by B. M. Bower
*CHAPTER XX*
*PLANS AWRY*
For the next few days a tense equilibrium was maintained in the town,the marshal, grim, alert, and practically ostracized by nine-tenths ofthe population. He could feel the veiled hostility whenever he went upand down the street, and silence fell abruptly on groups of menconversing here and there whenever he was seen approaching. Hostileglances, sullen faces, shrugging shoulders greeted him on every side,and he felt more relieved than ever when he reviewed his arrangementswith the section-boss.
Henry Williams was growing openly suspicious of him, impatientlyawaiting the arrival of the presents from St. Louis, which he hadordered through Jerry's telegraph key, and he was drinking more and moreand keeping more and more to himself, his only company being two menwhom Tex had been watching since the death of Bud Haines. The marshalfelt that with the coming of the presents trouble would begin, and hehad asked Jerry to keep a watch for them, and let him know the momentthey arrived. Fate tricked him here, for when they did come they werepacked in a large consignment of goods for Gus Williams, and since heregularly was receiving shipments there was nothing to indicate to thestation agent that Henry's gifts had passed through his hands.
Henry's suspicions of the marshal were cumulative rather than sudden.Never very confident about what Tex really thought and what he might do,certain vague memories of looks and of ambiguous words and actionsrecurred to the nephew. He was beginning to believe that the marshalwould shoot him down like a dog if he pressed the issue as he intendedto press it in regard to Jane Saunders, and he was determined that Texshould have no opportunity to go to her defense. Several methods ofeliminating the disturbing marshal presented themselves to thecoyote-cunning mind of the would-be lover. He could be shot from coveras he moved about in his flimsy office, or as he slept. He could walkinto a rifle bullet as he opened his door some morning, or he could bedecoyed up to Blascom's while Henry's plans went through. This lastwould taste sweeter in the public mouth than a coldly planned murder,but on the other hand the return of the marshal might end in cyclonicaction. There was no doubt about Tex's feelings in regard to killingwhen he felt it to be necessary or justified. He would kill with nomore compunction than a wolf would show. Then from the mutterings ofrebellion and the sullen looks of discontent among the hotel habitues aplan leaped into the nephew's mind. It solved every objectionablefeature of the other schemes; and Henry forthwith went to work.
The nephew was no occult mystery to a man like the marshal, who almostcould see the mental wheels turning in any man like him. Tex waspreparing for eventualities and part of the preparation was the buyingof a pint flask of whiskey from Carney--a bottle locally regarded aspocket-size. When night fell he emptied into the liquor a carefullycomputed amount of chloral hydrate, recorked it, shook it well, andplaced it among sundry odds and ends in a corner of the office, where itwould be overlooked by any thirsty caller, whose glance was certain tonotice the bottle of whiskey in plain sight on a shelf. Against theconsciousness of sixteen men that innocent-looking flask would tip thescales to its own side with an emphasis; and the marshal not only knewthe proper dose for horses but also how to shove it down their throatswith practiced ease and swiftness. Buck Peters had paid him no meancompliment when he had said that Tex could dose a horse more expertlythan any man he ever had known. Having put all of his weapons in orderhe marked time, awaiting the pleasure of the enemy.
He did not have long to wait. To be specific he waited two days more,which interval brought time around to the last day on the calendar forthat month, the day which railroad regulations proclaimed to be theoccasion for making out sundry and numerous reports, a job that keptmany a station agent writing and figuring most of the night. Havingsense and imagination, the agent at Windsor did what he could of thiswork from day to day and as a consequence saved himself from a long,high-tension job at the last minute; but he did not have imaginationenough to know that a packing-case of formidable dimensions which he hadreceived that noon from the west-bound train and later saw hauled to theMecca, held the watched-for gifts that Henry Williams would eagerlypresent to Jane.
Contemptuous of any interference that Jerry might make in a physicalsense, Henry nevertheless preferred to have him absent when he made hisdetermined attempt. The brother doubtless would have great influence onJane by his protests, and that would necessitate drastic measures whichonly would make the matter worse. If Jerry were detained by force,injured, or killed to keep him from the house it would cause a greatdeal of unpleasantness, from a domestic standpoint, to run through theyears to come. There was only one night a month when the agent remainedaway from his house for any length of time, and this must be the nightfor the action to be carried through.
The mob was being slowly, but surely, inflamed by the nephew and his twofriends, its anger directed against Murphy and Costigan since thesection-gang had not returned to town. The section-boss and his friendcame in every night while they worked along Buffalo Creek, and werecareful not to give any excuse for a hostile demonstration against them.They were even less conspicuous because they walked in instead ofrolling home on the hand car. But on this last night of the month thewhole crew, rebelliously disobeying orders, came in on their crowdedhand car, much to Henry's poorly concealed delight, and to Tex's rage.Murphy had promised otherwise.
Here was oil for the flames Henry had set burning! Here was success witha capital letter! The mob now would surely attack, divert Jerry'sattention, and perhaps rid the town of its official nuisance. He wouldact on the marshal's kindly warning, for he would not be in the frontrank of the mob; in fact, he would not be with the mob at all. He hadother work to do.
The sudden look of joyous expectation, so poorly disguised, on Henry'sface acted on Tex like the warning whirr of an angry rattlesnake and hequietly cleaned and oiled his guns, broke out a fresh box of cartridges,and dumped them into his right-hand pocket. The remainingchloral-filled shells he slipped in the pocket of his chaps. Shaking upthe flask of whiskey to make certain of the crystals being dissolved andthe drug evenly distributed throughout the fluid, he hid it again and,seating himself in his favorite place, awaited the opening number.
Darkness had just closed down when Tommy loped in from the ranch andstopped to say a few careless, friendly words, but he never utteredthem, for the marshal's instructions were snapping forth before the CBar rider could open his mouth.
"This is no time for pleasantries!" said Tex in a voice low and tense."Turn around, ride back a way, circle around th' town an' leave yorecayuse a couple of hundred yards from Murphy's box car. Tell himtrouble's brewin' an' to look sharp. Then you head for her house,actin' as cautious, an' go up to it on foot, an' as secretly as you knowhow. Lay low, outside. Don't show yourself at all--a man in th' darkwill be worth five in th' light tonight. Stay there no matter what youhear in town. If she should see you, on yore life don't let her thinkthere's any danger--on yore life, Tommy! Mebby there ain't, but there'sno tellin' what drunken beast will remember that there's a woman closeat hand. You stay there till daylight, or till I relieve you.Get-a-goin'--an' good luck!"
Tommy carried out his orders, gave Murphy the warning, and was goneagain before the big Irishman, seething with rage at his crew'sdisobedience, could say more than a few words. Murphy had been forcedto construct a plan of his own, and he wished to get word of it to themarshal's ears. Tommy having left so quickly, he could not send it.Convincing himself that it was not really necessary for the marshal tobe told of it, and savagely pleased by the surprise in store for him andevery man in town, the section-boss went ahead on his own initiative.Going to the toolshed he went in, frowning at the thoroughly cowed andhumbled crew, blew out the lamps and with hearty curses ordered the gangto put their car on the rails and to start east for the next town.
"Roll her softly, by hand, till ye get out av th' hearin' av thishell-town, an' then board her, an' put yore weight on th' handles
," hecommanded. "An' don't ye come back till I send for ye. Costigan an' meare plannin' work for ourselves an' will not go with ye. Lively,now--an' no back talk. A lot depends on yer doin' as yer told. Onemore order disobeyed an' I'll brain th' pack av ye with a crowbar.Ye've raised h--l enough this night. Now git out av here, an' mind whatI've told ye!"
The orders quickly obeyed and the car quietly placed on the rails, thegang went into the night as silently as bootless feet would take them,pushing the well-greased car ahead of them, and as gently as though itwere loaded with nitro-glycerin. When far enough away not to be heardby anyone in town, they put on their boots, climbed aboard, and senttheir conveyance along at an ordinary rate of speed. They hated todesert their two countrymen, and began to talk about it. Finally theymade up their minds that Murphy's orders, in view of their recentdisobedience, were to be followed, and with hearty accord they sent thecar rolling on again, the greater part of the grades in their favor,toward the next town. The distance was nothing to become excited aboutwith six husky men at the handles to pump off the miles.
Up at the station a single light burned in the little office where Jerryworked at his reports. Outside the building in the darkness Murphy layon his stomach in a tuft of weeds, a rifle in his hand, and a Coltbeside him on the ground. Within easy reach of his right hand lay acoatful of rocks culled from the road-bed, no mean weapons againstfigures silhouetted by the lamp-lighted windows of the buildings facingthe right-of-way; and close to them were half a dozen dynamitecartridges, their wicked black fuses capped and inserted. Tim Murphy,like Napoleon, put his trust in heavy artillery.
Costigan was nowhere to be seen. Down the track lights shone under thecracks of the doors of the toolshed and the box-car habitation of thesection-boss, and one curtained window of Costigan's rented cottageglowed dully against the night. Crickets shrilled and locusts fiddled,and there were no signs of impending danger.
In the hotel the tables were filled with lowly conversing miners ingroups, each man leaning far forward, elbows on the table, his shouldersnearly touching those on either side. Gus Williams and his closestfriends had pulled two tables together and made a group larger than theothers. Henry and his two now inseparable companions were at a tablenear the back door, talking earnestly with Jake, who by this time hadrecovered from his recent sickness. The Buffalo Creek miner was quieterand more thoughtful than he had been before Blascom had nearly killedhim, and his mind for several days had been the battle ground of afiercely fought struggle between contending emotions, which still raged,but in a lesser intensity. He listened without comment to what wasbeing said to him, swayed first one way and then another. His last glassof liquor was untasted, which was something of no moment to Henry'swhiskey-dulled mind. Finally Jake nodded, tossed off the drink with agesture of quick determination, hitched up his cartridge belt and,forgetting his sombrero on the floor, arose and slipped quietly out ofthe door. As he left, another man, peremptorily waved into the vacatedchair, also listened to instructions and also slipped out through therear door. He set his course toward the right-of-way, whereas Jake hadgone in the other direction, toward Carney's saloon and the marshal'soffice.
The last man stopped when even with the line of shacks facing therailroad, noted the dully glowing shade in Costigan's house, the yellowstrips of light around the rough board shutters of the box car, and thebroader yellow band under the toolshed door. Satisfied by his inspectionhe slipped back the way he had come and made his report to Henry.
Jake crept with infinite caution toward the marshal's office, but whennearly to it he paused as the battle in his mind raged with a suddenburst of fury. The marshal had humbled him in sight of his friends andacquaintances and had boasted of worse to follow if his victim forcedthe issue; the marshal had saved his life in the little hut on the lowerfork, laboring all night with him. Doctor Horn had said so, andBlascom, playing nurse at the marshal's request, had endorsed thedoctor.
Ahead of him, plain to his sight, was the marshal's side window, itsflimsy curtain tightly drawn; and silhouetted against it were the hattedhead and the shoulders of the man he had been sent to kill. Again hecrept forward, the Colt gripped tightly in his right hand. Foot by foothe advanced, but stopping more frequently to argue with himself. A fewyards more and the mark could not be missed. He, himself, was safe fromany answering fire. A heavy curse rumbled in his throat and he stoppedagain. He fought fair, as far as he knew the meaning of the term in itsgenerally accepted definition among men of his kind. He never hadknifed or shot a man from behind, and he was not going to do it now,especially a man who had no reason to save his sotted life, but who haddone so without pausing. Jake arose, jammed the gun back into itsholster and walked briskly to the door of the flimsy little office,which he found locked against him. He knocked and listened, but heardnothing. Again he knocked and listened and still there was no answer.
"Marshal!" he called in a rasping, loud whisper. "Marshal! Git awayfrom that d--d window: th' next man won't be one that owes you for hislife. I'm goin' back to Buffaler Crick. Look out for yoreself!" and hemade good his words, striding off into the dark.
Back of the hotel, lying prone behind a pile of bleached and warpedlumber, the marshal watched the rear door. He saw Jake leave,recognizing the man in the light of the opening door by certainpeculiarities of carriage and manner. He smiled grimly when the manturned toward the north, and he waited for the sound of the shot whichwould drill the window, the shade, and the old shirt hanging on the backof a chair. He wondered if the rolled-up blanket, fastened to thebroken broom handle, which made the head and held Carney's old sombrero,would fall with the impact. Then the door opened again and the secondman hurried out, turning to the south. He came back shortly, left thedoor open behind him and with his return Henry's voice rang out in animpassioned harangue. The hotel was coming to life. The stamp of heavyboots grew more continuous; loud voices became louder and more numerous,and shouts arose above the babel. The protesting voice of Gus Williamswas heard less and less, finally drowned completely in the vengefulroar. Sudden noises in the street told of angry men pouring out of thefront door, simultaneously with the exodus through the rear door. Oaths,curses, threats, and explosive bursts of laughter arose. Oneleathern-lunged miner was drunkenly singing at the top of his voice, tothe air of _John Brown's Body_, a paraphrase worded to suit the presentsituation.
The marshal leaped to his feet, secure against discovery in thedarkness, and sprinted on a parallel course for an opening between therow of buildings facing the right-of-way. His sober-minded directnessand his lightness of foot let him easily outstrip the more aimless,leisurely progress of the maudlin gang, which preferred to hold to acommon front instead of stringing out. Drunk as they were, they weresober enough to realize, if only vaguely, that a two-gun sharpshooter byall odds would be waiting for the advance guard. In fact, theirenthusiasm was largely imitation. Henry's mind had not been keen enoughto take into consideration such a thing as anticlimax; he had notrealized that the psychological moment had passed and that in theinterval of the several days, while the once white-hot iron of vengefulpurpose still was hot, it had cooled to a point where its heat washardly more than superficial. The once deadly purpose of the mob wasgone, thanks to Gus Williams' efforts, the ensuing arguments, and thewholesome respect for the marshal's courage and the speed and accuracyof his two guns. Instead of a destroying flood, contemptuous of allelse but the destruction of its victims, the mob had degenerated into abody of devilish mischief-makers, terrible if aroused by the taste ofblood, but harmless and hesitant if the taste were denied it.
Tex, sensing something of this feeling, darted through the alleywaybetween the two buildings he had in mind, dashed across the open spaceparalleling the right-of-way, crossed the tracks, and slipped behind thetoolshed to be better hidden from sight. Its silence surprised him, butone glance through a knot hole showed the lighted interior to beinnocent of inmates. He forthwith sprinted to the box car and a warpedcrac
k in one of the barn-door shutters told him the same tale. A suddengrin came to his face: Murphy had done what he could to offset thereturn of his section-gang. He glanced at Costigan's house and its onelighted curtain, and at that instant he remembered that he had notnoticed the gang's hand car in the toolshed. He brought the picture ofits interior to his mind again and grunted with satisfaction. Itsdisappearance accounted for the disappearance of the gang.
The mob would now become a burlesque, having nothing upon which to act.Chuckling over the fiasco, he trotted toward the station to see thatJerry got away before the crowd discovered its impotence to commitmurder as planned, and to stay on the west side of the main street incase the baffled units of the mob should head for Jerry's house. Therewas no longer any shouting or noise. He knew that it meant that theadvance guard of rioters was cautiously scouting and approaching thelighted buildings with due regard to its own safety; and he reached thestation platform before he saw the sudden flare of light on the groundbefore the toolshed which told of its doors being yanked open. Figurestumbled into the lighted patch and then milled for a moment beforehurrying off to join their fellows on the way to attack the other twobuildings.
"That you, Tex?" said a low voice close to him. "This is Murphy."
"Good!" exclaimed the marshal. "You've beat 'em, Tim. They're likedogs chasin' their tails; an' from th' beginnin' they didn't sound verybusiness-like. But there's no tellin' what some of them may do, so yougo up an' join Costigan while I take a look around Jerry's house. Whereis he? His light's out."
"He went home when he heard th' yellin'," answered Murphy, "to git th'lass out av th' house an' to Costigan in case th' mob started that way.'Tis lucky for them they didn't, an' pass within throwin' distance avme! 'Tis dynamite I'd 'a' fed 'em, with proper short fuses. Look outye don't push that lighted cigar too close to th' darlin's!"
Tex stepped back as though he had been stung. "I'm half sorry theydidn't give you a chance to use th' stuff," he growled. "Well, I reckonmobs will be out of style in Windsor by mornin'. This ain't nowolf-pack, runnin' bare-fanged to a kill, but a bunch of coyotes usin'coyote caution. We'll let Costigan stay where he is, just th' same.You better join him as soon as these fools go back to get drunker. Th'woman in this makes us play dead safe. I'll head up that way an' lookthings over. If I hear a blast I'll get back fast enough. Don't forgetto throw 'em quick after you touch 'em to that cigar!"
"I'll count five an' let 'em go," chuckled Murphy. "I got 'em figgeredclose."
"Too close for me!" rejoined the marshal, moving off toward theSaunders' home.
"I'd like to stick one in Henry's pocket," said the Irishman, growling.
"D--n me for a fool!" snapped Tex, leaping into the darkness.