by Zane Grey
“Leavitt took over Borden’s property, on half shares an’ debts, he claims. My show of friendship for you ‘pears to have riled the judge. He politely sent me word to turn over my office an’ my badge.”
“The hell he did! Wal, of all the gall! — Masters, you wouldn’t think of that?”
“Wal, ordinarily I wouldn’t. But I didn’t seek this job. My friends shoved it on me. An’ now most of them have packed an’ gone. The bottom is droppin’ out of this boom, Kal. I reckon I couldn’t locate a dozen men who’d back me in any deal against Leavitt. So what is there in it for me?”
“Damn little, if you’re askin’,” replied Kalispel, shortly. “But are you goin’ to let Leavitt bluff you?”
“No man ever bluffed a Texan Ranger,” drawled Masters.
“I’m just sore enough to resign, pack, an’ get ready to leave with my friends — then call on Leavitt to leave my caird.”
“Your card? — Ah-huh, I savvy,” rejoined Kalispel, with a cool ring in his voice. “By thunder! I’d like to do that. But I promised Ruth I’d not look Leavitt up.”
“Square of you. Thet girl is deservin’, Kal. An’ about the prettiest one I’ve seen since I left Santone.”
“Old-timer, I’d shore feel better if I knew you was goin’ to present my compliments to Leavitt.... Listen, this is what I came down to tell you. Leavitt is at the head of this bandit gang, an’ he’s runnin’ it shore slick.”
“Emerson, are you sure?” queried the Texan, leaning forward like a striking hawk.
“Hell, yes!” whispered Kalispel. “I stood under Leavitt’s window an’ heard him betray himself. It was I who put that scar over Macabe’s ear. Macabe, Leslie, Struthers, all right-hand men of Leavitt’s. An’ it’s somethin’ to figure on that Macabe implicated only Borden in the Sloan case. Leavitt can run men of that caliber. But he’s also a common, low-down, two-bit thief, a second-hand murderer, an’ a slick-tongued deceiver of women.”
“An’ don’t forget he’s a leader of Thunder Mountain’s vigilantes!”
“Masters, has he really carried it as far as that?”
“Rumors are flyin’ thick as autumn leaves. I don’t know what is true an’ what’s false. But now I’ll bet my guns thet Leavitt has gone through with it. He hasn’t been seen downtown since you shot Borden. Nobody knows what’s up, an’ everybody’s figgerin’. But for me you’ve about cleared it up.”
“Ah-huh. You get my hunch. If Leavitt has organized a vigilante committee you can bet your last dollar the men in it are his hold-up gang.”
“Precisely. A damn slick dodge! We underrated this man Leavitt.... An’ now, Kal, my advice to you is rustle out of heah hell for leather!”
Kalispel got up with a cool little laugh and a sharp hitch of his belt.
“Shake. An’ that’s my advice to you.”
“I’ll trail you up street a ways.”
Kalispel did not like the suspense in the Texan’s mien and voice. There was something in the wind. The instant Kalispel got outside, he was amazed to find that the street that had been noisy and animated a few minutes before was now silent, empty except at the extreme lower end. There strung across from Borden’s hall to the Last Chance Saloon stood five masked men, armed with rifles.
Kalispel cursed as a fiery current ran along his veins. Vigilantes! He could not see the upper end of the street, because it curved slightly. His thoughts centered around the query — did the presence of those vigilantes have to do with his visit to town? He decided to cut through the first alley between buildings to make the creek trail. Once back at his cabin, he and Jake could hold off any reasonable number of men.
There were no alleys near. He must go through a store or saloon. Faces appeared in doors across the street. Everybody in town knew —
“Hands up, Emerson!”
The rough, deadly voice, nervous in its timbre, carried threat of instant death. Kalispel had heard that note before. Freezing in his tracks, he elevated his arms high above his head.
“Up they are!” he ejaculated, damning himself for overconfidence.
“Keep ’em thar.” Cautious, heavy steps sounded with that voice. “Frisk him, Dan.”
Rude hands jerked his guns from his belt. He heard the click of a hammer being raised, then felt the hard prod of a gun-barrel against his back.
“March!”
Kalispel strode up the middle of the street, with his heavy-booted captors close behind. And he heard the slam of doors, the buzz of voices, shouts and trampling of feet. As he turned the slight bend, he saw far at the upper end of this trap, five more masked vigilantes on guard. Cold fury possessed Kalispel, and for a moment he saw red. In the power of the vigilantes! That meant Leavitt. Instantly he realized the grave nature of the predicament. He had been in close quarters before, but never in a situation so perilous as this. A sensation of futility and despair assailed him. Leavitt had hatched some plot to capture and execute him. Probably he had discovered the loss of Blair’s money and the gold, and had connected Kalispel with its disappearance. Possibly Sydney had betrayed him. Suddenly Kalispel remembered Ruth, and then indeed life became significant for him. A rush of tremendous spirit banished his fears. He would get out of this. There would be a way.
“What’s the deal, boss?” he asked.
“It’s a straight hand, Emerson, without cards to you,” came the reply.
Kalispel was marched up the street, where, at the end, the five masked vigilantes led the way toward Leavitt’s cabin and mill. Judging from the increasing hum and trample in the rear, all of Thunder City was in attendance. It seemed a long walk to Kalispel, and he had to muster all his nerve to dam emotions that might militate against his readiness to seize any opportunity.
“Halt!” ordered Kalispel’s captor, when the procession had approached to within twenty paces of Leavitt’s cabin.
“I’m kinda tired holdin’ my arms up,” complained Kalispel, as he halted, and slowly lowered them.
The five vigilantes in the lead lined up to one side. Kalispel heard the others stop behind. And from far back came the increasing roar of the trailing mob.
“Captain Leavitt,” shouted the spokesman, “we have your man!”
The cabin door stood wide open. A table and chairs on the porch had a business-like look. Presently two miners came out, followed by Leavitt. He was white of face and stern. His flaring gaze leaped upon Kalispel standing motionless in the open square, and then swept over the vigilantes and to the approaching crowd, then back to the prisoner.
“Leavitt, what’s the meanin’ of this outrage?” demanded Kalispel, his voice carrying far. He might as well not have made a sound, for all the attention Leavitt paid to him.
“Let the crowd come close enough to hear the proceedings,” ordered Leavitt.
The trampling of many feet slowed up behind Kalispel and spread in a half-circle, until it was possible for him to see the people on both sides. This swerving of his gaze brought into his line of vision a scaffold newly erected. Kalispel sustained his last shock, for with a realizing shudder that this instrument of frontier justice had been erected for him he became a man of iron. Leavitt would never hang him.
“That’s close enough,” called out Leavitt, and then he appeared to fix his flaring eyes upon some man whose slow steps could be heard. “Masters, that applies to you, too.”
“Wal, I reckon I’m sheriff of Thunder City,” drawled the cool, easy voice of the Texan. It warmed Kalispel’s heart. It meant something for him to grasp.
“Yes, and a damn poor sheriff you are,” retorted Leavitt. “Flaunting your friendship for this desperado in the face of the whole town!”
“Leavitt, I back my actions. Thet’s why I’m heah. We might disagree as to Emerson’s status. An’ if this heah deal is a trial, as I reckon it is, you’ll want it to stand the test of public opinion.”
“Certainly. There’s nothing secret about this trial. Emerson is before the vigilantes of Thunder City.”
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nbsp; “Wal, in thet case somebody must represent him, an’ I’ll make thet my last official duty, after which I’ll resign.”
“Very well. We accept your stand for Emerson, and also your resignation.”
Masters slowly came into the line of Kalispel’s vision. Sight of the cool Texan flooded Kalispel’s grim soul with gratitude. Whatever Masters meant, it seemed unreadable to anyone there, except Kalispel, who grasped the nerve of the man, the intention to befriend. But how he was to do it seemed inscrutable.
The Texan turned to Kalispel with slow, casual steps. “Am I acceptable to you, Emerson?” he queried. “Looks like a high-handed procedure to me. But if these vigilantes mean to put you on trial I’m heah to see it’s fair.”
“Thanks, Masters,” returned Kalispel. The Texan’s words were potent, but negligible compared with the wonderful power and meaning of his gray eyes. Kalispel was swift to read that gaze. There could be no question of a fair trial here. Masters’ action was merely a ruse to permit him to come forward, gradually to edge closer and closer to Kalispel, until, when the situation reached its climax, he would be near enough for Kalispel to leap and jerk free Masters’ two big guns and shoot his way to death or freedom. Leavitt in his suppressed deep passion was as good as dead at that very moment.
“Judge, before you make a charge against the prisoner, may I ask what constitutes yore right to this procedure?” queried Masters, deliberately.
“I am captain of these vigilantes,” replied Leavitt, curtly. “Wal, thet won’t stand before the law. You were not elected. You appointed yoreself.”
“But I was elected judge of this mining-camp,” parried Leavitt, with composure. “If you know the laws of gold-diggings you will agree that I have absolute authority.”
“Wal shore, aboot all claims, arguments, sales an’ exchange, an’ all thet. But hardly to make arrests an’ build scaffolds. That ought to be my job.”
“Masters, we won’t split hairs over that,” declared Leavitt, with cold finality. “Emerson is on trial, and I’m his judge.”
“Air you puttin’ him on trial for gun-play?”
“There is no law on the frontier against even breaks.”
“Wal, then, what’s Emerson’s offense?” demanded the Texan, sharply.
Judge Leavitt seated himself at his table and arranged papers before he replied.
“Emerson is a bandit.”
Masters wheeled to take a long stride toward Kalispel. “You heah thet?” he called.
“I’m not deaf, Masters.”
“Wal, what you got to say about it?”
“Leavitt is a damned liar.”
Again Masters faced the porch. Kalispel felt like a tiger about to leap. The Texan stood a little to the left, a good long jump distant, and his black guns hung in plain sight, as easy to draw as if they had been on Kalispel himself.
“Judge, I’ve heahed yore accusation. An’ I heard Emerson’s denial. I mean no offense when I say thet his word before the court is as good as yores. You’ll have to furnish proof.”
“That is what we propose to do,” rejoined Leavitt, loudly. “Keep quiet there in the crowd. This is a trial.... Jones, step forward.”
The smaller of the two men who had come out of the cabin with Leavitt strode forward to face the Vigilantes. He looked like any other middle-aged miner.
“State your evidence against this prisoner,” ordered Leavitt. “He robbed me,” returned Jones, in resonant, frank voice. “It happened at night, two weeks ago come Wednesday, just after six o’clock. I was comin’ from my claim in the dark. Just off one of them deserted tents down the crick a man stepped out behind me an’ jabbed a gun in my back. He asked for my dust. I had bags, one dust an’ the other nuggets. I gave them up.”
“Did you recognize Emerson?” asked the Judge.
“No, thet is, not his person. But I shore did his voice. I’d heard thet often.”
Masters turned to take another step in Kalispel’s direction. “What you say to thet?”
“Sheriff, it’s another rotten lie,” called Kalispel, piercingly. “An’ Jones couldn’t look at me with it, unless he knew I’d never get out of this alive.”
“Matthews, step forward,” ordered the Judge, to the second man, who was tall, pale-visaged, and less convincing. “State your case against the prisoner.”
“Emerson held me up, Jedge,” replied Matthews. “It was last Saturday night, at about half after eight. It was right in town. An’ he stepped out of the shadow of Spence’s store.
He had a scarf over his face, but it slipped down a ways when he was friskin’ me. An’ I recognized him easy. He took my gold, watch, an’ guns.”
“Matthews, you say this occurred last Saturday night at half-past eight, and that you recognized Emerson perfectly?” queried the Judge.
“Yes, sir.”
Leavitt waived the witness aside and again attended to the sheriff. “Masters, that seems conclusive to me. There’s no doubt in my mind Emerson is guilty of all these hold-ups, and shootings, too.... I’ll put it to a vote.”
“Never mind havin’ yore vigilantes vote yet,” returned Masters, with sarcasm. “The trial ain’t over.”
He faced around to Kalispel, the third time with unobtrusive step.
“Kalispel, you heahed?”
“Yes.”
“An’ I reckon thet’s another lie?”
“It shore is.”
“Wal, it sounded fishy to me,” replied the Texan. “An’ if you can recall shore jest where you was on Saturday night at half-past eight, I’ll take yore word for it.”
“I was—” began Kalispel, readily, when suddenly he remembered that on the hour in question Sydney Blair was alone with him in his cabin.
“Wal, speak up, an’ make it plain to this listenin’ crowd,” said Masters, impatiently.
Kalispel let out a hard laugh. It did not make any difference to Leavitt and his Vigilantes whether he cleared himself or not. And in another moment he would be leaping for Masters’ guns.
“Sorry, old-timer,” his voice rang out. “I reckon I can’t remember.”
“There,” flashed Leavitt, his hand extended shaking. “Condemned by his own lips!”
The crowd stirred to restless shifting of feet and sibilant whispers. Then Kalispel was transfixed at sight of Sydney Blair running in to face Leavitt.
“Rand Leavitt,” she cried, in her high tones that pierced to every listening ear in the multitude, “Your tool, Matthews, has not condemned Emerson, but himself as a liar — and you as a worse one!”
“What?” hissed Leavitt, leaping up, to lean forward with purpling face. The surprise had penetrated his armor.
“Kalispel Emerson absolutely could not have robbed Matthews last Saturday night, at half-past eight,” rang Sydney’s voice, vibrant with righteous anger.
“And why not?” shouted Leavitt, furiously.
“Because he was with me — in his cabin!”
It was then that the jealous lover took precedence over the presiding judge.
“In his cabin... alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“Sydney Blair! — You?... My promised wife!... What — why were you there?”
“I went there to tell him what a villain you are — to tell him I had broken my engagement with you... to beg him to — to forgive me and take me back again!”
The transformation that swift, poignant speech wrought in Leavitt was monstrous to behold. The suave gentleman, the confident mining-boss, the cold, grim judge went into eclipse. And a malignant, mouthing, passion-ridden devil leaped off the porch.
“Look there, woman!” he shouted, strident with hate, as he pointed with quivering finger at the scaffold. “You shall see your lover hanged!”
This seemed to Kalispel to be the moment for him to leap for Masters’ guns, kill the maddened Leavitt, and then turn loose his fire upon his captors. But Sydney stood in the way. There would be other shooting beside his, a wild tumult, pandemonium. He da
red not risk harm to her. Masters edged back toward him. There was time. He would wait. “Men! Seize him,” yelled Leavitt. “By God! he hangs!” The answer was a woman’s piercing cry, whether Sydney’s or another’s Kalispel never knew. And at the same instant the solid ground shook under his feet.
“Hell’s fire!” shrieked a vigilante, suddenly gone crazy. “The mountain! The mountain!... Run for your lives!”
Chapter Fifteen
Every spectator looked. The vast slope was waving like a sea. And on the instant a groaning, straining rumble came from the depths. Far up, a whole bare ridge began to slide. “Avalanche!”
“A slide — a slide!”
“Thunder Mountain!”
These pregnant cries were drowned in the united yell of the crowd. And this was lost in a terrific thunder that came unmistakably from a mountain mass in movement.
Terror clapped on Kalispel, but when he saw Sydney sway and fall he leaped out of his paralysis to snatch her up in his arms and back away from the awesome spectacle.
The vigilantes were in full flight with the rest of the crowd. Masters passed Kalispel, yelling words that could not be heard. Leavitt had run from the lee of the cabin to look up and see the slow, waving descent of sections of slope, of ridges and mounds. The earth seemed shaken to its core. Thunder that was not thunder filled the air.
Leavitt seemed suddenly bereft of his senses. He dashed a few steps after the crowd only to whirl and dash back. No sense of escape actuated him. He bounded up on the porch and into the cabin.
What had been rumble and thunder died in a crash as if the earth were rent asunder. A great slide piled down on Leavitt’s mill, crushing, shoving, covering the chutes, and at last, as if by magic, obliterating the mill. Out of the thick rolling mass of mud huge balls of dry earth broke to let out puffs of dust.
The mill was gone and with it went the splintering crash. Hoarse shouts of men, sounding far away, pierced Kalispel’s ears. He backed against a boulder, still holding the girl, who appeared to be regaining consciousness. Masters stood by him, holding his arm, shouting Kalispel knew not what. The spectacle fascinated them, and when Leavitt appeared in the door of his cabin, acting like a man bereft of his senses, they were rooted to the spot.