fewseconds were hours and that the snow pile was subjected to the mostsearching scrutiny.
The man returned to his post on the table by the front window, andBilly breathed again. He had been unable to distinguish the man'sfeatures. The light from the fire was not strong enough.
After another century of waiting Billy perceived that the fire wasagain burning low. There was a small spurt of sparks as the remnant ofthe log fell apart. The man slipped from the table and strode acrossthe room to the pile of logs and sticks beside the fireplace.
This was the moment for which Billy Wingo had been waiting. Hescrambled on hands and knees to the front corner of the ranch house.Whipping a box of matches from a hip pocket, he lit one in a cuppedhand.
He let the match burn his fingers before flipping it down. He stood atgaze, straining his eyes down the draw toward the Hillsville trail.Even as he looked a dark object detached itself from some bushesseveral hundred yards distant and moved toward the house.
Billy returned to his post at the window. Slowly he raised his head tothe level of the lower crosspiece of the sash. When his eyes againbecame accustomed to the darkness of the room he saw that the man wasno longer near the fireplace. He was standing at the front window,staring down the trail.
On account of the soft snow Billy did not hear the approaching horseuntil it had almost reached the ranch house door. When the horsestopped the man inside the ranch house moved quietly to the door andstood at one side of it. His hand moved to his leg and came away.
The rider dismounted. Billy heard him rattle the latch of the door.
"Don't shoot!" he heard him say in an agonized whisper. "Don't shoot,for Gawd's sake!"
Billy, watching at the window, saw the man in the room fling open thedoor. For an instant the tall and hatless form of Judge Driver showedblack against the expanse of snow framed in the doorway. Again camethe plea for mercy--a whisper no longer, but a wild cry of "Don'tshoot! Don't shoot! It's me! Driver!" as the judge, realizing onlytoo well that any such outcry was tantamount to a confession of guilt,plunged into the room. Obviously his purpose was to escape the fire ofthe avenging rifles that he had every reason to believe were somewherein the brush along the draw. He was acting precisely as Billy hadreckoned he would act, and there was not the slightest danger of Billyor any of his men shooting him. But a very real danger lay behind theranch house door. The judge's only chance lay in convincing the manbehind the door in time.
He convinced him. The man yanked him roughly into the room and slammedthe door shut.
"Thank Gawd! Thank Gawd!" babbled the judge, sinking back against thedoor, "I thought you'd shoot me!"
"I damn near did," remarked the man, whose voice Billy now recognizedas that of a late arrival in town, named Slike. "If you hadn't jerkedyour hat off so's I could see your face, I would have. When will Wingoget here, and didja get him to come by himself all right? Huh? Whydon't you answer? Whatsa matter? Isn't he coming or what? By Gawd,_you're wearing his clothes_! Where is he?"
"He's here!" gurgled the judge.
"Where?" Slike's voice was a terrible snarl.
"Here--up on the flat."
Slike promptly seized the judge by the throat. "Then you led him here.What are you trying to do--double-cross me?"
"No, no!" gulped the judge, pulling at the other's wrists. "I couldn'thelp it! He forced me to come!"
"Then you did lead him here, damn your soul! You white-livered cur, doyou think I'm gonna hang on your account? What did you tell him?Answer me, damn you!"
To the accompaniment of a string of most ferocious oaths, Slike shookthe judge as the terrier shakes the rat. The judge fought back as besthe could. But he was no match for this man of violence. Tiring atlast, Slike flung him on the floor and kicked him.
"I'd oughta stomp you to death!" he squalled. "What did you tell him?"
"Nothing! Nothing!" cried the judge. "He must have guessed it!"
Dan Slike laughed. It was a laugh to make you flinch away. The hairat the base of Billy Wingo's neck lifted like the hackles of a fightingdog.
"Guessed it!" yelped Slike. "Guessed it! Aw right, let it go at that.How far away is he?"
But the judge had his cue by now. "He's two or three miles back," hesaid faintly. "If you start now you can get away."
"You know damn well there's too much snow," snapped Slike. "How many'she got with him?"
"One--two."
Slike kicked the judge in the short ribs. "How many? Tell the truth!"
"Tut-two."
"Three in all, huh? and you and me are two--say one man and a half,anyway. Two to one call it. What's fairer than that, I'd like toknow? We'll finish it out in the smoke right now."
"What?" There was considerably more than pained incredulity in thejudge's tone.
"We'll shoot it out with 'em here, I said. I ain't kicked all thefighting blood out of you, have I? If I have I can soon kick it inagain. Here, come alive, you lousy pup! Get the gun off that feller Idowned. It's on his leg yet. His Winchester is over there in thecorner. It's loaded, and there's two boxes of cartridges on thatshelf. Bring 'em all over here. Then you take that window and I'lltake this one. We'll give 'em the surprise of their young lives. Geta wiggle on you, Judge. You've got a brush ahead of you. Fight? Youcan gamble you'll fight! It's you or them, remember!"
"Suppose he comes bustin' in the back way?" quavered the judge,perceiving that he had indeed fallen between two stools.
"We'll try to take care of him. But he'll come
the other way, I guess."
But Slike guessed wrong, for Billy Wingo, judging that thepsychological moment had arrived, shoved his gun hand through a windowpane and shouted, "Hands up!"
"You dirty Judas!" yelled Slike and, firing from the hip, he whippedthree shots into the judge before he himself fell with four of BillyWingo's bullets through his shoulder and neck.
Shot through and through, Judge Driver dropped in a huddle and died.
Slike, supporting himself on an elbow, mouthed curses at the man who hebelieved had betrayed him. The murderer's supporting arm slid out fromunder and he collapsed in a dead faint, even as Billy Wingo, withwindow glass cascading from his head and shoulders, sprang into theroom.
The Rider of Golden Bar Page 12