Laramie Holds the Range

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE GO-DEVIL

  "I want a wagon," scowled Van Horn. "There's one down at Gorman'splace he won't need any more. There's some baled hay down there, too.Take the men you need, load what hay you can find on the wagon andhustle it up here."

  Too stubborn to ask questions, and only starting after many hardwords--with which all the ground of the morning quarrel and much morewas traversed--Stone took two men and started reluctantly for Gorman's.He spent a long time on his job, but came back as directed with thewagon loaded with hay.

  The wagon was not much to view. It looked like the wagon of a man thatspent more time in Sleepy Cat saloons than on his ranch. A rack,equally old and dilapidated, had been set on the running gear. Thepaint had long since blown off the wheels, and one of these, a frontwheel, had lost a tire on the rough trip up the creek. But the felloeshung to the spokes and the spokes to the hub.

  Van Horn inspected the outfit grimly. With half a dozen men he setquickly to work and under his resourceful ingenuity the wagon and haywere speedily turned into what would now-a-days be termed a tank. Onlylack of hay kept him from making a mobile fortress of it. By means ofwire he slung along the sides what baled hay he could spare, and withmuch effort to avoid exposure the armored wagon was dragged over theroughest kind of ground, to the north and west of the cabin. From thisdirection the ground, fairly smooth, sloped from a ridge fringed byjutting patches of rock, directly toward the cabin itself and eagerhands made the final preparations to smoke Henry out. With the load ofhay set ablaze and the wagon run down against the cabin the defenderwas bound to be driven from cover or burnt.

  When the bustling, contradicting and confusion finally subsided, thewagon was stealthily pushed over the ridge, the hay fired and theblazing outfit, christened a go-devil, was started with a shout downthe slope.

  If there existed in the minds of those that talked least a lingeringsuspicion that Dutch Henry was still alive it was soon stronglyjustified. Before the wagon had rolled twenty feet the challenge of arifle-shot from the cabin answered the attack. Everybody dodged quick,but no one was hit and a yell of derision rose from behind the rocks.With ropes, borrowed from the men that carried them, and knottedtogether, the wagon was kept under partial control and the line, aspaid out, served in some measure to guide it. On it went accompaniedwith shouts and yells. From the threatened cabin came no answeringdefiance. Henry's case looked bad as the wagon rolled down on him, buthis rifle fire, though seemingly wasted, answered unflinchingly.

  Stone danced with joy: "He'll be running the gauntlet next clip. He'snot hitting anybody. He must be shooting," yelled the excited foreman,"at the blamed wagon."

  A steady fire, undismayed, did continue to come from the cabin. VanHorn, who had run to the extreme right of the new sector, and waskeeping a close watch on the go-devil, was the first to perceivetrouble. "Hell's delight, boys," he cried, taken aback, "he's shootingup the wheels."

  The words flew around behind the rocks. The rifle fire was explained.Every eye was turned to the danger point, the wheel without the tirewhich, as the wagon wobbled, was unluckily exposed to the cabin fire.It could easily be seen where the deliberate marksman was getting inhis work. He had knocked one felloe off the rim and was hitting at thespokes. It began to look like a race between the burning wagon andHenry at bay. The hay was a mound of flame and sparks and smoke shothigh into the air. A hundred feet more would lodge the fire trapagainst the rear wall of the cabin. But under the steady pounding of arifle that seemed never to miss its mark the injured wheel showed fastincreasing signs of distress. A second felloe was tracking uncertainly.

  As a diversion, Van Horn, active, energetic and covering every part ofhis little line at once, ordered an incessant fire centered on thethreatened cabin. Nothing seemed to check the regular report of thehidden high-powered rifle and the bullets that were splintering the oldoak spokes. When the roaring wagon struck a loose stone or rough spotin its trackless path it wobbled and hesitated. Yet, jerked, steadied,halted and started by means of the long cable, it rolled to withintwenty yards of its mark. There it pitched a bit, recovered and foranother ten yards sailed down a smooth piece of ground. The cowboyswere yelling their loudest when a lucky shot from the cabin knocked offa second felloe. A second and third shot smashed rapidly through thespokes of the staggering wheel. A threatening boulder lying to theright of the wagon's course could not be avoided. The men on the linejerked and swore. It was useless. One side of the wheel collapsed,the front axle swung around and the blazing wagon straddled thetroublesome boulder like a stranded ship. The men guiding heaved to onthe line--it parted; the cabin stood safe.

  At once, the rifle fire from the cabin ceased. No taunt, no threatcould draw another shot from the silence. Chagrined, eyes flashing,silent in his defeat, Van Horn, contemplating the last of the burningwagon and watching the cabin as a dog, baffled, watches a cat on afence, was let alone even by the most reckless of his companions; forthe failure no one tried to bait him. Nor were he and Doubleday readyto quit. They got ready a circle of fires to block any attempt made toescape the beleaguered place after dark. This proved a difficultundertaking, both because fuel was scarce and because the dead line,drawn by the rifle fire of the wary defender, extended a long way inevery direction around his log refuge.

  The night, however, was fairly clear and a pretty good moon was due byten o'clock. The fires were lighted, not without some sharp objectionfrom the cabin, the moment darkness fell. The difficulty then was tokeep them replenished and maintain an adequate guard. Dark spots andshadows fell within and across the circle around the cabin. Van Hornordered a rifle fire directed into these places; it was placed sopersistently that when the moon rose, the besiegers felt prettyconfident Henry had not escaped. And just before its light hadpenetrated the narrow valley, the invaders had a cheering surprise whenthe wounded man, nicknamed "The Snipe," crawled from his hollow betweenthe lines back to his comrades and told them in immoderate terms whathe thought of them for leaving him wounded and thirsty under the enemyfire. Volunteers, inspired by his abuse, crawled out to the second manthat had fallen in the morning and by really heroic effort got him backinto the draw; badly hit, he was given long-needed attention. Thefirst man, shot through the head, the rescuers reported dead.

  When midnight came, the men had been fed and the watch well maintained.A steer, interned earlier, had been cut up for the men's supper and VanHorn and Doubleday were seated together before the camp fire near thecreek eating some of the reserve chunks of meat when a hurried alarmcalled them up the draw--the cabin was on fire.

  Nothing could have happened to take the besiegers more by surprise.There was hasty questioning but no explanation. Of all thepossibilities of the night none could have been so unexpected. Butwhatever the cause, and theories were broached fast, the cabin wasablaze. Smoke could be seen pouring through the chinks in the roof andlittle tongues of flame darted out at the rear under the eaves. Thoughthere was not a breath of air stirring, the roof within fifteen minuteswas in flames and the cowboys, confident of victory, set up, Indianfashion, their death chant for Dutch Henry.

  The old shack made a good fire. The roof collapsed and with theincantations of the cowboys, the stout walls, worm-eaten andbullet-splintered, falling gradually, blazed on.

  "The jig's up here, boys," announced Van Horn, as the fire burned down."The two biggest thieves on the range are accounted for. It's a goodjob. If I guess right you'll find the Dutchman in the fire. YankeeRobinson's next. He won't put up much of a fight, but the hardest manto get is still ahead of us. This was a boy's job beside rounding upAbe Hawk. He'll never be taken alive, because he knows what's comin'to him.

  "There's not a minute to lose now. Stone and I will take two of yourmen, Barb, and round up Yankee Robinson. From there we'll ride over toAbe's place on the Turkey. About our only chance is to catch himbefore he's up. If he's got wind of this, we'll have a hell of a chaseto get him
. Feed the horses, the rest of you eat, and we're off! Youcan follow us with Pettigrew and the bunch, Doubleday, just as soon asyou look the cabin over after daylight." Within half an hour Van Hornand Stone and the two men crossed the creek, rode into the hills anddisappeared into the night.

  Setting a watch, Doubleday and his men curled up on the ground. Whenearliest dawn streaked the sky the logs were still smoking, and thecowboys, rifles in hand, walked down to where the cabin had stood.

  Everything within the walls had been consumed. Long after daylight,with some of the men asleep, and others waiting for the fire to cool,one of Doubleday's cowboys, poking about the sill log of the rear wallwith a stick, gave a shout. What had been taken for a half-burned logwas the charred body of a man. The invaders gathered and the body waspresently declared by those who knew him well to be that of DutchHenry. There was nothing more to detain the men that were waiting.The cowboy worst wounded had started with a companion for home. TheSnipe insisted on going on with Doubleday.

  The horses had been left in good grass a little way down the creek.When they were disturbed it was found that one was missing. A hurriedsearch failed to recover the horse.

  While trackers were at work, the Snipe, always alert, found a clue thatupset all calculations. It was a small dark red spot soaked into thedust of the creek trail. It was very small, such as might have beenmade by a single drop of blood; but one such sign was enough to put oninquiry a man versed like the Snipe in mountain craft. Keeping hisdiscovery to himself, he tracked back and forth from his single spot,almost invisible in the dust, until he found a second similar spot.This he marked, and dodging and circling, like a hound on a scent, theSnipe ran his trail from his first tiny spot to the trees near thecreek where the horses had been left. Doubling, he patiently trackedthe telltale spots up the path that led to the cabin. Then he calledto Barb.

  Doubleday, much out of temper, was in the saddle waiting to getstarted. He bawled at the Snipe, and not amiably.

  "Keep cool," was the answer; "I'm 'a' comin'. But look here before youstart; there was two men in that cabin, Barb."

  "What are you givin' us?" blurted out a cowboy. Doubleday staredferociously. "There was two of 'em, boys," persisted the Snipe.

  "You must 'a' seen double when you was runnin'," was the skepticalsuggestion of another man. But Doubleday listened.

  The Snipe took him from the cabin down to the creek. Then back to thecabin. There he showed him where someone had dug what might have beena hole under the sill log, near the door.

  A horse was certainly missing. Then, shells from two different rifleswere picked out of the ashes. One size had been fired from aWinchester rifle; the others, much more numerous, belonged to a Marlin.

  "Who was it, Barney?" asked Doubleday, breathing heavily. He was sowrought up and so hoarse he could hardly frame the words. But he wasalready convinced.

  The Snipe shook his head. "There's two or three fellows up here shootsa Marlin rifle. If I got one guess on this man that's made hisget-away, Barb, I'd say----" The Snipe poked further into the ashes.

  "Well, say!" thundered Doubleday.

  "I'd say it was Abe Hawk."