Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “I’ll do thet now, Starr,” returned Sloan. “But be reasonable. Things looked queer. Circumstantial evidence, you know.... An’ Miss Madge! — she believed Sidway was one of them. You should have seen her — heard her call him.”

  “My — Gawd!” gasped Starr, totally overcome by that information.

  At last Nels broke silence: “Gene, I knowed thet cowboy would hev his chance. It jest worked oot thet way. An’ I’d gamble my bunk in heaven on his honesty, an’ his nerve an’ sense to beat thet gang. He knew we’d be on his trail. Why, the last thing he said was, in case, look fer his tracks. Them gangsters air tenderfeet. Once up in the hills they’ll be lost, an’ easy fer thet slick cowboy. He’ll lay fer his chance, an’ as shore as we’re right heah he’ll hold them somehow till we come, or get away with her, or do something to save her from them.”

  “Boss, thet’s it — one of Nels’ hunches,” affirmed Starr. “But, my Gawd, we got to rustle!”

  “Sloan, you boys will go with us,” asserted Stewart.

  “You bet your life!”

  “Nels, we’ll cut off the trail halfway up, and work round to the west side of Cochise’s stronghold. We might get there ahead of them. It’ll be a drill for tenderfeet. They’ll be all in. We’ve got time. We must make it before dark.... Now, all of you — ride!”

  * * * * *

  Riders and horses were wet with sweat, and practically spent when that long climb up the mountain had been accomplished by sundown. A halt was made in the deep forest west of Cochise’s stronghold, at a point they all agreed was scarcely a half mile from the clearing.

  “Ketch your — breath, fellers,” panted Nels, as he removed his chaps.

  “Men, in case they’re here...” began Stewart.

  “They air heah,” interrupted Nels. “Didn’t we foller their tracks over two thirds of thet trail? Didn’t Sloan ketch two of his hawses makin’ fer home? Sidway would make the gang stop heah, even if it wasn’t the logical camp.”

  “All — right, then,” Stewart rasped. “We’ll slip up on them. Then what?”

  “Stewart, they’re gangsters with machine guns. I’d say shoot ’em down on sight.”

  “Hell, yes,” agreed Starr.

  “Wal, I don’t know,” added Nels, ponderingly. “Shore we never — dealt with any of this ilk — before. I’d say hold ’em up. If they don’t hold up pronto then bore ’em.”

  “By all means before they can turn machine guns loose in our direction,” replied Stewart, grimly. “But I want to talk to these hombres first — and then see them kick at the end of a rope.”

  “Boss, it’s a better idee at thet,” agreed Ren, savagely. “But my gun finger is shore itchin’.... If we only find — Madge alive an’ unharmed.”

  “We will — shore,” declared Nels, passionately. “I may hev lived to be old an’ soft, but somehow I gamble on Sidway. He loves thet girl an’ he’ll ootwit the slickest kidnapers there ever was.”

  “Nels, that faith has kept me from collapse. First time in my life I’ve weakened. But it’s — my girl!” exclaimed Stewart, low and thick under his breath.

  “Come on,” ended Nels. “Keep even an’ in sight of each other. No noise!”

  A pine-thicketed slope led up to the gray crags. They entered the mountain enclosure through a gateway between the huge monuments of stone. The clearing lay beneath Stewart’s strained eyes, a green and gold park marked by great pines scattered about, and shining with appalling beauty under the sunset glow. A thin column of blue smoke halfway across made Stewart’s heart leap. Ren pointed to a roan horse grazing in the open meadow, and Sloan whispered that it was his horse Baldy.

  At a motion from Nels they stealthily began their approach down to the level. Every few rods Nels halted to listen. Stewart could hear only the sough of the wind in the pines, and the murmur of distant running water. The place seemed locked in an unearthly silence.

  Suddenly Ren startled Stewart and all of them. He held up a pregnant hand.

  “I heah voices,” he whispered.

  He must have possessed extraordinarily sharp ears, for all of his companions shook their heads. Hardly had they started forward again when the boom of a gun made them statues. They listened with bated breath.

  “No forty-five Colt,” whispered Stewart.

  “Sidway packs a forty-four Smith an’ Wesson. Sounded like it,” replied Nels. “Come on, we gotta see this.”

  Before they had taken a dozen swift steps a rattling biting volley halted them.

  “Machine gun!” whispered Sloan, in great excitement. “Have I heard them? I’m tellin’ you!”

  The continuous volley appeared to come from their right down the trail. Accompanying the rattling was a swishing cut of bullets through foliage and then a pattering on solid wood. It ceased. And Ren leaped up in the air, trying to see over the green brush.

  “Heah ’em? — Hawse hoofs!”

  “Shore as Gawd made little apples!” ejaculated Sloan.

  Stewart was quick to catch a soft rapid thud of hoofs, a crash of brush, a cracking of dead twigs, then thudding hoofbeats dying away.

  “Thet was when, Gene!” hissed Nels, his gray eyes like points of flame, and he motioned them on.

  Despite the intense suspense, Nels had the cool judgment to advance very slowly, without the slightest sound. Stewart swallowed his harrowing fears and doubts. Then swift footfalls close in front made him, and all of them, aware of the nearness of the trail. Nels crouched down and stealthily separated the small pines to slip through. Starr followed suit, as did the others to left and right. Stewart saw the roof of the old cabin over the tips of the brush.

  “Flemm!” shouted a hoarse voice. “What happened?”

  “He crowned me,” replied another man, hotly.

  “Who? Not Stevens?”

  “No. It was that two-timin’ cowboy. He lied about seeing horses down the trail. Ruse to get rid of you. Then he beaned me.”

  “That shot in the cabin?”

  “I didn’t hear any.”

  “You know Uhl went in the cabin to the girl?”

  “Yes. I saw that.”

  “Well, there was a shot in there, all right. Sidway went in and bumped Bee off. That’s it. For I saw the cowboy come out with the girl in his arms and jump on his horse. I let loose my gun, but I was running — and didn’t connect.”

  The faces of Nels and Ren appeared to shine upon Stewart, a singular transformation from grim dark passion to an ecstasy of gladness. Stewart felt the same so powerfully that he was overcome. But his tremendous relief was counteracted by a hateful query — had Sidway gotten in that cabin in time? Again Stewart’s passion to rend and slay dominated him. He crawled softly after the others, until he bumped into them.

  They had arrived at the edge of the clearing. Ren’s hard hand pressed Stewart’s shoulder. Peering through the foliage he saw that they were scarcely fifty yards from the campfire. Two bareheaded young men, with corded livid faces, stood facing each other. Both held machine guns. The taller, a dark-haired individual, was bending his head to the other, no doubt for examination. Beyond them on the ground sat young Stevens, apparently uninjured, but plainly shocked with terror. Then on the moment the gangsters whirled at a piercing shout from the cabin. A third man appeared, a slim-built fellow, with a bloody face. He staggered toward them, a ghastly spectacle, but assuredly instinct with life and desperation. His curses rang through the forest clearing. Then he confronted the astounded gangsters.

  “That —— fake cowboy shot me... got away with her!” he yelled, wildly. “I’ll kill you both — you —— hop-heads! What in hell were you doing?”

  “He fooled us, Bee,” replied Flemm. “Made us believe he saw horses. Sent Fox down the trail. Then he crowned me.”

  “I wish to God he’d smashed your empty pan!”

  “Looks like he emptied yours. Better let us wash you off. Looks like what you used for brains is oozing away.”

  “It’s only blood. He
grooved me... here... Christ, how it burns! — Wipe me off.”

  Fox laid down his gun and picked up a towel from the pack. He dipped it in a water bucket, and wiped off the blood to disclose to the watchers the visage of a white, hard-faced criminal whose passion and experience seemed greatly beyond his years.

  “HANDS UP!” thundered Nels.

  “Stick ’em up, gangsters!” rang out Starr’s voice.

  Uhl and Fox lost not a second in elevating their hands. But Flemm whirled with his machine gun bursting into flame and rattle. Almost instantly his distorted visage went blank and he pitched forward. The machine gun sputtered into the ground, scattering gravel, then fell from the gangster’s stretching hands. Stewart saw smoke issuing from Starr’s rifle. Then Nels, gun low, ran out, to be followed by the cowboys. Mains came out from the right. When Stewart emerged from the foliage Sloan was disarming the gangsters.

  “Heah, gimme thet rope, Spencer,” yelped Starr. Receiving it he spread the noose, and pitched it deftly over Uhl’s head. The gangster had courage or else he did not get the significance of Starr’s move.

  “Wait, Ren!” ordered Stewart, and strode over to Stevens. “Are you all right, boy?”

  “Yes — sir. I — guess so,” faltered Stevens. “Thank God. I was about — dead of fright.”

  “Sidway made off with Madge?”

  “He did, sir, but — but...”

  “Was she — all right... too?” queried Stewart, hoarsely.

  “I’m afraid — not.... I heard her fighting — him!” And Stevens pointed a shaking finger at Uhl. “She’d fainted — or was dead — when Sidway got on his horse with her.... But, Mr. Stewart — even if she was alive — she’s as bad off with him... for he’s one of — these gangsters!”

  “Yeah, that’s correct,” interposed Uhl, darkly. “Sidway belongs to Cork’s snatch gang. He tricked me. He wants the ransom and the girl for himself. I’ll get him for that if it costs me a hundred grand.”

  “Haw! Haw!” burst out Sloan, sardonically.

  “Gangster,” added Stewart, coldly. “If you knew Westerners you would not concern yourself about that.”

  Ren Starr confronted Rollie Stevens. “Say, did I heah you make a crack about Sidway bein’ one of this outfit?”

  “Yes, you did. He’s hand in glove with these kidnapers. And he has betrayed them. He’s...”

  “Shet up, you white-mugged college dude! What’d you go to college fer? Haven’t you any sense? My pard saved the girl.”

  “You’re a thickheaded fool.”

  “I reckon I’ll have to bat you one...”

  “Hold on, Ren,” interrupted Stewart, sternly. “Make allowance for circumstances. It does look strange. But we’ll clear it up presently.”

  The gangster Flemm was dead, shot through the center of the forehead. Stewart ordered Sloan to take charge of the machine guns, and Starr to search the gangsters. Nels stood with his gun on Uhl, and not for many years had Stewart seen such an expression on that lean face. Then Stewart strode to the cabin and went in. There was a pile of spruce brush on the floor, but it had not been disturbed. Searching around Stewart saw tracks of Madge’s little feet in the dust, and he could read from them that she had run and fought. He also found a splotch of blood in a depression, where no doubt Uhl had fallen, and had lain until he came to. There was little more to be learned in the cabin. The dreadful pang in Stewart’s breast did not subside. But how grateful he was that Madge was alive and in the keeping of a man!

  Upon Stewart’s return to the group, Ren pointed to several automatic pistols evidently salvaged from the gangsters’ effects.

  “You boys can have those. Save Uhl’s for Sidway. I imagine he’d like to keep it.”

  “How about these, Boss?” asked Ren, and handed Stewart several wads of greenbacks. On one, the outside wrapper had a denomination of one thousand.

  “Peep into thet, Boss. All the same. What these guys call grands.”

  “Well! — These gentlemen seem to deal in large numbers, said Gene, sarcastically.

  “Stewart, that dough is yours if you pass up this snatch,” said Uhl, suavely. He seemed to lack comprehension and fear. And his assurance, even before the grim and silent Nels, was remarkable, and could have come only from supreme egoism and ignorance. Stewart knew that no power on earth or in heaven could stay Nels’ hand. These vultures had dared to frighten, and probably harm, Nels’ one treasure, and that had been Madge since she had first ridden his knee.

  “Thanks, Uhl. You can afford to be generous, for you won’t need that money where you are going.”

  “Boss, he doesn’t get it,” declared Starr, contemptuously. “Let me hev the fun of tellin’ him.” And the cowboy gave the lasso a jerk that made the noose close up like a snake round Uhl’s neck. The gangster spread the noose and flung it off his head.

  “Cowboy, I never forget faces,” he snarled. “I’ve put men on the spot for less than that.”

  “For the love of Mike!” shrilled Starr, astounded and resentful. “Boss! — Nels! — Danny! Did you heah this guy? He’d put me on the spot!”

  Stewart realized that his comrades as well as he were profoundly impressed by this new type of desperado. Absolutely, Uhl was convinced he would get out of this predicament. His ally, Fox, was an older man and less assured. No doubt he had always been a tool. Uhl, young as he was, indubitably had been used to imperious and unlimited power.

  “Say, you opium-eatin’ nut, air you so dotty you think you’ll get out of this?” yelled Starr, red in the face. It struck Stewart that the cowboy voiced a tremendous antagonism toward the cold-faced, steel-eyed gangster, while Nels maintained a silent ruthlessness. Stewart knew Uhl was as good as dead, yet had not the slightest divination of it. Stewart felt that he had an intense curiosity about this species of gunman. His own inflexible hate, now that fear for Madge had somewhat subsided, was controllable.

  “Let me talk to this hombre, Ren.... You boys tie up the other one,” he said, as he stepped close to the gangster. Nels had never swerved his gun an inch from its first deadly alignment. “Uhl, you implicate Sidway in this kidnaping of my daughter. How come?”

  “He’s a scout for Cork. I know that bird. I met Sidway in Yuma. He drove one of my booze trucks.”

  “Ahuh. One of those trucks you sent back with stolen cattle, eh?”

  “Me steal cattle? That’s a kick,” replied Uhl, with a laugh of contempt.

  “All the same your drivers did, probably on the sly. Sidway drove an empty truck to Tucson. It had been full of cattle. He was held up by men who expected to find bootleg whisky. Later this truck and others like it parked off the highway near my ranch to be loaded with stolen cattle. They got away with one load. Sidway killed one of your men.”

  Uhl gave vent to a rage that convinced Stewart of his innocence of complicity in the raid. Such curses Stewart had never heard in the dens of the frontier.

  “What’s more, Sidway is not what you think him,” went on Stewart. “He’s just a slick cowboy. He knew you — outguessed you — led you up here to your death.”

  “He was going to kidnap Madge himself,” snapped Uhl, but his certainty seemed weakening.

  “Your mistake. Why would he want to kidnap her when he’s going to marry her?”

  That random shot of Stewart’s broke down the gangster’s stubborn convictions and betrayed the terrible nature of the man. If he were capable of love for a woman, he must have felt it for Madge Stewart. At any rate Stewart decided the gangster had been obsessed with some violent passion for Madge and that an insane jealousy possessed him.

  “Marry her — yeah?” he choked out, his face purple, his neck convulsed, his eyes not those of a human. “He’s welcome — to the rag — I made her!”

  Stewart knocked him flat, but had the self-possession to turn aside Nels’ quivering gun. It seemed impossible, however, to control Starr, and suddenly Stewart had no desire to. Starr dragged the gangster to his feet.

  “You bas
tard,” he hissed, his visage gray and set. “You’ll never live — to brag of thet again!”

  “Stand aside, Ren,” ordered Nels, piercingly.

  “No, Nels, you ain’t gonna bore him,” shouted Starr, hoarsely. “An’ we ain’t gonna hang him. We’ll hang his pard, an’ make him look on, but by Gawd! I owe somethin’ to myself heah!”

  Starr slipped the noose over Fox’s head and jerking it tight he threw the end of the lasso over a sturdy pine branch, and caught it coming down. “Heah, Sloan, an’ you Spencers! Get in on this. An’, young feller, grab hold of this rope behind me, an’ pull, if you’re half a man.... If you don’t I’ll beat hell oot of you.... PULL!... Ahah! Them yells choked off! Yellow clear through!... There, tie the end, Sloan.”

  Stewart averted his eyes, but he could not escape the grotesque jumping-jack shadow on the ground, or the expulsion of breath from the condemned and executioners, the scrape of boots and jangle of spurs, and lastly the incredible spectacle of Stevens hauling on the lasso. For the moment the collegian had answered to primal instincts, and his red visage was as beastly as those of his fellows.

  But suddenly Stewart swerved his attention to Uhl. The gangster had watched the hanging of his lieutenant, and his face, his look, his mien were vastly but incalculably transformed from what they had been.

  “What do you think of our necktie party, gangster?” demanded Ren, leering at him. “Thet’s how we do things in the West.... I’m jest damn sorry I cain’t hang you an’ watch you kick. But yore swagger gets my goat. So Mister Bee Uhl, kidnapin’ — bootleggin’ gangster gunman, you’re gonna go up agin my game!”

  “Heah, Ren — none of thet. Hang him,” said Nels, speaking for the first time.

  “Umpumm, old pard. I wonder you ask it.... Where’s thet popgun of his?” Ren snatched it up from the pack and held it gingerly in contempt. “What do you think of thet toy, Nels? These guys in the movies shoot through their coat pockets. Okay!... Where’s his coat?” Starr took that up and slipped the little automatic into the right coat pocket.