"I don't reckon I'll want you," said Toban. "Clear case of self-defense. I reckon most everybody saw the play. Some raw."
Several men had moved; one of them was peering at the faces of Denver and Garvey. He now looked up at the sheriff.
"Nothing botherin' them any more," he said.
Calumet stepped over to Denver's confederate and took up the pistol from the floor near him, replacing it in his holster. By this time the crowd in the saloon was standing near the two gunmen, commenting gravely or humorously, according to its whim.
"Surprise party for him," suggested one, pointing to Denver.
"Didn't tickle him a heap, though," said another. "Seemed plumb shocked an' disappointed, if you noticed his face."
"Slick," said another, pointing to Calumet, who had turned his back and was walking toward the door; "cool as ice water."
Sudden death had no terrors for these men; there was no inclination in their minds to blame Calumet, and so they watched with admiration for his poise as he stepped out through the door.
"Taggart'll be gettin' his," said a man.
"Not tonight," laughed another. "I seen him hittin' the breeze out. An' sundown's quite a considerable distance away yet, too."
CHAPTER XVI
THE AMBUSH
If Calumet had any regret over the outcome of his adventure in the Red Dog, it was that Neal Taggart had given him no opportunity to square the account between them. Calumet had lingered in town until dusk, for he had given his word and would not break it, and then, it being certain that his enemy had decided not to accept the challenge, he hitched his horses and just after dusk pulled out for the Lazy Y. Something had been added to the debt of hatred which he owed the Taggarts.
As he drove through the darkening land he yielded to a deep satisfaction. He had struck one blow, a sudden and decisive one, and, though it had not landed on either of the Taggarts, it had at least shown them what they might expect. He intended to deliver other blows, and he was rather glad now that he had not been so weak as to allow Betty's dictatorial attitude to drive him from the ranch, for in that case he would never have discovered the plot to cheat him of his heritage—would not have been in a position to bring discomfiture and confusion upon them all. That was what he was determined to do. There was no plan in his mind; he was merely going to keep his eyes open, and when opportunity came he was going to take advantage of it.
The darkness deepened as he drove. When he reached the crest of the slope from which that morning he had looked down upon Lazette, the wagon entered a stretch of broken country through which the horses made slow progress. After traversing this section he encountered a flat, dull plain of sand, hard and smooth, which the horses appreciated, for they traveled rapidly, straining willingly in the harness.
It was about nine o'clock when the moon rose, a pale yellow disk above the hills that rimmed the valley of the Lazy Y, and Calumet welcomed it with a smile, lighting a cigarette and leaning back comfortably in the seat, with the reins held between his knees.
He presently thought of his weapons, drawing them out and reloading them. They recalled the incident of the Red Dog, and for a long time his thoughts dwelt on it, straight, grim lines in his face.
He wondered what Betty would say when she heard of it. Would it affect her future relations with Taggart? His thoughts were still of Betty when the wagon careened out of the level and began to crawl up a slope that led through some hills. The trail grew hazardous, and the horses were forced to proceed slowly. It was near midnight when the wagon dipped into a little gully about a mile and a half from the ranchhouse. Calumet halted the horses at the bottom of the gully, allowing them to drink from the shallow stream that trickled on its way to meet the river which passed through the wood near the ranchhouse.
After the animals had drunk their fill he urged them on again, for he was weary of the ride and anxious to have it over with. It was a long pull, however, and the horses made hard work of it, so that when they reached the crest of the rise they halted of their own accord and stood with their legs braced, breathing heavily.
Calumet waited patiently. He was anxious to get to the Lazy Y, but his sympathy was with the horses. He rolled and lighted another cigarette, holding the match concealed in the palm of his hand so that the breeze might not extinguish it.
Sitting thus, a premonition of danger oppressed him with such force and suddenness that it caused him to throw himself quickly backward. At the exact instant that his back struck the lumber piled behind him he heard the sharp, vicious crack of a rifle, and a bullet thudded dully into one of the wooden stanchions of the wagon frame at the edge of the seat. Another report followed it quickly, and Calumet flung himself headlong toward the rear of the wagon, where he lay for a brief instant, alert, rigid, too full of rage for utterance.
But he was not too angry to think. The shots, he knew, had come from the left of the wagon. They had been too close for comfort, and whoever had shot at him was a good enough marksman, although, he thought, with a bitter grin, a trifle too slow of movement to do any damage to him.
His present position was precarious and he did not stay long in it. Close to the side of the wagon—the side opposite that from which the shots had come—was a shallow gully, deep enough to conceal himself in and fringed at the rear by several big boulders. It was an ideal position and Calumet did not hesitate to take advantage of it. Dropping from the rear of the wagon, he made a leap for the gully, landing in its bottom upon all fours. He heard a crash, and a bullet flattened itself against one of the rocks above his head.
"He ain't so slow, after all," he admitted grudgingly, referring to the concealed marksman.
He kneeled in the gully and looked cautiously over its edge. The wagon was directly in front of him; part of one of the rear wheels was in his line of vision. The horses were standing quietly, undisturbed by the shots. He resolved to keep them where they were, and, exercising the greatest care, he found a good-sized rock and stuck it under the front of the rear wheel nearest him, thus blocking the wagon against them should they become restless.
The moon was at his back, and he grinned with satisfaction as he noted that the rocks behind him threw a deep shadow into the gully. He could not help thinking that his enemy, whoever he was, had not made a happy selection of a spot for an ambuscade, for the moonlight's glare revealed every rock on the other side of the wagon, and the few trees in the wood behind the rocks were far too slender to provide shelter for a man of ordinary size. Calumet chuckled grimly as, with his head slightly above the edge of the gully and concealed behind the felloes of the wagon wheel, he made an examination of the rocks beyond the wagon.
There were four of the rocks which were of sufficient size to afford concealment for a man. They varied in size and were ranged along the side of the trail in an irregular line. All were about a hundred feet distant.
The smaller one, he decided, was not to be considered, though he looked suspiciously at it before making his decision. Its neighbor was larger, though he reasoned that if he were to make a selection for an ambuscade he would not choose that one either. The other two rocks were almost the same size and he watched them warily. To the right and left of these rocks was a clear space, flat and open, with not a tree or a bush large enough to conceal danger such as he was in search of. The slope up which he had just driven the horses was likewise free from obstruction, so that if his enemy was behind any of the rocks he was doomed to stay there or offer himself as a target for Calumet's pistol.
"Wise, I reckon," he sneered. "Figgered to plug me while the horses was restin', knowin' I'd have to breathe them about here. Thought one shot would get me. Missed his reckonin'. Must be a mite peeved by this time."
His gaze became intent again, but this time it was directed to some underbrush about two hundred yards distant, back of the rocks. With some difficulty he could make out the shape of a horse standing well back in the brush, and again he grinned.
"That's why he took that side," h
e said. "There's no place on this side where he could hide his horse. It's plumb simple."
From where he kneeled began another slope that descended to the Lazy Y valley. It dipped gently down into the wood in front of the house, where he had hitched his horse on the night of his home-coming, and between the trees he could see a light flickering. The light came from the kitchen window of the ranch-house; Betty had left it burning for him, expecting him to return shortly after dusk. The house was not more than a mile distant and he wondered at the hardihood of his enemy in planning to ambush him so close to his home. He reflected, though, that it was not likely that the shots could be heard from the house, for the spot on which the wagon stood was several hundred feet above the level of the valley, and then there was the intervening wood, which would dull whatever sound might float in that direction.
Who could his assailant be? Why, it was Taggart, of course. Taggart had left town hours before him, he was a coward, and shooting from ambush is a coward's game.
Calumet's blood leaped a little faster in his veins. He would settle for good with Neal Taggart. But he did not move except to draw one of his six-shooters and push its muzzle over the edge of the gully. He shoved his arm slowly forward so that it lay extended along the ground the barrel of the pistol resting on the felloes of the wheel.
In this position he remained for half an hour. No sound broke the strained stillness of the place. The horses had sagged forward, their heads hanging, their legs braced. There was no cloud in the sky and the clear light of the moon poured down in a yellow flood. Calumet's task would have been easier if he could have told which of the four rocks concealed his enemy. As it was he was compelled to watch them all.
But presently, at the edge of one of the two larger rocks, the one nearest the slope, he detected movement. A round object a foot in diameter, came slowly into view from behind the rock, propelled by an unseen force. It was shoved out about three quarters of its width, so that it overlapped the big rock beside it, leaving an aperture between the two of perhaps three or four inches. While Calumet watched a rifle barrel was stuck into this aperture. Calumet waited until the muzzle of the rifle became steady and then he took quick aim at the spot and pulled the trigger of his six-shooter, ducking his head below the edge of the gully as his weapon crashed.
He heard a laugh, mocking, discordant, followed by a voice—Taggart's voice.
"Clean miss," it said. "You're nervous."
"Like you was in town today," jeered Calumet.
"Then you know me?" returned Taggart. "I ain't admittin' that I was any nervous."
"Scared of the dark, then," said Calumet. "You left town a whole lot punctual."
"Well," sneered Taggart; "mebbe I ain't much on the shoot. I don't play any man's game but my own."
"You're right," mocked Calumet; "you don't play no man's game. A man's game—"
He raised his head a trifle and a bullet sang past it, flattened itself against the rock behind him, cutting short his speech and his humor at the same instant. The gully was fully fifty feet long and he dropped on his hands and knees and crawled to the upper end of it, away from the slope. He saw one of Taggart's feet projecting from behind the rock and he brought his six-shooter to a poise. The foot moved and disappeared. Catching a glimpse of the rifle barrel coming into view around the edge of the rock, Calumet sank back into the gully. Fifteen minutes later when he again cautiously raised his head above the level there was no sign of Taggart. He dropped down into the gully again and scrambled to the other end of it, raising his head again. He saw Taggart, twenty-five feet behind the rock, backing away toward the wood where his horse stood, crouching, watchful, endeavoring to keep the rock between him and Calumet while he retreated. Altogether, he was fully a hundred and twenty-five feet away at the moment Calumet caught sight of him, and he was looking toward the end of the gully that Calumet had just vacated. Calumet stood erect and snapped a shot at him, though the distance was so great that he had little expectation of doing any damage.
But Taggart staggered, dropped his rifle and dove headlong toward the rock. In an instant he had resumed his position behind it, and Calumet could tell from the rapidity of his movements that he had not been hit. He saw the rifle lying where it had fallen, and he was meditating a quick rush toward the rock when he saw Taggart's hand come out and grasp the stock of the weapon, dragging it back to him. Calumet whipped a bullet at the hand, but the only result was a small dust cloud beside it.
"In a hurry, Taggart?" he jeered. "Aw, don't be. This is the most fun I've had since I've been back in the valley. An' you want to spoil it by hittin' the breeze. Hang around a while till I get my hand in. I reckon you ain't hurt?" he added, putting a little anxiety into his voice.
"Hurt nothin'," growled Taggart. "You hit the stock of the rifle."
"I reckon that wouldn't be accounted bad shootin' at a hundred an' twenty-five feet," said Calumet. "If you hadn't had the rifle in the way you'd have got it plumb in your bread-basket. But don't be down-hearted; that ain't nothin' to what I can do when I get my hand in. I ain't had no practice."
He had an immense advantage over Taggart. The latter was compelled to remain concealed behind his rock, while Calumet had the freedom of the gully. He did not anticipate that Taggart would again attempt to retreat in the same way, nor did he think that he would risk charging him, for he would not be certain at what point in the gully he would be likely to find his enemy and thus a charge would probably result disastrously for him.
Taggart was apparently satisfied of the watchfulness of Calumet, for he stayed discreetly behind his rock. Twice during the next hour his rifle cracked when he caught a glimpse of Calumet's head, and each time he knew he had missed, for Calumet's laugh followed the reports. Once, after a long interval of silence, thinking that Calumet was at the other end of the gully, he moved the small rock which he had pushed beyond the edge of the large one, using his rifle barrel as a prod. A bullet from Calumet's pistol struck the rock, glanced from it and seared the back of his hand, bringing a curse to his lips.
"Told you so," came Calumet's voice. "I hope it ain't nothin' serious. But I'm gettin' my hand in."
This odd duel continued with long lapses of silence while the moon grew to a disk of pale, liquid silver in the west, enduring through the bleak, chill time preceding the end of night, finally fading and disappearing as the far eastern distance began to glow with the gray light of dawn.
Calumet's cold humor had not survived the night. He patrolled the gully during the slow-dragging hours of the early morning with a growing caution and determination, his lips setting always into harder lines, his eyes beginning to blaze with a ferocity that promised ill for Taggart.
Shortly after dawn, kneeling in the gully at the end toward the ranchhouse, he heard the wagon move. He looked up to see that the horses had started, evidently with the intention of completing their delayed journey to the stable, where they would find the food and water which they no doubt craved. As the wagon bumped over the obstruction which Calumet had placed in front of the rear wheel, he was on the verge of shouting to the horses to halt, but thought better of it, watching them in silence as they made their way slowly down the slope.
It took them a long time to reach the level of the valley, and then they passed slowly through the wood, going as steadily as though there was a driver on the seat behind them, and finally they turned into the ranchhouse yard and came to a halt near the kitchen door.
Calumet watched them until they came to a stop and then he went to the opposite end of the gully, peeping above it in order to learn of the whereabouts of Taggart. He saw no signs of him and returned to the other end of the gully.
Taggart, he suspected, could not see where the wagon had gone and no doubt was filled with curiosity. Neither could Taggart see the ranchhouse, for there were intervening hills and the slope itself was a ridge which effectually shut off Taggart's view. But neither hills or ridge were in Calumet's line of vision. Kneeling in the gully he w
atched the wagon. Presently he saw Betty come out and stand on the porch. She looked at the wagon for a moment and then went toward it—Calumet could see her peer around the canvas side at the seat. After a moment she left the wagon and walked to the stable, looking within. Then she took a turn around the ranchhouse yard, stopping at the bunkhouse and looking over the corral fence. She returned to the wagon and stood beside it as though pondering. Calumet grinned in amusement. She was wondering what had become of him. His grin was cut short by the crash of Taggart's rifle and he dodged down, realizing that in his curiosity to see what Betty was doing he had inadvertently exposed himself. A hole in his shirt sleeve near the shoulder testified to his narrow escape.
His rage against Taggart was furious and with a grimace at him he turned again to the ranchhouse. Betty had left the wagon and had walked several steps toward him, standing rigid, shading her eyes with her hands. Apparently she had heard the report of the rifle and was wondering what it meant. At that instant Calumet looked over the edge of the gully to see Taggart shoving the muzzle of his rifle around the side of the rock. Its report mingled with the roar of Calumet's pistol.
Taggart yelled with pain and rage and flopped back out of sight, while Calumet laid an investigating hand on his left shoulder, which felt as though it had been seared by a red-hot iron.
He kneeled in the gully and tore the cloth away. The wound was a slight one and he sneered at it. He made his way to the other end of the gully, expecting that Taggart, if injured only slightly, might again attempt a retreat, but he did not see him and came back to the end nearest the ranchhouse. Then he saw Betty running toward him, carrying a rifle.
At this evidence of meditated interference in his affairs a new rage afflicted Calumet. He motioned violently for her to keep away, and when he saw Dade run out of the house after her, also with a rifle in hand, he motioned again. But it was evident that they took his motions to mean that they were not to approach him in that direction, for they changed their course and swung around toward the rocks at his rear.
The Boss of the Lazy Y Page 13