The Collected Westerns of William MacLeod Raine: 21 Novels in One Volume

by Unknown

  "That's all for just now. You're a natural-born flirt, Phyllis. That's what's the matter with you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Healy. You're the only one of my friends that has been so honest with me," she assured him sweetly.

  "I'm the only one of them that is going to marry you. Don't think I'll let Keller butt in. Not on your life."

  Her rage broke bounds. "I never in my life heard of anything so insolent. Never! _You'll_ not let me do this or that. Who are you, Brill Healy?"

  "I've told you. I'm the man that means to marry you," he persisted doggedly.

  "You never will. I'm not thinking of marrying, but when I do I'll not ask for your indorsement. Be sure of that."

  "I'll not stand it! He'd better look out!"

  "Who do you mean?"

  "Keller, that's who I mean. This thing is hanging over his head yet. He's got to come through with proofs he ain't a rustler, or he's got to pull his freight out of the Malpais country."

  "And if he won't?"

  "We'll finish that little business you interrupted," he told her, riding his triumph roughshod over her feelings.

  "You wouldn't, Brill! Not when there is a doubt about it. Jim says he is innocent, and I believe he is. Surely you wouldn't!"

  "You'll see."

  "If you do I'll never speak to you again! Never, as long as I live; and I'll never rest till I have you in the penitentiary for his murder!" she cried tensely.

  "And yet you don't care anything about him. You've just been kind to him out of charity," he mocked.

  For some minutes they had seen Seven Mile Ranch lying below them in the faint twilight. They rode the rest of the way in silence, each of them too bitter for speech. When they reached the house, she swung from the saddle and he kept his seat, for both of them considered her supper invitation and his acceptance cancelled.

  He bowed ironically and turned to leave.

  "Just a moment, Brill," called an excited voice. "I've got a piece of news that will make you sit up."

  The speaker was the young mule skinner known as Cuffs. He came running out to the porch and fired his bolt.

  "The First National Bank at Noches was held up two hours ago, and the robbers got away with their loot after shooting three or four men!"

  "Two hours ago," the girl repeated. "You got it over the phone, of course."

  "Yep. Slim called me up just now. He got back right this minute from following their trail. They lost the fellows in the hills. Four of 'em, Slim says, and he thinks they're headed this way."

  "What makes him think so?" asked Healy.

  "He figures they are Bear Creek men. One of them was recognized. It was that fellow Keller."

  "Keller!" Phyllis and Healy cried the word together.

  Cuffs nodded. "Slim says he can swear to his hawss, and he's plumb sure about the man, too. He wants we should organize a posse and nail them as they go into the Pass for Bear Creek. He figures we'll have time to do it if we jump. Noches is fifty-five miles from here, and about forty from the Pass.

  "With their bronchs loaded they can't make it in much less than five hours. That gives us most three hours to reach the Pass and stop them. What think, Brill? Can we make it?"

  "We'll try damned hard. I'm not going to let Mr. Rustler Keller slip through my fingers again!" Healy cried triumphantly.

  "I don't believe it was Bear Creek men at all. I'm sure it wasn't Mr. Keller," Phyllis cried, with a face like parchment.

  There was an unholy light of vindictive triumph in Healy's face. "We'll show you about that, Miss Missouri. Get the boys together, Cuffs. Call up Purdy and Jim Budd and Tom Dixon on the phone. Rustle up as many of the boys as you can. Start 'em for the Pass just as soon as they get here. I'm going right up there now. Probably I can't stop them, but I may make out who they are. Notify Buck Weaver, so he can head them off if they try to cross the Malpais. And get a move on you. Hustle the boys right along."

  And with that he put spurs to his horse and galloped off.

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE ROAN WITH THE WHITE STOCKINGS

  Unerringly rode Healy through the tangled hills toward a saddle in the peaks that flared vivid with crimson and mauve and topaz. A man of moods, he knew more than one before he reached the Pass for which he was headed. Now he rode with his eyes straight ahead, his face creased to a hard smile that brought out its evil lines. Now he shook his clenched fist into the air and cursed.

  Or again he laughed exultingly. This was when he remembered that his rival was trapped beyond hope of extrication.

  While the sky tints round the peaks deepened to purple with the coming night he climbed cañons, traversed rock ridges, and went down and up rough slopes of shale. Always the trail grew more difficult, for he was getting closer to the divide where Bear Creek heads. He reached the upper regions of the pine gulches that seamed the hills with wooded crevasses, and so came at last to Gregory's Pass.

  Here, close to the yellow stars that shed a cold wintry light, he dismounted and hobbled his horse. After which he found a soft spot in the mossy rocks and fell asleep. He was a light sleeper, and two hours later he awakened. Horses were laboring up the Pass.

  He waited tensely, rifle in both hands, till the heads of the riders showed in the moonlight. Three--four--five of them he counted. The men he saw were those he expected, and he lowered his rifle at once.

  "Hello, Cuffs! Purdy! That you, Tom? Well, you're too late."

  "Too late," echoed little Purdy.

  "Yep. Didn't get here in time myself to see who any of them were except the last. It was right dark, and they were most through before I reached here."

  "But you knew one," Purdy suggested.

  Healy looked at him and nodded. "There were four of them. I crept forward on top of that flat rock just as the last showed up. He was ridin' a hawss with four white stockings."

  "A roan, mebbe," Tom put in quickly.

  "You've said it, Tom--a roan, and it looked to me like it was wounded. There was blood all over the left flank."

  "O' course Keller was riding it," Purdy ventured.

  "Rung the bell at the first shot," Healy answered grimly.

  "The son of a gun!"

  "How long ago was it, Brill?" asked another.

  "Must a-been two hours, anyhow."

  "No use us following them now, then."

  "No use. They've gone to cover."

  They turned their horses and took the back trail. The cow ponies scrambled down rocky slopes like cats, and up steep inclines with the agility of mountain goats. The men rode in single file, and conversation was limited to disjointed fragments jerked out now and again. After an hour's rough going they reached the foothills, where they could ride two abreast. As they drew nearer to the ranch country, now one and now another turned off with a shout of farewell.

  Healy accepted Purdy's invitation, and dismounted with him at the Fiddleback. Already the first glimmering of dawn flickered faintly from the serrated range. The men unsaddled, watered, fed, and then walked stiffly to the house. Within five minutes both of them lay like logs, dead to the world, until Bess Purdy called them for breakfast, long after the rest of the family had eaten.

  "What devilment you been leading paw into, Brill?" demanded Bess promptly when he appeared in the doorway. "Dan says it was close to three when you got home."

  She flung her challenge at the young man with a flash of smiling teeth. Bess was seventeen, a romp, very pretty, and hail-fellow-well-met with every range rider in a radius of thirty miles.

  "We been looking for a beau for you, Bess," Healy immediately explained.

  Miss Purdy tossed her head. "I can find one for myself, Brill Healy, and I don't have to stay out till three to get him, either."

  "Come right to your door, do they?" he asked, as she helped him to the ham and eggs.

  "Maybe they do, and maybe they don't."

  "Well, here's one come right in the middle of the night. Somehow, I jest couldn't make out to wait till morning, Bess."


  "Oh, you," she laughed, with a demand for more of this sort of chaffing in her hazel eyes.

  At this kind of rough give and take he was an adept. After breakfast he stayed and helped her wash the dishes, romping with her the whole time in the midst of gay bursts of laughter and such repartee as occurred to them.

  He found his young hostess so entertaining that he did not get away until the morning was half gone. By the time he reached Seven Mile the sun was past the meridian, and the stage a lessening patch of dust in the distance.

  Before he was well out of the saddle, Phyllis Sanderson was standing in the doorway of the store, with a question in her eyes.

  "Well?" he forced her to say at last.

  Leisurely he turned, as if just aware of her presence.

  "Oh, it's you. Mornin', Phyl."

  "What did you find out?"

  "I met your friend."

  "What friend?"

  "Mr. Keller, the rustler and bank robber," he drawled insolently, looking full in her face.

  "Tell me at once what you found out."

  "I found Mr. Keller riding a roan with four white stockings and a wound on its flank."

  She caught at the jamb. "You didn't, Brill!"

  "I ce'tainly did," he jeered.

  "What--what did you do?" Her lips were white as her cheeks.

  "I haven't done, anything--yet. You see, I was alone. The other boys hadn't arrived then."

  "And he wasn't alone?"

  "No; he had three friends with him. I couldn't make out whether any more of them were college chums of yours."

  Without another word, she turned her back on him and went into the store. All night she had lain sleepless and longed for and dreaded the coming of the day. Over the wire from Noches had come at dawn fuller details of the robbery, from her brother Phil, who was spending two or three days in town.

  It appeared that none of the wounded men would die, though the president had had a narrow escape. Posses had been out all night, and a fresh one was just starting from Noches. It was generally believed, however, that the bandits would be able to make good their escape with the loot.

  Her father was absent, making a round of his sheep camps, and would not be back for a week. Hence her hands were very full with the store and the ranch.

  She busied herself with the details of her work, nodded now and again to one of the riders as they drifted in, smiled and chatted as occasion demanded, but always with that weight upon her heart she could not shake off. Now, and then again, came to her through the window the voices of Public Opinion on the porch. She made out snatches of the talk, and knew the tide was running strongly against the nester. The sound of Healy's low, masterful voice came insistently. Once, as she looked through the window, she saw a tilted flask at his lips.

  Suddenly she became aware, without knowing why, that something was happening, something that stopped her heart and drew her feet swiftly to the door.

  Conversation had ceased. All eyes were deflected to a pair of riders coming down the Bear Creek trail with that peculiar jog that is neither a run nor a walk. They seemed quite at ease with the world. Speech and laughter rang languid and carefree. But as they swung from the saddles their eyes swept the group before them with the vigilance of searchlights in time of war.

  Brill Healy leaned forward, his right hand resting lightly on his thigh.

  "So you've come back, Mr. Keller," he said.

  "As you see."

  "But not on that roan of yours, I notice."

  "You notice correctly, seh."

  "Now I wonder why." Healy spoke with a drawl, but his eyes glittered menacingly.

  "I expect you know why, Mr. Healy," came the quiet retort.

  "Meaning?"

  "That the roan was stolen from the pasture two nights ago. Do you happen to know the name of the thief?"

  The cattleman laughed harshly, but behind his laughter lay rising anger. "So that's the story you're telling, eh? Sounds most as convincing as that yarn about the pocketknife you picked up."

  "I'm not quite next to your point. Have I got to explain to you why I do or don't ride a certain horse, seh?"

  "It ain't necessary. We all know why. You ain't riding it because there is a bullet wound in the roan's flank that might be some hard to explain."

  "I don't know what you mean. I haven't seen the horse for two days. It was stolen, as I say. Apparently you know a good deal about that roan. I'd be right pleased to hear what you know, Mr. Healy."

  "Glad to death to wise you, Mr. Keller. That roan was in Noches yesterday, and you were on its back."

  The nester shook his head. "No, I reckon not."

  Yeager broke in abruptly: "What have you got up your sleeve, Brill? Spit it out."

  "Glad to oblige you, too, Jim. The First National at Noches was held up yesterday, about half-past three or four, by some masked men. Slim and Jim Budd were around and recognized that roan and its rider."

  "You mean----"

  "You've guessed it, Jim. I mean that your friend, the rustler, is a bank robber, too."

  "Yesterday, you say, at four o'clock?"

  "About four, yes."

  Yeager's face cleared. "Then that lets him out. I was with him yesterday all day."

  "Any one else with him?"

  "No. We were alone."

  "Where?"

  "Out in the hills."

  "Didn't happen to meet a soul all day maybe?"

  "No; what of it?"

  Healy barked out again his hard laugh of incredulity. "Go slow, Jim. That ain't going to let him out. It's going to let you in."

  Yeager took a step toward him, fists clenched, and eyes flashing. "I'll not stand for that, Brill."

  Healy waved him aside. "I've got no quarrel with you, Jim. I ain't making any charges against you to-day. But when it comes to Mr. Keller, that's different." His gaze shifted to the nester and carried with it implacable hostility. "I back my play. He's not only a rustler, he's a bank robber, too. What's more, he'll never leave here alive, except with irons on his wrists!"

  "Have you a warrant for my arrest, Mr. Healy?" inquired Keller evenly.

  "Don't need one. Furthermore, I'd as lief take you in dead as alive. You cayn't hide behind a girl's skirts this time," continued Healy. "You've got to stand on your own legs and take what's coming. You're a bad outfit. We know you for a rustler, and that's enough. But it ain't all. Yesterday you gave us surplusage when you shot up three men in Noches. Right now I serve notice that you've reached the limit."

  "You serve notice, do you?"

  "You're right, I do."

  "But not legal notice, Mr. Healy."

  At sight of his enemy standing there so easy and undisturbed, facing death so steadily and so alertly, Brill's passion seethed up and overflowed. Fury filmed his eyes. He saw red. With a jerk, his revolver was out and smoking. A stop watch could scarce have registered the time before Keller's weapon was answering.

  But that tenth part of a second made all the difference. For the first heavy bullet from Healy's .44 had crashed into the shoulder of his foe. The shock of it unsteadied the nester's aim. When the smoke cleared it showed the Bear Creek man sinking to the ground, and the right arm of the other hanging limply at his side.

  At the first sound of exploding revolvers, Phyllis had grown rigid, but the fusillade had not died away before she was flying along the hall to the porch.

  Brill Healy's voice, cold and cruel, came to her in even tones:

  "I reckon I've done this job right, boys. If he hadn't winged me, and if Jim hadn't butted in, I'd a-done it more thorough, though."

  Yeager was bending over the man lying on the ground. He looked up now and spoke bitterly: "You've murdered an innocent man. Ain't that thorough enough for you?"

  Then, catching sight of Cuffs on the porch of the house, Yeager issued orders sharply: "Get on my horse and ride like hell for Doc Brown! Bob, you and Luke help me carry him into the house. What room, Phyl?"

  "My roo
m, Jim. Oh, Cuffs, hurry, please!" With that she was gone into the house to make ready the bed for the wounded man.

  Healy picked up the revolver that had fallen from his hand, and slid it back into the holster.

  "That's right, boys. Take him in and let Phyl patch up the coyote if she can. I reckon this time, she'll have her hands plumb full. Beats all how a decent girl can take up with a ruffian and a scoundrel."