by Frank Norris
“No — no — no violence, no UNNECESSARY violence, that is. I should hate to have innocent blood on my hands — that is, if it IS innocent. I don’t know, that S. Behrman — ah, he is a — a — surely he had innocent blood on HIS head. That Dyke affair, terrible, terrible; but then Dyke WAS in the wrong — driven to it, though; the Railroad did drive him to it. I want to be fair and just to everybody.”
“There’s a team coming up the road from Los Muertos,” announced Presley from the door.
“Fair and just to everybody,” murmured old Broderson, wagging his head, frowning perplexedly. “I don’t want to — to — to harm anybody unless they harm me.”
“Is the team going towards Guadalajara?” enquired Garnett, getting up and coming to the door.
“Yes, it’s a Portuguese, one of the garden truck men.”
“We must turn him back,” declared Osterman. “He can’t go through here. We don’t want him to take any news on to the marshal and S. Behrman.”
“I’ll turn him back,” said Presley.
He rode out towards the market cart, and the others, watching from the road in front of Hooven’s, saw him halt it. An excited interview followed. They could hear the Portuguese expostulating volubly, but in the end he turned back.
“Martial law on Los Muertos, isn’t it?” observed Osterman. “Steady all,” he exclaimed as he turned about, “here comes Harran.”
Harran rode up at a gallop. The others surrounded him.
“I saw them,” he cried. “They are coming this way. S. Behrman and Ruggles are in a two-horse buggy. All the others are on horseback. There are eleven of them. Christian and Delaney are with them. Those two have rifles. I left Hooven watching them.”
“Better call in Gethings and Cutter right away,” said Annixter. “We’ll need all our men.”
“I’ll call them in,” Presley volunteered at once. “Can I have the buckskin? My pony is about done up.”
He departed at a brisk gallop, but on the way met Gethings and Cutter returning. They, too, from their elevated position, had observed the marshal’s party leaving Guadalajara by the Lower Road. Presley told them of the decision of the Leaguers not to fire until fired upon.
“All right,” said Gethings. “But if it comes to a gun-fight, that means it’s all up with at least one of us. Delaney never misses his man.”
When they reached Hooven’s again, they found that the Leaguers had already taken their position in the ditch. The plank bridge across it had been torn up. Magnus, two long revolvers lying on the embankment in front of him, was in the middle, Harran at his side. On either side, some five feet intervening between each man, stood the other Leaguers, their revolvers ready. Dabney, the silent old man, had taken off his coat.
“Take your places between Mr. Osterman and Mr. Broderson,” said Magnus, as the three men rode up. “Presley,” he added, “I forbid you to take any part in this affair.”
“Yes, keep him out of it,” cried Annixter from his position at the extreme end of the line. “Go back to Hooven’s house, Pres, and look after the horses,” he added. “This is no business of yours. And keep the road behind us clear. Don’t let ANY ONE come near, not ANY ONE, understand?”
Presley withdrew, leading the buckskin and the horses that Gethings and Cutter had ridden. He fastened them under the great live oak and then came out and stood in the road in front of the house to watch what was going on.
In the ditch, shoulder deep, the Leaguers, ready, watchful, waited in silence, their eyes fixed on the white shimmer of the road leading to Guadalajara.
“Where’s Hooven?” enquired Cutter.
“I don’t know,” Osterman replied. “He was out watching the Lower Road with Harran Derrick. Oh, Harran,” he called, “isn’t Hooven coming in?”
“I don’t know what he is waiting for,” answered Harran. “He was to have come in just after me. He thought maybe the marshal’s party might make a feint in this direction, then go around by the Upper Road, after all. He wanted to watch them a little longer. But he ought to be here now.”
“Think he’ll take a shot at them on his own account?”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that.”
“Maybe they took him prisoner.”
“Well, that’s to be thought of, too.”
Suddenly there was a cry. Around the bend of the road in front of them came a cloud of dust. From it emerged a horse’s head.
“Hello, hello, there’s something.”
“Remember, we are not to fire first.”
“Perhaps that’s Hooven; I can’t see. Is it? There only seems to be one horse.”
“Too much dust for one horse.”
Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to his eyes.
“That’s not them,” he announced presently, “nor Hooven either. That’s a cart.” Then after another moment, he added, “The butcher’s cart from Guadalajara.”
The tension was relaxed. The men drew long breaths, settling back in their places.
“Do we let him go on, Governor?”
“The bridge is down. He can’t go by and we must not let him go back. We shall have to detain him and question him. I wonder the marshal let him pass.”
The cart approached at a lively trot.
“Anybody else in that cart, Mr. Annixter?” asked Magnus. “Look carefully. It may be a ruse. It is strange the marshal should have let him pass.”
The Leaguers roused themselves again. Osterman laid his hand on his revolver.
“No,” called Annixter, in another instant, “no, there’s only one man in it.”
The cart came up, and Cutter and Phelps, clambering from the ditch, stopped it as it arrived in front of the party.
“Hey — what — what?” exclaimed the young butcher, pulling up. “Is that bridge broke?”
But at the idea of being held, the boy protested at top voice, badly frightened, bewildered, not knowing what was to happen next.
“No, no, I got my meat to deliver. Say, you let me go. Say, I ain’t got nothing to do with you.”
He tugged at the reins, trying to turn the cart about. Cutter, with his jack-knife, parted the reins just back of the bit.
“You’ll stay where you are, m’ son, for a while. We’re not going to hurt you. But you are not going back to town till we say so. Did you pass anybody on the road out of town?”
In reply to the Leaguers’ questions, the young butcher at last told them he had passed a two-horse buggy and a lot of men on horseback just beyond the railroad tracks. They were headed for Los Muertos.
“That’s them, all right,” muttered Annixter. “They’re coming by this road, sure.”
The butcher’s horse and cart were led to one side of the road, and the horse tied to the fence with one of the severed lines. The butcher, himself, was passed over to Presley, who locked him in Hooven’s barn.
“Well, what the devil,” demanded Osterman, “has become of Bismarck?”
In fact, the butcher had seen nothing of Hooven. The minutes were passing, and still he failed to appear.
“What’s he up to, anyways?”
“Bet you what you like, they caught him. Just like that crazy Dutchman to get excited and go too near. You can always depend on Hooven to lose his head.”
Five minutes passed, then ten. The road towards Guadalajara lay empty, baking and white under the sun.
“Well, the marshal and S. Behrman don’t seem to be in any hurry, either.”
“Shall I go forward and reconnoitre, Governor?” asked Harran.
But Dabney, who stood next to Annixter, touched him on the shoulder and, without speaking, pointed down the road. Annixter looked, then suddenly cried out:
“Here comes Hooven.”
The German galloped into sight, around the turn of the road, his rifle laid across his saddle. He came on rapidly, pulled up, and dismounted at the ditch.
“Dey’re commen,” he cried, trembling with excitement. “I watch um long
dime bei der side oaf der roadt in der busches. Dey shtop bei der gate oder side der relroadt trecks and talk long dime mit one n’udder. Den dey gome on. Dey’re gowun sure do zum monkey-doodle pizeness. Me, I see Gritschun put der kertridges in his guhn. I tink dey gowun to gome MY blace first. Dey gowun to try put me off, tek my home, bei Gott.”
“All right, get down in here and keep quiet, Hooven. Don’t fire unless — —”
“Here they are.”
A half-dozen voices uttered the cry at once.
There could be no mistake this time. A buggy, drawn by two horses, came into view around the curve of the road. Three riders accompanied it, and behind these, seen at intervals in a cloud of dust were two — three — five — six others.
This, then, was S. Behrman with the United States marshal and his posse. The event that had been so long in preparation, the event which it had been said would never come to pass, the last trial of strength, the last fight between the Trust and the People, the direct, brutal grapple of armed men, the law defied, the Government ignored, behold, here it was close at hand.
Osterman cocked his revolver, and in the profound silence that had fallen upon the scene, the click was plainly audible from end to end of the line.
“Remember our agreement, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, in a warning voice. “Mr. Osterman, I must ask you to let down the hammer of your weapon.”
No one answered. In absolute quiet, standing motionless in their places, the Leaguers watched the approach of the marshal.
Five minutes passed. The riders came on steadily. They drew nearer. The grind of the buggy wheels in the grit and dust of the road, and the prolonged clatter of the horses’ feet began to make itself heard. The Leaguers could distinguish the faces of their enemies.
In the buggy were S. Behrman and Cyrus Ruggles, the latter driving. A tall man in a frock coat and slouched hat — the marshal, beyond question — rode at the left of the buggy; Delaney, carrying a Winchester, at the right. Christian, the real estate broker, S. Behrman’s cousin, also with a rifle, could be made out just behind the marshal. Back of these, riding well up, was a group of horsemen, indistinguishable in the dust raised by the buggy’s wheels.
Steadily the distance between the Leaguers and the posse diminished.
“Don’t let them get too close, Governor,” whispered Harran.
When S. Behrman’s buggy was about one hundred yards distant from the irrigating ditch, Magnus sprang out upon the road, leaving his revolvers behind him. He beckoned Garnett and Gethings to follow, and the three ranchers, who, with the exception of Broderson, were the oldest men present, advanced, without arms, to meet the marshal.
Magnus cried aloud:
“Halt where you are.”
From their places in the ditch, Annixter, Osterman, Dabney, Harran, Hooven, Broderson, Cutter, and Phelps, their hands laid upon their revolvers, watched silently, alert, keen, ready for anything.
At the Governor’s words, they saw Ruggles pull sharply on the reins. The buggy came to a standstill, the riders doing likewise. Magnus approached the marshal, still followed by Garnett and Gethings, and began to speak. His voice was audible to the men in the ditch, but his words could not be made out. They heard the marshal reply quietly enough and the two shook hands. Delaney came around from the side of the buggy, his horse standing before the team across the road. He leaned from the saddle, listening to what was being said, but made no remark. From time to time, S. Behrman and Ruggles, from their seats in the buggy, interposed a sentence or two into the conversation, but at first, so far as the Leaguers could discern, neither Magnus nor the marshal paid them any attention. They saw, however, that the latter repeatedly shook his head and once they heard him exclaim in a loud voice:
“I only know my duty, Mr. Derrick.”
Then Gethings turned about, and seeing Delaney close at hand, addressed an unheard remark to him. The cow-puncher replied curtly and the words seemed to anger Gethings. He made a gesture, pointing back to the ditch, showing the intrenched Leaguers to the posse. Delaney appeared to communicate the news that the Leaguers were on hand and prepared to resist, to the other members of the party. They all looked toward the ditch and plainly saw the ranchers there, standing to their arms.
But meanwhile Ruggles had addressed himself more directly to Magnus, and between the two an angry discussion was going forward. Once even Harran heard his father exclaim:
“The statement is a lie and no one knows it better than yourself.”
“Here,” growled Annixter to Dabney, who stood next him in the ditch, “those fellows are getting too close. Look at them edging up. Don’t Magnus see that?”
The other members of the marshal’s force had come forward from their places behind the buggy and were spread out across the road. Some of them were gathered about Magnus, Garnett, and Gethings; and some were talking together, looking and pointing towards the ditch. Whether acting upon signal or not, the Leaguers in the ditch could not tell, but it was certain that one or two of the posse had moved considerably forward. Besides this, Delaney had now placed his horse between Magnus and the ditch, and two others riding up from the rear had followed his example. The posse surrounded the three ranchers, and by now, everybody was talking at once.
“Look here,” Harran called to Annixter, “this won’t do. I don’t like the looks of this thing. They all seem to be edging up, and before we know it they may take the Governor and the other men prisoners.”
“They ought to come back,” declared Annixter.
“Somebody ought to tell them that those fellows are creeping up.”
By now, the angry argument between the Governor and Ruggles had become more heated than ever. Their voices were raised; now and then they made furious gestures.
“They ought to come back,” cried Osterman. “We couldn’t shoot now if anything should happen, for fear of hitting them.”
“Well, it sounds as though something were going to happen pretty soon.”
They could hear Gethings and Delaney wrangling furiously; another deputy joined in.
“I’m going to call the Governor back,” exclaimed Annixter, suddenly clambering out of the ditch. “No, no,” cried Osterman, “keep in the ditch. They can’t drive us out if we keep here.”
Hooven and Harran, who had instinctively followed Annixter, hesitated at Osterman’s words and the three halted irresolutely on the road before the ditch, their weapons in their hands.
“Governor,” shouted Harran, “come on back. You can’t do anything.”
Still the wrangle continued, and one of the deputies, advancing a little from out the group, cried out:
“Keep back there! Keep back there, you!”
“Go to hell, will you?” shouted Harran on the instant. “You’re on my land.”
“Oh, come back here, Harran,” called Osterman. “That ain’t going to do any good.”
“There — listen,” suddenly exclaimed Harran. “The Governor is calling us. Come on; I’m going.”
Osterman got out of the ditch and came forward, catching Harran by the arm and pulling him back.
“He didn’t call. Don’t get excited. You’ll ruin everything. Get back into the ditch again.”
But Cutter, Phelps, and the old man Dabney, misunderstanding what was happening, and seeing Osterman leave the ditch, had followed his example. All the Leaguers were now out of the ditch, and a little way down the road, Hooven, Osterman, Annixter, and Harran in front, Dabney, Phelps, and Cutter coming up from behind.
“Keep back, you,” cried the deputy again.
In the group around S. Behrman’s buggy, Gethings and Delaney were yet quarrelling, and the angry debate between Magnus, Garnett, and the marshal still continued.
Till this moment, the real estate broker, Christian, had taken no part in the argument, but had kept himself in the rear of the buggy. Now, however, he pushed forward. There was but little room for him to pass, and, as he rode by the buggy, his horse scraped his flank against the
hub of the wheel. The animal recoiled sharply, and, striking against Garnett, threw him to the ground. Delaney’s horse stood between the buggy and the Leaguers gathered on the road in front of the ditch; the incident, indistinctly seen by them, was misinterpreted.
Garnett had not yet risen when Hooven raised a great shout:
“HOCH, DER KAISER! HOCH, DER VATERLAND!”
With the words, he dropped to one knee, and sighting his rifle carefully, fired into the group of men around the buggy.
Instantly the revolvers and rifles seemed to go off of themselves. Both sides, deputies and Leaguers, opened fire simultaneously. At first, it was nothing but a confused roar of explosions; then the roar lapsed to an irregular, quick succession of reports, shot leaping after shot; then a moment’s silence, and, last of all, regular as clock-ticks, three shots at exact intervals. Then stillness.
Delaney, shot through the stomach, slid down from his horse, and, on his hands and knees, crawled from the road into the standing wheat. Christian fell backward from the saddle toward the buggy, and hung suspended in that position, his head and shoulders on the wheel, one stiff leg still across his saddle. Hooven, in attempting to rise from his kneeling position, received a rifle ball squarely in the throat, and rolled forward upon his face. Old Broderson, crying out, “Oh, they’ve shot me, boys,” staggered sideways, his head bent, his hands rigid at his sides, and fell into the ditch. Osterman, blood running from his mouth and nose, turned about and walked back. Presley helped him across the irrigating ditch and Osterman laid himself down, his head on his folded arms. Harran Derrick dropped where he stood, turning over on his face, and lay motionless, groaning terribly, a pool of blood forming under his stomach. The old man Dabney, silent as ever, received his death, speechless. He fell to his knees, got up again, fell once more, and died without a word. Annixter, instantly killed, fell his length to the ground, and lay without movement, just as he had fallen, one arm across his face.
CHAPTER VII
On their way to Derrick’s ranch house, Hilma and Mrs. Derrick heard the sounds of distant firing.
“Stop!” cried Hilma, laying her hand upon young Vacca’s arm. “Stop the horses. Listen, what was that?”