“Keep close to me,” said Hunter as he opened the door.
They passed out quickly, turned sharply to the right past the livery, which was set well back from the street, and were soon behind the row of buildings that faced the street. They walked in the rear of these until they had nearly reached the upper end of the street when Hunter stopped at a door, rapped twice, and waited. Wayne had swung around and was keeping an eye out to the sides and rear. The door opened and it was Green, the gambler, who admitted them.
Wayne saw at once that they were in the rear of a resort. They turned into a room on the left of the short corridor that led to the main room. The front of the place was strangely quiet. There were no sounds of voices, of glasses clinking, of poker checks clicking.
Wayne looked from one to the other of the two men with a frown. “What’s next?” he asked curtly.
“Both sides of the street outside are crowded,” said Hunter slowly, cutting his words distinctly. “There’s a crowd over in front of The Three Colors, too. Barry is in there. He’s got to come out in the open. We’ve seen to that. We’ll go out front and wait, and when he shows …”
“Wait?” said Wayne hoarsely. “Wait! Let him do the waiting and I’ll be the bait!”
In a moment he had flung himself out the door and was running into the deserted big room of the resort. He plunged through the swinging doors and elbowed his way roughly through the throng in the street that parted instantly. Then he calmly walked out into the dust of the street, his lightning glance darting in every direction, but returning constantly toward The Three Colors.
There was a breathless silence, then a general movement of the crowd. Which way would the bullets fly? Men crowded against each other, and the throngs swayed. A shout and a fight had started. As if at a signal, every WP cowpuncher was attacked. Men surged into the street from either side, WP men fighting their assailants and Barry men—perhaps Darling men—milling and shouting.
Wayne stopped short. The significance of what was taking place before his eyes struck him in a second. This was Jake Barry’s trick.
He began to back down the street. More men rushed in and he was caught in the mêlée. Spectators were on the run, fleeing down the street, into the spaces between buildings, crowding through doorways, seeking points of safety. The shouting was deafening and the dust rose in a stifling cloud. But no man made an attempt to attack Wayne. Barry’s orders, no doubt. No one could prove who started the trouble and in the turmoil Barry would seek his advantage.
And Wayne was right. In some fashion the milling, struggling mob ahead of him parted and Wayne saw Barry running from the front of The Three Colors. On the instant Wayne caught a glimpse of the single spectator who remained before the resort—a tall man in corduroy with a great black hat about which was a silver-studded band. He only needed that glance at the eyes. Darling!
The fighting ceased like magic. Barry was close, leaping from side to side. His hands darted to his guns and the shots came sharp and close—uncannily close—from Wayne’s right hip.
Barry stopped, his mouth open and twisted, his right hand hanging loosely, clutching a gun, his left hand resting on the weapon in his other holster that he had not had time to draw. A red froth bubbled on his lips as he pitched forward on his face in the dust of the street.
A hoarse roar went up from the crowd and Wayne felt a grip of iron on his left arm, jerking him forward.
“Run for it!” It was Hunter’s voice. “Straight ahead!”
The mob was closing in and Wayne and Hunter dashed for the entrance to The Three Colors. Bullets sang in their ears as they plunged through the doors.
“Right on through!” came Hunter’s crisp command. Wayne saw he had his gun in his hand. He still held his own weapon with three empty shells in his hand. He had lost his hat.
The whole length of the room they sped and behind the partition at the rear to the door behind. Hunter jerked the door open, slammed it behind them, and turned a key. Two horses were in the space behind the resort and Wayne recognized his own mount as one of them.
“Let’s go!” cried Hunter, running for the other horse.
“Wait!” shouted Wayne. “The boys … Polly …!”
Hunter whirled on him. “Think of yourself! They’re out to get you and me, too. There’ll be time to talk later, you fool!”
He flung himself into the saddle as a crash came from the door. The hostile mob was smashing its way out. Wayne hesitated no longer. He made a flying mount and they cut out from behind the building to the trail leading to the north road. Bullets spent themselves behind them as they raced over the bridge and headed for the purple bulk of Rainbow Butte, swimming in the twilight.
Chapter Nineteen
When Polly Arnold heard the key turn in the lock, and Wayne had gone with Hunter, she stood still, trembling, staring unseeing at the door. Ted Wayne gone with an outlaw—forsaking her for the danger trail that led into the shadows—gone bad!
She looked down at the riding crop. She had no heart to pound on the door to attract attention and be liberated. Her senses seemed numbed, and the swift heat of her anger fled, leaving her listless and limp. She moved to the window and sank into the chair beside it.
Her concern over anything her father might have to say about her adventure waned. The Bar A seemed far away; the Whippoorwill had vanished; the rest of the world was swept aside and her mind was in chaos. Slowly her disordered thoughts knitted into the realization that the one thing in life she wanted most was Ted Wayne. Outlaw or not, he rightfully belonged to her. They had known each other from childhood. They had ridden wild and free under the blazing summer suns, in the blinding blizzards, in the dust and the rain and the hail, in the breathless dawns and the long, soft evenings. He had told her he loved her and she had seen it in his eyes. She had told him she would marry him and then within the hour had said the promise had been actuated by pity. She had lied!
Polly Arnold had wept few times in recent years, but now the tears came, and they were not tears of self-pity. It was merely a woman’s outlet for suppressed emotions.
The tears were short-lived. She dried her eyes with a dainty handkerchief and rose from the chair. She had sat and thought too long. As she picked up the riding crop, she tensed and listened. From somewhere in the street came the sounds of tumult. She ran to the window, removed the sliding screen, and leaned out to look up the street. She saw the milling crowd with the dust rising and the throngs on the sides running. The dust cloud obscured her view, but she knew a fight was in progress. Then came the shots, one, two, three, almost as one long-drawn report. Guns.
She ran to the door, shouting and striking it with the butt of her riding crop. But no one was upstairs and those in the lobby hurried into the street. Polly Arnold was not a weakling and the door was a flimsy affair. She spurned calling out the window for help. She grasped a straight-back chair and swung it against the thin, left upper panel of the door. The rear legs of the chair smashed through the panel as if it were made of cardboard. She reached through, turned the key that Hunter had left in the lock, and opened the door.
She could still hear the shouting as she ran down the stairs and through the empty lobby. On the porch the pale-faced clerk turned to glance at her, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Wayne got him!” he exclaimed.
“Got who?” Polly asked breathlessly.
“Jake Barry! Outdrew him clean as daylight. The dust just cleared so I could see it from up here. Look at ’em run!”
The crowd was running up the street. The girl was down the steps and hurrying in the wake of the throng before the clerk could say anything more. So this explained it. Ted Wayne had come to Rainbow to shoot it out with Jake Barry and had killed him. The first act of his new career. Sobs choked in Polly Arnold’s throat and then an insatiable hatred of Hunter was born in her heart. She blamed him alone for what had happened.
In the deepening dusk men took little notice of her as she pushed her way
into the big crowd that had gathered at the upper end of Main Street in front of The Three Colors. Here the throng was so closely packed that she couldn’t get through.
She grasped a man by the arm in her anxiety. “Is he there?” she asked, almost hysterical.
“He’s dead,” said the man, staring at her in amazement.
“Dead? Oh, but Wayne … where is Wayne?”
“He beat it while the beatin’ was good, or they’d have got him sure. He’s on his way, that boy. Who’re you, miss?”
But Polly didn’t answer. She turned away sick at heart and started down the street toward the hotel just as Jack McCurdy came running up. “All right, back to the hotel, Miss Polly,” he said sternly. “I was tipped off you were down there and you’ve got to get out of this pronto.”
“Is this why you came here?” the girl asked heatedly. “To protect Ted while he killed that Jake? You might better have got him away from that man, Hunter, Jack McCurdy, and you know it.”
“Ted can take care of himself,” said McCurdy firmly. “Don’t worry about him. But you can’t take care of yourself, not in this town. You’re going to stay hid till morning.”
“I’m going back tonight,” she flared.
“You are not, Miss Polly, and there’s no use arguing. I’ve had to send the men home because I won’t risk a gun battle with these cutthroats. They may be chased and have to fight it out yet, for all I know. It wouldn’t be safe for you to start back alone and you know it. I’ve got to stay here tonight to try and get some word of Ted. In the morning I’ll ride back with you and we’ll frame the proper story for your dad. Now, you’re range stock, Miss Polly. Please be sensible.”
They had reached the hotel and McCurdy hurried her upstairs. He led her into a vacant room in the front near the parlor and lighted the lamp, for it was fast growing dark.
She sat down on the bed and looked at him. Her face was pale. “If I’d known this, I wouldn’t have come,” she said in a faint voice. “I thought … I … oh, I don’t know what I thought or why I came. I’m a fool!”
“No, you’re not a fool, Miss Polly,” McCurdy soothed. “I know a thing or two about you and Ted. You thought you could help him some way and so you came in. How did you know what was coming off?”
“I didn’t know,” replied the girl stoutly. “It was that outlaw, Hunter, who started Ted out on this … this wild rampage. Dad’ll say he’s gone bad, just as he always said he would. If he has, it’s that Hunter’s fault.”
“What makes you think that?” McCurdy asked.
“Didn’t I see them ride in toward the Whippoorwill day before yesterday? And didn’t I see them ride back yesterday? I could tell by the way Ted talked and acted that Hunter had him under his thumb. Ted told me himself he’d had trouble at home over that Barry fight in town. So Hunter must have urged him to shoot it out with Barry. He came up here and got Ted tonight when Ted was talking to me. Now they say Ted’s gone. Well, you can bet he went with Hunter and Dad says Hunter is an outlaw, a thief, and a killer. It seems to me”—there was scorn in her voice—“that you would try to do something.” She flung him a look of contempt. “You claim to be his friend,” she taunted.
McCurdy hardly heard her. He was thinking rapidly. For she had told him some things he didn’t know. Naturally he knew nothing of the arrangement between Hunter and old Ed Wayne. But Hunter had told him he was Ted’s friend. Was the man double-crossing him? The WP foreman’s eyes hardened.
“Don’t take too much for granted, Miss Polly,” he said soberly. “And don’t think for a minute that I’m not Ted’s friend. I’m as much in the dark in this as you are. I think there may be a way, through folks I know in this town, to find out where Ted is and to see him or get word to him, or from him. That’s what I’m going to try to do. You shouldn’t say the things you do.” His frown was genuine.
“Oh … I’m upset,” said Polly. “But, Jack, how did this thing come about?”
“Ted and his dad had some words and Ted came to town. Barry met him and gave him till sundown tonight to get out. And you know Ted well enough to know he wouldn’t run. The word got to me and I came in with some of the boys to see that Ted got a square deal. I knew he could drop Barry, or I’d have roped him and drug him back to the ranch. Now you have the story. I don’t know anything about this Hunter.”
“Well, he’s the man you want to find out about,” said Polly. “Find him and you’ll find Ted.”
“Have you had your supper?” McCurdy demanded.
“No, and I don’t want any,” was the answer.
“I’m going to have some sent up,” said McCurdy firmly. “And I want you to promise me you’ll stay here, Miss Polly. Honestly it wouldn’t be safe for you to go out. Barry’s friends probably have a line on you by now and there’s a bunch of Darling’s men in town. I want to go out and try to get word of Ted, but I won’t move a step unless you promise me that you’ll stay right here.”
“If that’s the case, you bet I promise,” she said simply.
“Good girl,” said McCurdy, rising. “Now you eat a good supper and don’t worry. Ted’s all right and he can’t get into trouble over this. Barry had it coming to him and he didn’t have any too many friends, outside of those that ran with him. And I’d stake my life that Ted isn’t going bad.”
After McCurdy left, Polly pulled down the window shade and bathed her hands and face in the cold water on the washstand. She had brought nothing with her. When she had finished, there was a light knock on the door and a girl entered with her supper on a tray. The girl kept staring at her and Polly surmised that women visitors at the hotel were few. She had a mind to ask some questions but refrained.
Despite her mental agitation her healthy youth asserted itself and she ate heartily. It was a good supper and she felt in better spirits when she had finished. After all, this might be Ted Wayne’s last wild adventure. She turned the light low, raised the shade, and sat at the window, looking out at the stars over the shadows of the trees.
There was a light tapping on the door and thinking it was the girl returning for the supper dishes, Polly called: “Come in!”
When the door opened partly, she saw, not the waitress, but a man who put a finger to his lips as a signal for silence. She started to her feet.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the stranger in a low voice. “I come with a message from Wayne and I have to be careful.” He stepped quickly inside and closed the door. He was middle-aged, smooth-shaven, with a not unkindly eye, and dressed after the fashion of the range. Polly saw nothing particularly suspicious in his appearance and his voice was reassuring.
“What … what is the message?” she asked.
“I have to be careful,” the man repeated. “If certain people knew I was here and what I was doing, it would be bad medicine for me. Wayne wants to see you. You’re Miss Arnold, are you not?”
“Yes. How did you know I was here?”
“A friend in the kitchen told me the number of your room, but Wayne himself told me you were at the hotel. He wants to see you and sent me to take you to him right away. We must be careful, and go at once.”
“How do I know what you say is true?” asked Polly doubtfully.
“He had nothing to send but this,” said the man, drawing a hat from under his coat. “He sent his hat so you would know. There is a mark inside. He said I could bring it back to him with you.”
Polly didn’t have to look inside for the mark Ed Wayne had put there, and which had, of course, been seen by those who had inspected the hat. She knew Ted Wayne’s hat the moment she saw it. She had held it in her hands, as she did now, many times. He had sent it so she would know the message was authentic and the messenger to be relied upon.
“Where is he?” she asked eagerly.
“He’s outside of town, miss. It wouldn’t be safe for him to come in just now, as you probably know. I will take you to him, but we will have to be careful that we’re not followed.”
There
it was again: careful! Possibly, yes probably, Wayne was in danger. And he had sent for her. Polly flushed and thrilled, and then made up her mind.
“All right, I’ll go,” she said. “I believe I can trust you.”
“You can,” the man assured her. “Now, please do just as I say and follow me.”
He blew out the light in the lamp, after she had donned her hat, and beckoned to her. They went out into the hall and he closed the door silently. “On your toes,” he warned her. Then he stole down the length of the hall and they went down a rear stairway to the rear door. They hurried across the space to the livery and around behind it. Two horses were there and to her surprise Polly found her own mount, saddled and bridled. Fred Hastings had not returned to town that day after his furious ride through the dark hours of the early morning. In a few moments they were in their saddles and her guide led the way through the trees by a dim trail to an open space that reached to the bridge. They crossed this at a walk, and then spurred their horses to a gallop over the shadowy plain northward.
After two miles Polly checked her mount and called to her guide. He reined in his horse at once. “What’s the matter?” he demanded. His tone was not as modulated as that he had used before.
“How far do we have to go?” Polly demanded. “We’re just riding north across the prairie toward the butte.”
“We’ll come to a cross trail leading to the right shortly,” replied the other. “And we can’t be making stops and losing time. This isn’t any fun for me.”
“And it isn’t any fun for me, either,” the girl retorted sharply. She was nettled by the man’s tone. “Surely you know, and I’ve a perfect right to ask, how far we have to go.”
The man pointed off to the northeast where the dark shadow of timber showed. “We have to go as far as the trees along that creek. Now I’ve told you and done all I could. If you want to turn back, you can. I’m on my way.” He put the spurs to his horse again and rode on.
Rainbow Range Page 15