by Max Brand
“Thar ain’t gunna be anything gained by savin’ five minutes here and now for the sake of confusin’ everybody. A gent always fights better and rides better on a full stomach, and without no hunger or curiosity eatin’ away in him. Now what I claim is best is for you to set down here and roll yourself a smoke and tell us what news you bring in from Chadwick City. Take it easy. We got lots of time to listen and you got lots of time to talk.”
The other dismounted obediently and stretched. “All right,” said he. “You’re the boss. I can’t turn around and catch the whole seven of ’em with my bare hands. But sure as fate, they’re comin’ right at you now, boys, makin’ a bee line straight for where your camp is!”
“All right,” said Cumnor. “The straighter they come, the easier it’s gunna be for us to get our hands on ’em. Now you talk and tell your yarn. Ain’t any of you boys got any coffee ready? Are you gonna make a gent talk with his throat all caked up with dust?”
Coffee was brought in a great tin cup that held more than half a pint. The cigarette was rolled.
“All right, Cumnor,” said the messenger. “If it comes to takin’ time and sippin’ coffee and smokin’, I reckon that I can do about as good as any of you. I’ll yarn it for you as much as you want.”
He proceeded to tell them how Furness and his six men had calmly robbed the Chadwick City bank of more than two hundred thousand dollars. No one had been killed, but the cashier had been wounded when he tried to resist, and the whole town was in a furore.
The outlaws had taken the trail to the mountains, and he was just ahead of them.
CHAPTER XXVII. ON THE TRAIL
WHEN THE MESSENGER had finished his tale, action reigned. Counting the messenger, there were now nineteen men in the party. And though Sammy Gregg was considered hardly of much force as a fighting man, his counsel on the way might be worth as much as any of them.
Cumnor, however, gave all of the directions for the hunt. He decided to start moving at once, and he selected from his party seven men on the best horses who were to ride well ahead of the main group. They were to scatter out, each man a full hundred yards from his nearest neighbor on either hand. In this fashion they would sweep with their eyes an expanse of about half a mile, searching that ground thoroughly.
The moment any one of these advance men found any traces of the quarry, he was to turn about and ride at full speed to carry the tidings to those who were in the rear.
There was only one difficulty with the plan, and that was that if they searched at night and covered only a half-mile swath across the mountains, they might miss the outlaws altogether if these had turned aside ever so little from the main trail. Whereas, if they waited for the daylight, they would have ten times greater chances of spotting the outlaws.
But against that chance there was to be posted the great probability that Furness would keep his men riding in short stages all through that night so as to reach the inaccessible fastnesses of the upper mountains in the first long and quite tiresome march from Chadwick City.
There was at least one aid to the searchers. There was a clear half moon which had arisen while the sun was still filling the west with crimson. Now, as the day died, there followed a short time when neither sun nor moon seemed strong enough to do more than confuse the eyes. It was at this time that the search began. But with every moment, as the west darkened and the moon rose higher, it was more and more possible to see to advantage wherever the mountainside was at all clear. Where the forest hung in clouds along the slope, to be sure, nothing could be made out that stirred inside of its shadow.
But they pushed west at a brisk pace, with the advance riders as a rule just beyond sight of the main body, or only occasionally seen as moving blurs in the distance. But still the moon brightened and brightened, or their eyes began to grow more accustomed to the light and to their work. Confidence increased, and the very manner in which they held their guns had altered.
They had not continued a single hour, however, and there was still a faint, faint rim of light to the west, when a rider slid out to them from the front with hurriedly gasped tidings.
“I seen the whole gang of ’em, all ridin’ in single file. I could of drilled Furness clean as a whistle! Boys, we’re gonna snag the whole lot of ’em — come on with me!”
Sammy Gregg felt his blood turn cold and rush back upon his heart, which was like ice in turn. And it seemed as though Cumnor must have known what was passing through the mind of the tenderfoot, for his first word was for him: “You’ve shown sand enough in sticking with us this far. The gun work ain’t your work, Gregg. You keep back, will you, and tend the hosses? Because we’re gonna go ahead, here, on foot.”
“Let someone else mind the horses, or else turn them loose. I’ve come too far to miss the fun, Cumnor,” said Gregg. “I have that much coming to me!”
“Then keep along with me, kid. And try to do what I do. Which’ll be only common sense, and nothin’ rash, I can promise you. Git off your hosses, boys, and throw them reins. And if they’s any of you that’s got hosses so poor trained that they won’t stand when the reins is throwed, let ’em stay behind with their hosses. Because we got to have men with free hands!
“Now strike away, partner, and we’ll trail you. Mind you, boys, not a word spoke on the trail. Not even in a whisper. If they’s any talkin’ that must be done, I’ll leave it to myself to do it. Y’understand? I don’t have to tell you to remember to shoot low when you see ’em. Remember that everybody that gets excited shoots too high. There was never nothin’ ever killed by a shot that was too high, but there’s been plenty hurt by bullets that come ricocheting off the ground.
“That’s all I got to say. But run silent on the trail!”
Then they started off, striking at once in a long-swinging trot that began to cut into Sammy Gregg’s wind in bad fashion. However, he stuck manfully to his work, keeping his place just behind big Cumnor. They traveled not more than a half mile in this fashion when the leader threw his arm up to stop the others and dropped instantly upon his face.
The rest followed that example and they learned the reason for it instantly. Out of the moon haze before them they heard the steady jingling of horsemen, the clicking of hooves upon the rocks, the rattle of bits and curbs and chains and spurs; and then the occasional grunting of a laboring, weary horse.
The posse began to crawl softly forward toward the crest of the hummock which separated them from the view of the riders in the hollow beyond.
Then: “What’s that moving over yonder?” called a clear voice.
To Sammy Gregg, it sounded very like the voice of big Furness, and the chill returned upon his blood, even though it had been so heated by the run up the slope.
“Nothing moving.”
“Use your eyes, you fool, and back there to the right, they’re on top of us! Cut for the trees, boys!” A gun rang from the hollow. And there was a hoarse, distant shout. Plainly, one of the unlucky forward scouts of the posse had been sighted by chance and dropped by a long-range shot. But there was vengeance coming behind the men of Furness at last. To the top of the hill lunged the followers of Cumnor, and they had before them a clear, short-range view of seven riders plunging toward the trees which were just beside them.
The dozen rifles steadied for a brief instant on their targets. They crashed. And three of the seven horses that reached the woods were riderless.
Four were gone, however. Aye, and as the line of riflemen surged forward, they were encountered by a spiteful crackling of guns among the rocks on this side of the wood. One of the fallen men was either stunned or had gone to his long account. But two of them were determined to make the power of the law pay more dearly for their capture.
Sammy Gregg felt a cut, as of a hot-bladed knife, across his cheek, and a shower of crimson covered his shoulder at once. Someone else in the posse spun around and took a staggering step or two, and then went down. The rest dropped upon their bellies and began to worm their way forwar
d.
“Who’s up there on the left?” called out Cumnor, as calm as you please, while he sheltered himself behind an outthrust of rock.
“It’s Jem Partridge.”
“Partridge, darn it, what’s the matter with you? Can’t you angle some bullets down at them from where you are and roll them over for us?”
The side of the hill sloped sharply up, in this place, and with such an angle of fire it was most probable that Jem Partridge could send a few slugs of lead into the foes.
Presently a spark of fire glowed where Jem, without a word of reply, had opened fire.
And then: “Oh, darn it! Boys, I got enough — lend a hand here, before I bleed to death, will you?”
“Tell your pal to stop firing, then,” called one of the posse.
“I’ll see you damned first!” called another.
“Good Lord,” whined the injured fellow, “you ain’t gonna leave poor Thompson to lie here and bleed to death, be you?”
“You yaller-livered rat, Thompson. You was never no good. You was always a quitter. I dunno how the chief ever happened to bring you along for a job like this! No, you die there and be darned but I ain’t gonna—”
The voice was cut short by the crash of the terrible rifle in the hand of Jem Partridge higher up the slope. And then they heard Jem say: I guess that finished that sucker. You boys don’t have to be afraid to go in and keep that there Thompson from bleedin’ to death!”
But ah, how dark and how open was that hillside! And who could tell if two of the three were really dead, or merely holding their fire in reserve to make it count the more effectively as soon as someone of the posse showed?
Then little Sammy Gregg said to himself: “What good could I ever be with a gun in my hand for the shooting? But I can serve as well as the next fellow to stand out here and pull their fire — they can’t know that it’s only me!”
So said Sammy Gregg, with his knees turned very weak beneath him; and he had barely strength enough to force himself to his feet and stand up in the brightness of the moonshine. But he made his way forward. He came safely through the perilous land between to the rock behind which Thompson lay twisting.
“God bless you, partner,” gasped Thompson, half gasp and half whine. “You’re a brave man. You’ll have your share of heaven for doin’ this. It’s right here — look how I’m bleedin’!”
His voice had raised to an hysteria of terror. But here were other men now coming hastily after Sammy Gregg, ashamed of themselves that they had let the little tenderfoot take the brunt of this danger. Cumnor and another were quickly at work bandaging the bleeding wound. And three of the men were sent back in haste to bring up the horses. The others bandaged their own badly hurt man, or examined the dead bodies of the other two, whom they had brought down out of the outlaw party.
The division of the spoils had already been made among the seven. And from each of the three captives, thirty-two thousand dollars was taken in fresh, well-crisped paper money. Thirty-two thousand dollars in cash for a single raid, a single half-day’s work!
CHAPTER XXVIII. FACING FURNESS
THEY HAD LEARNED from Thompson, in the meantime, what the probable plans of the leader of the bandits would be. He had intended to push straight in among the mountains, but if there were any danger on the road and he were diverted from that purpose he would turn straight about and take his men down toward the south, and past Munson, and so on until they were lost in the burning flats of the desert. This Thompson was sure of, because he had heard the chief speak of the thing several times.
“South is the trail, then!” said Cumnor. “He’s had his check here. We’ll ride south.”
But Sammy Gregg, remembering something of the big, confident nature of Furness, broke in on this decision.
“Go on toward the higher mountains, Cumnor,” he begged. “You’ll find him there. He’ll never turn back from his way after a little defeat like this. He has himself and three good men with him. Besides, he probably knows that one of the three men he left behind may give away the news of the intended southern trail.”
No doubt there was excellent good sense in this. Cumnor decided that it must be acted upon. The horses were by this time brought up. And the sound of the firing had brought in the vanguard. They carried with them the man who had been wounded by the first fire from the outlaws.
So the wounded and the guard left behind were four members out of the party. Fifteen in all pushed on along the trail in the pursuit of the four fugitives. The odds were greatly altered. And on behalf of the pursuit the freshness of their horses spoke eloquently. Those of big Furness and his men had received a hard pounding during the course of this day and it would be very odd if they would be able to creep out of the range of the posse.
Indeed, they could not. With the silver clarity of the moon covering the mountains and showing them the way, Cumnor’s party came momentarily upon fresher sign until they reached a point at which the trail turned off into four points, each followed by a single rider!
It was the last desperate remedy, to try to elude the pursuers by simply scattering, the usual vain attempt which children make when the constable takes after them in the orchard where they are enjoying stolen fruit. Cumnor instantly split his band into four sections. Three were of four each. With himself he kept only Sammy Gregg and another named Sid Lannister. And then each party hurried on its way.
Sammy Gregg, however, was none too content. So far all had been well enough. The rush of many horses, the creaking of much saddle leather, the oaths and the murmurs had kept up his courage to a fairly comfortable pitch. But this was now a very different matter, three riders on a trail which might be the trail of the lion, big Furness!
When he considered that one of those riders, namely himself, was to his own knowledge perfectly incapable of handling weapons in a pinch, why, what would happen to them should it indeed prove that they were on the trail of the terrible Furness, and if he, Furness, his tired horse being pressed too hard, should turn back and strike at them?
That thought had barely formed in his mind when the wind blew faintly down the gorge through which they were riding the rattle of musketry, followed, at once, by the sound of exultant voices.
“That’s Gavvigan and his boys. He started up that way,” said Cumnor. “By the racket they’re makin’ they’ve got their man, yes, and he may almost be big Furness himself. Would they holler like that for runnin’ down any common man? I dunno. Anyways, there’s four of ’em gone and they’s only three left. Push on, lads. We got to do our duty like the rest of ’em. There’s where the rascal has turned to the right. We got him dodgin’, now, and that’s a pretty good sign that he’s about played out and that he’s not far away from us! Faster, boys! Wring the last stuff out of the ponies. The last that they got in them. We don’t want to be the last of all to finish up our shares of the job!”
So they spurred recklessly through the dark woods just before them, little Sammy Gregg with a terrible choked feeling of fear that made it hard for him to breathe. But he dared not give a warning, for the simple reason that it would make the others see his fear so vividly. And if they saw it, what report would go down toward the town and reach, at last, to the ears of Anne Cosden?
She would not be surprised. No, for he realized bitterly that this was merely what she would expect of him, cowardice, weakness, no manhood in body or in soul! So he said nothing but watched the mad onward rush of the two riders. They had forced their way ahead of him down the narrow trail, partly by their eagerness and partly by the superiority of their horsemanship.
They were, in fact, a full five or six lengths ahead of Sammy when they swerved for an instant out of his sight around a dense clump of saplings, and in that moment the thunder burst upon them.
Sammy heard a double report, as of two guns exploding in voice and answer.
Then he whirled around the corner, plucking his six-shooter out nervously. He was in time to see big Cumnor grappling with the towerin
g form of handsome Chester Ormonde Furness, while Sid Lannister was, even now, toppling from his saddle; and in a trice, under the grip of Furness, Cumnor seemed to break in two in the back, then he was flung to the ground in turn.
Which left Sammy Gregg about five feet from the conqueror, with a loaded revolver in his hand, which was thrust out straight at the big fellow. Moreover, his horse was rushing him straight at his enemy.
He saw the glint of steel whipped into the hand of Furness. No bullet through the body would do the business, Sammy told himself. There was too much of this man. A cannonball through the midst might not dispose of him, it seemed to Sammy Gregg. So he chose the head as his target. And, with the pistol thrust out, he strove to keep open his eyes as he pulled the trigger.
The roar of the gun and the sting of the gunpowder smoke in his nostrils and in his eyes as he rushed past gave him a stunned feeling, almost as though he had received a bullet through his own body.
Then one pull was sufficient to bring up his weary horse, and turning about quickly, Sammy Gregg blinked in wonder at the sight of three riderless horses behind him.
Three horses without masters, and one of them the mighty and famous gray whose long-reaching gallop had kept his master for so long beyond the reach of the law.
But was big Furness down? Could it be that his puny hand — hisGregg’s — had dropped that famous chief? He got down off his horse at once. There was big Furness rising, swaying to his knees — Furness in all his hugeness of stature.
What happened in Sammy Gregg then he could not say. Propping himself upon a weak arm, big Cumnor was groaning: “Your gun, kid! Use your gun on him!”
But Sammy heard the voice and not the words or their meaning. A wild, hoarse cry burst forth from his throat. Such a sound he had never made in his life before, never dreamed of. He leaped in at the giant and behold! The giant crumbled before him with a groan and lay helpless at his feet!