by Short, Luke;
Frank didn’t say anything.
Milabel swng into the saddle. “There’s one sure way to pull you off my neck,” Milabel said. “That’s to help you locate that spur. I’ll ride to Corb’s with you.”
“And throw in with his crew when we get there?” Frank asked dryly. “No, thanks.”
“You got two guns, I got none,” Milabel pointed out. “I may be able to save you some trouble with Corb.”
Frank hesitated a long time, pondering his chances. If Corb’s crew was there they wouldn’t be as docile as the Circle R crew. They’d fight. Now Corb and Milabel were partners of a sort, and it might be that Milabel could talk Corb into letting Frank look. It wouldn’t hurt to try.
“All right,” he said.
They arrived at Corb’s place at dust. The house seemed deserted, and Frank cautiously approached the place. They dismounted, and he made Milabel keep between him and the house. Achieving the front door, which was open, they entered and heard the soft snoring of a sleeping man. Frank looked into the front room and saw a man sleeping at the table, his head lying on his folded arms, an overturned bottle of whisky beside him. There was no other sound in the house.
Frank cursed softly, again remembering what Gus had said. Whoever owned the mended spur was wearing it. And Corb’s crew was gone. He went over to the sleeping man and knelt beside him. The puncher was not wearing spurs. Frank looked up at Milabel.
“Tough luck,” Milabel said. “You aim to wait till they ride in?”
“That’s right. I’ll look their stuff over now.”
Frank went upstairs and turned into the first room he came to, the corner room. It held an old iron bed on which was a tangle of dirty blankets. Clothes were strewn over the floor, and on the deerskin rug was a pair of pants. Frank moved them aside with his toe, and under them was a pair of boots. On the floor beside them were spurs.
Frank knelt and picked one up. As he examined the rowel his heart almost missed a beat. The stamping on the big rowel was like the one in his pocket. With trembling fingers he rose and lighted the lamp and set it on the floor. He compared the two rowels carefully. They were identical.
He dropped the one spur and picked up its mate. The rowel on the mate was different!
He turned the spur over and examined the shank. And there, behind the fork, was the welded place where the plain rowel and shank had been joined!
He took the stairs two at a time, ran past Milabel in the hall and into the room where the puncher was sleeping. He kicked the man’s chair out from under him, yanked him to his feet and slapped his face viciously. The man roused and tried to shield his face with his arms, and Frank slapped him again. Then he shoved the man to the door, into the hall, and kicked him up the stairs. The puncher, still three-quarters drunk, yelled and cursed and fought. Frank kicked him onto the landing, then picked him up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him into the room and stood him on his feet.
He shoved the pair of spurs in front of his eyes and said, “Who owns these?”
Slowly the puncher’s eyes focused. “Them spurs?” he asked thickly.
“Yes.”
“Where’d you find ’em?” the puncher asked.
“Here. In this room.”
“Must be Corb’s,” the puncher muttered. “He sleeps here.”
“Where is he?”
“Reno.”
Frank shoved the puncher toward the bed, ran past Milabel, who had come upstairs to watch, and took the stairs in two leaps. And Milabel, excitement in his eyes, was close on his heels.
Luvie had scarcely succeeded in calming her father down after Otey left before there was a loud knock on her room door. She opened to find Edith standing there.
“Luvie, where’s your dad?”
“Here,” Lavie said. “Where have you—”
Edith brushed past her and ran over to Barnes. “Come with me, Mr Barnes. We’ve got to see the colonel, and the soldiers won’t let us. They’re trying to keep Red off the grounds.”
“But what’s happened?”
“Get Major Corning and bring him out to the Darlington road!” Edith said excitedly. “He’ll come for you! Please hurry.”
Barnes, bewildered, nevertheless obeyed. He and Edith and Luvie hurried across the parade grounds to the administration building, where the lights were still burning. A sentry posted at the door of Major Corning’s office tried to stop them, but Barnes shoved him aside and threw open the door. Major Corning was talking to an officer, and he reared up at sight of them.
Edith brushed past Barnes and hurried to his desk. “Major Corning, come with me at once, please!”
“But why—where—”
“If you want to stop this Indian trouble come with me!”
Major Corning walked from behind his desk and followed Edith out of the room and outside, Luvie and Barnes trailing her. Edith led them around the building and out on the Darlington road. At the edge of the buildings there were two sentries, a lantern between them, standing in the middle of the road. Their rifles were leveled at Red, who stood with his hands on his hips holding the reins of two horses, his own and Edith’s.
Major Corning slowed up at sight of him, exasperation showing in his face. He said, “Now what’s this?”
“Listen careful,” Red said in a low, angry voice. “I ain’t goin’ to say it twice. Stone Bull, the old Cheyenne chief, has had the ringleaders of this uprisin’ in his lodge since noon. He’s been servin’ ’em Scott Corb’s trade whisky that I stole out of a cache. Edith Fairing and me have been talkin’ to them alongside of Stone Bull all afternoon, tryin’ to get ’em to change their minds. They were fightin’ mad when the whisky began to work, but they’re all right now.” He paused.
“They’re hog drunk and sleepin’. If you send a detail of soldiers with an ambulance to Stone Bull’s lodge, you can freight the whole bunch of ’em over to the guardhouse here, and your rebellion’s over.”
“Over?” Corning asked, his voice skeptical. “Do you think the arrest of a few will help us any?”
“Let me finish,” Red said. “Stone Bull says if you send your wisest officer into camp with some soldiers to back him up and tell the Cheyennes and Arapahos that the government is increasing their beef ration and that you’re holdin’ a special beef issue tomorrow, there won’t be any revolt. Them Indians are starvin’, Major! Arrest the leaders and feed the rest, and your trouble is over!”
Major Corning was silent a long moment, staring at Red in the lantern light. “If I thought I could believe you I’d—”
“Don’t believe me!” Red yelled angrily: “Believe her!” He pointed to Edith. “She’s been sittin’ in a lodge all day while them drunken Cheyennes threatened her with scalpin’ and torture and everything else! She’s the one to believe! Ask her!”
Major Corning wheeled to face Edith.
“Do it, Major Corning!” Edith said. “Believe me, I know those people! I know that Stone Bull and the others want peace and that once the ringleaders—Corb’s Indians—are arrested the trouble will be over. Arrest those leaders, promise the others food and keep your word! The uprising will be over then!”
Major Corning stared at her tense, beautiful face and then, forgetting all dignity, he wheeled and yelled to the officer watching them from a window of the administration building: “Brett, have assembly sounded! No, wait a minute!” And he turned and ran, major or no major.
And even as he was running there came the sound of gunfire from the sutler’s bar.
Chapter XIX
They were in sight of the sentries, soon to be challenged, when Milabel said again to Frank, “Sure you want to do this, Christian? You’ve got a price on your head, you’ve escaped, you’ve—”
Frank said quietly, “Get me past the sentries. I’ll worry about the rest of it.”
Milabel grunted. They pulled up at the sentry’s challenge, “Who goes there?”
“Chet Milabel, from the Circle R. This is one of my men.”
“All right, Milabel. Leave your horse with the troopers at the corral.”
They passed through the line and rode over to the corral behind the stable, where, in the darkness, they turned their horses over to a trooper who said, “You two didn’t get in none too soon.”
They walked through the long driveway of the stable and came out into the wagon yard. This, Frank remembered, was where he got his welcome to Fort Reno. That was from Corb too, he supposed.
Passing the office, they heard a scuffling back in the darkness of the wagon shed. Milabel glanced that way, but Frank stalked on. Suddenly someone yelled, “Frank!”
It was Otey’s voice. Frank stopped and turned. Otey called, “Wait a minute!” There was a loud, sickening thud, the sound of thinly padded bone on flesh, followed by the sound of body hitting the ground. A moment later Otey walked out of the darkness. His nose was bloody and there was a cut over his eye and his knuckles were raw, but he seemed oblivious to that. He came up to Frank, looking around him, strapping on his gun belt.
“Great lord, get out of sight!”
Frank said, “Is Corb in the post?”
“You damn fool, there’s two-three hundred men here with orders to kill you on sight!”
Frank wheeled and started walking toward the compound gate. Otey ran after him and grabbed him by the arm. “Frank, what is it?” he asked in a calm voice.
“Corb killed Morg, Otey. I found that spur, like Gus said. I found the mate to it and the mended one by Corb’s bed out at his place.”
Otey’s hand came away from Frank’s arm. “He’s in the saloon, Frank. Just play it careful, and I’ll back you.”
Milabel, at the gate, said, “Here’s where I drop out.”
Otey said, “You better stay out too.”
Frank said nothing. He mounted the porch and walked down the long length of it, his goal the saloon. At the window he hauled up and looked inside. The bar was less crowded now, but in the far corner, away from the window and in the angle made by the end of the bar, Corb still sat at his card game, his back to the wall, his face to the window.
Frank sized it up and knew he couldn’t get ten feet past the doorsill before he was gunned. He said to Otey, “You cover ’em from the door, Otey.”
He walked down to the end of the window, picked up a chair, raised it over his head and crashed it through the window in one great downraking sweep.
At the same time Otey lunged through the door and yelled: “Don’t’ nobody move!”
And then Frank stepped through the hole in the window, a gun hanging in his hand, and the room fell silent.
Corb half raised out of his seat at sight of Frank, his eyes wild, then settled slowly back into his chair.
Frank said, “Corb, stand up!” And his voice cut the silence like a whip.
After a long pause Corb came to his feet beside the angle of the bar.
“Walk out of that corner and come out through the door onto the porch. And when you hit the porch cut loose your dogs, because I know you killed Morg.”
Corb hesitated for one moment, took a step from behind the table, and when he was even with the bar he suddenly dived behind its shelter.
Frank swung up his gun and he saw he couldn’t shoot for the drinkers lining the bar. He lunged through the crowd, flinging men aside, and swung into the space behind the bar just in time to see Corb duck into the door to the dark store beyond the other end of the bar.
He ran down behind the bar, knocking the bartender against the back bar, and dived into the dark door of the store beyond just as Otey let his gun off at the ceiling and yelled: “Everybody stay put!”
Corb’s gun bellowed out, and a slug slapped into the door frame beside Frank. He moved over into the deep darkness of the store, and across the tables lined with goods he flipped two shots at Corb. He vaulted a table, saw a form move across the store again and shot once more. He had cut Corb off from retreating into the darker rear of the store. Now he had him between himself and the street lamps out on the parade grounds which glowed through the windows. Frank saw something move up ahead, and he shot again and heard the hammering of Corb’s feet as he ran. Suddenly a bolt of dress goods soared toward the window, and it jangled outward onto the porch, and then Corb, half crouching, dived through the hole in the window.
He was running for the edge of the porch just as Red, attracted by the shot, came pounding across the parade grounds, saw him by the aid of the street lamp and flipped two shots at him. Frank threw two more through the window, and more glass jangled.
For a split second Corb hesitated, then he ran down the porch. Frank vaulted through the broken window in time to see him duck into the stairway that raised to the hotel rooms on the second floor.
Frank took after him and swung into the stair well. Up at the top Corb’s form was just vanishing. Frank took the stairs three at a time, and Red swung in behind him, and Luvie, her skirts lifted, swung in behind Red.
Red yelled: “Careful comin’ up the top, Frank!”
Frank hit the top step and tripped and sprawled just as Corb’s gun cut loose from down the corridor. Frank threw a shot at him, and Corb ducked back into the L of the corridor, and Frank raced after him, listening to the distant pounding of Corb’s feet.
Red hit the stair landing, pulling a gun, and wheeled just in time to jab it into Luvie. Red’s mouth opened, then he grabbed her and pulled her out of sight just as the first of the barroom crowd, whom Otey could not hold any longer, hit the stair well below. Red shot down it twice and then heard the curses of the men below drifting up the stair well. One man shouted: “The back stairs! He can’t guard both!”
Luvie heard and she said, “Quick, Red! Give me a gun!”
“But you’re a woman! You can’t—”
“I can fight for him, can’t I?” Luvie flashed. “I tried to get him killed once! Oh, Red, give me a chance to make up for it!”
Red palmed up his second gun, gave it to Luvie and, with a sinking heart, watched her run down the corridor toward the back stairs, and his courage forsook him. Suppose something happened to her! He didn’t have time to think of that long, for the second wave of pursuers—soldiers this time—hit the stairs. He laid a blistering fire down on them.
When Frank rounded the corner of the dark corridor he saw only a bracket wall lamp turned down low ahead of him. He lifted his gun and shot it out, and then he stopped. He couldn’t hear Corb and could see the window in the end of the corridor ahead of him framing a segment of the lighter night sky. Had Corb gone into a room?
Even while he was watching, listening to a woman run down the corridor behind him, he saw a ladder drop down across the window and the form of Corb climbing it.
He shot once, heard a bitter oath and then ran for the ladder. As he reached it he saw it being pulled up by a rope from the roof, and he leaped for it. His hands caught the bottom rung, and his weight suddenly broke Corb’s hold on the rope. The ladder crashed to the floor and Frank with it. He hit the floor and rolled just as Corb shot down into the corridor. Frank palmed up his other gun and set three fast shots at the trap-door hole, then came to his feet and climbed the ladder, shooting his gun empty. He didn’t know whether or not Corb was waiting up there to get him, but he had to take the chance. He raced up the ladder, hurled himself through the square hole and fell on the roof, rolling over and over down its slope. A fusillade of shots seemed to follow his course until he was brought up against a chimney. He rolled behind it, then feverishly started to reload his guns, peering out from behind the chimney. He saw another chimney beyond the trap door, and this was where Corb was forted up.
Frank swung his loading gates shut and then heard the shooting below. Some of it came from the front stairway and some seemed to be coming from the back part of the hotel. In a few moments they would be up after him. He peered out from behind the chimney and took stock of the situation. Then he called, “Here I come, Corb.”
No answer.
The roof was almost
flat, sloping toward the rear, and Corb was upslope from him. Again, as in the store, there was the light behind Corb and darkness behind him. Corb couldn’t see him well, and Frank decided to take the chance. He broke out from behind the chimney, quartering away from Corb, holding his fire and running. Corb opened up, but he was shooting blindly toward the chimney. Frank ran to one side until he saw Corb’s figure crouched behind the chimney, and then he opened up with both guns.
Corb grunted and came to his feet, and Frank knew he was hit. Then Corb, firing as he ran, headed up the roof in a panic to get away from Frank. He was limping, bent over so low that he was behind the dark line of the wooden parapet at the front of the building, and Frank could not see him.
He ran anyway, shooting blindly at the noise Corb’s dragging feet made. And then the noise ceased, and Frank could see nothing. He dropped on his belly and started crawling up the slope, a gun in each hand. Corb was hiding somewhere behind the parapet, Frank knew.
Suddenly something loomed up in front of Frank. It was a low brick ventilator. Then, confident of his shelter, Frank opened up. He trained his gun in a line with the parapet and, spacing his shots, he opened up in a sustained roar of gunfire.
Suddenly there was a scream, and Frank saw Corb’s body rise up full height, clutching his chest. Frank shot then, blindly and furiously, and he saw Corb driven back until his back, acting as a pivot, bent over the parapet. Then slowly, almost gracefully, he toppled over and disappeared. Frank rose and ran the ten yards to the parapet. Before he reached it he heard a great rending crash of splitting wood. When he got to the parapet he looked over. He saw, a story and a half below him, a jagged hole in the boards of the wooden awning, and he straightened up, a little sick, just as a soldier’s voice called from the trap door: “Raise ’em high, cowboy, or you’re dead!”
Chapter XX
Frank was marched downstairs between a squad of soldiers to the porch. Someone already had thrown a canvas over Corb’s broken body, and Major Corning, surrounded by his officers, was standing under the street lamp. Red, surly and disarmed, and Luvie and Edith and Otey, his gun rammed in the back of two of Corb’s men, were waiting with Major Corning.