I hoped to meet Jim somewhere in the woods as I rode down the trail, because I was intending to do something to kinda impede his courting whilst I was gone, like breaking his laig or something, but luck wasn’t with me.
I headed in the general direction of Chawed Ear, and a few days later seen me riding in gloomy grandeur through a country quite some distance from Ellen Reynolds. Nobody’d been able to tell me anything in Chawed Ear, so I thought I might as well comb the country between there and Grizzly Run. Probably wouldn’t never find them dern bandits anyway.
Pap always said my curiosity would be the ruination of me some day, but I never could listen to guns popping up in the mountains without wanting to find out who was killing who. So that morning, when I heard the rifles talking off amongst the trees, I turned Cap’n Kidd aside and left the trail and rode in the direction of the noise.
A dim path wound up through the big boulders and bushes, and the shooting kept getting louder. Purty soon I come out into a glade, and just as I did, bam! somebody let go at me from the bresh and a .45-70 slug cut both my bridle reins nearly in half. I instantly returned the shot with my .45, getting jest a glimpse of something in the bresh, and a man let out a squall and jumped out into the open, wringing his hands. My bullet had hit the lock of his Winchester and mighty nigh jarred his hands offa him.
“Cease that ungodly noise,” I said sternly, p’inting my .45 at his bay- winder, “and explain how come you waylays innercent travellers.”
He quit working his fingers and moaning, and he said: “I thought you was Joel Cairn, the outlaw. Yo’re about his size.”
“Well, I ain’t,” I said. “I’m Breckinridge Elkins, from Bear Creek. I was jest ridin’ over to find out what all the shootin’ was about.”
The guns was banging in the trees behind the feller, and somebody yelled what was the matter.
“Ain’t nothin’ the matter,” he hollered back. “Just a misunderstandin’.” And he says to me: “I’m glad to see you, Elkins. We need a man like you. I’m Sheriff Dick Hopkins, from Grizzly Run.”
“Where at’s yore star?” I inquired.
“I lost it in the bresh,” he said. “Me and my deputies have been chasin’ Tarantula Bixby and his gang for a day and a night, and we got ’em cornered over there in a old deserted cabin in a holler. The boys is shootin’ at ’em now. I heered you comin’ up the trail and snuck over to see who it was. Just as I said, I thought you was Cairn. Come on with me. You can help us.”
“I ain’t no deperty,” I said. “I got nothin’ against Tranchler Bixby.”
“Well, you want to uphold the law, don’t you?” he said.
“Naw,” I said.
“Well, gee whiz!” he wailed. “If you ain’t a hell of a citizen! The country’s goin’ to the dogs. What chance has a honest man got?”
“Aw, shet up,” I said. “I’ll go over and see the fun, anyhow.”
So he picked up his gun, and I tied Cap’n Kidd, and follered the sheriff through the trees till we come to some rocks, and there was four men laying behind them rocks and shooting down into a hollow. The hill sloped away mighty steep into a small basin that was jest like a bowl, with a rim of slopes all around. In the middle, of this bowl they was a cabin and puffs of smoke was coming from the cracks between the logs.
The men behind the rocks looked at me in surprise, and one of ’em said: “What the hell?”
The sheriff scowled at them and said, “Boys, this here is Breck Elkins. I done already told him about us bein’ a posse from Grizzly Run, and about how we got Tarantula Bixby and two of his cutthroats trapped in that there cabin.”
One of the deputies bust into a loud guffaw and Hopkins glared at him and said: “What you laughin’ about, you spotted hyener?”
“I swallered my terbaccer and that allus gives me the hystericals,” mumbled the deputy, looking the other way.
“Hold up yore right hand, Elkins,” requested Hopkins, so I done so, wondering what for, and he said: “Does you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, e pluribus unum, anno dominecker, to wit in status quo?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” I demanded.
“Them which God has j’ined asunder let no man put together,” said Hopkins. “Whatever you say will be used agen you and the Lord have mercy on yore soul. That means yo’re a deputy. I just swore you in.”
“Go set on a prickly pear,” I snorted disgustedly. “Go catch yore own thieves. And don’t look at me like that. I might bend a gun over yore skull.”
“But Elkins,” pleaded Hopkins, “with yore help we can catch them rats easy. All you got to do is lay up here behind this big rock and shoot at the cabin and keep ’em occupied till we can sneak around and rush ’em from the rear. See, the bresh comes down purty close to the foot of the slope on the other side, and gives us cover. We can do it easy, with somebody keepin’ their attention over here. I’ll give you part of the reward.”
“I don’t want no derned blood-money,” I said, backing away, “And besides — ow!”
I’d absent-mindedly backed out from behind the big rock where I’d been standing, and a .30-30 slug burned its way acrost the seat of my britches.
“Dern them murderers!” I bellered, seeing red. “Gimme a rifle! I’ll learn ’em to shoot a man behind his back! Gwan, and git ’em from behind whilst I attracts their attention with a serenade of hot lead!”
“Good boy!” says Hopkins. “You’ll git plenty for this!”
It sounded like somebody was snickering to theirselves as they snuck away, but I give no heed. I squinted cautiously around the big boulder and begun sniping at the cabin. All I could see to shoot at was the puffs of smoke which marked the cracks they was shooting through, but from the cussing and yelling which begun to float up from the shack, I must of throwed some lead mighty close to them.
They kept shooting back, and the bullets splashed and buzzed on the rocks, and I kept looking at the further slope for some sign of Sheriff Hopkins and the posse. But all I heard was a sound of hosses galloping away towards the west. I wondered who it was, and I kept expecting the posse to rush down the oppersite slope and take them desperadoes in the rear, and whilst I was craning my neck around a corner of the boulder — whang! A bullet smashed into the rock a few inches from my face and a sliver of stone taken a notch out of my ear. I don’t know of nothing that makes me madder’n getting shot in the ear.
I seen red and didn’t even shoot back. A ordinary rifle was too paltry to satisfy me. Suddenly I realized that the big boulder in front of me was jest poised on the slope, its underside partly embedded in the earth. I throwed down my rifle and bent my knees and spread my arms and gripped it.
I shook the sweat and blood outa my eyes, and bellered so them in the hollow could hear me: “I’m givin’ you-all a chance to surrender! Come out with yore hands up!”
They give loud and sarcastic jeers, and I yelled: “All right, you ring- tailed jackasses! If you gits squashed like a pancake, it’s yore own fault. Here she comes!”
And I heaved with all I had. The veins stood out onto my temples, and my feet sunk into the ground, but the earth bulged and cracked all around the big rock, rivulets of dirt begun to trickle down, and the big boulder groaned, give way and lurched over.
A dumbfounded yell riz from the cabin. I lept behind a bush, but the outlaws was too surprised to shoot at me. That enormous boulder was tumbling down the hill, crushing bushes flat and gathering speed as it rolled. And the cabin was right in its path.
Wild yells bust the air, the door was throwed vi’lently open, and a man hove into view. Jest as he started out of the door I let bamat him and he howled and ducked back jest like anybody will when a .45-90 slug knocks their hat off. The next instant that thundering boulder hit the cabin. Smash! It knocked it sidewise like a ten pin and caved in the wall, and the whole structure collapsed in a cloud of dust and bark and splinters.
I run down the slope, and from the yells
which issued from under the ruins, I knowed they warn’t all kilt.
“Does you-all surrender?” I roared.
“Yes, dern it!” they squalled. “Git us out from under this landslide!”
“Throw out yore guns,” I ordered.
“How in hell can we throw anything?” they hollered wrathfully. “We’re pinned down by a ton of rocks and boards and we’re bein’ squoze to death. Help, murder!”
“Aw, shet up,” I said. “You all don’t hear me carryin’ on in no such hysterical way, does you?”
Well, they moaned and complained, and I sot to work dragging the ruins offa them, which warn’t no great task. Purty soon I seen a booted laig and I laid hold of it and dragged out the critter it was fastened to, and he looked more done up than what my brother Buckner did that time he rassled a mountain lion for a bet. I taken his pistol out of his belt, and laid him down on the ground and got the others out. They was three, altogether, and I taken their arms and laid ’em out in a row.
Their clothes was nearly tore off, and they was bruised and scratched and had splinters in their hair, but they warn’t hurt permanent. They sot up and felt of theirselves, and one of ’em said: “This here’s the first earthquake I ever seen in this country.”
“‘Twarn’t no earthquake,” said another’n. “It was a avalanche.”
“Lissen here, Joe Partland,” said the first’n, grinding his teeth. “I says it was a earthquake, and I ain’t the man to be called a liar—”
“Oh, you ain’t, hey?” says the other’n, bristling up. “Well, lemme tell you somethin’, Frank Jackson—”
“This ain’t no time for sech argyments,” I admonished ’em sternly. “As for that there rock, I rolled that at you-all myself.”
They gaped at me, and one of ’em says: “Who are you?” he says, mopping the blood offa his ear.
“Never mind that,” I says. “You see this here Winchester? Well, you-all set still and rest yorselves. Soon as the sheriff gits here I’m goin’ to hand you over to him.”
His mouth fell open. “Sheriff?” he said, dumb-like. “What sheriff?”
“Dick Hopkins, from Grizzly Run,” I said.
“Why, you demed fool!” he screamed, scrambling up.
“Set down!” I roared, shoving my rifle barrel at him, and he sank back, all white and shaking. He couldn’t hardly talk.
“Lissen to me!” he gasped. “I’m Dick Hopkins! I’m sheriff of Grizzly Run! These men are my deputies.”
“Yeah?” I said sarcastically. “And who was the fellers shootin’ at you from the bresh?”
“Tarantula Bixby and his gang,” he says. “We was follerin’ ’em when they jumped us, and bein’ outnumbered and surprised, we taken cover in that old hut. They robbed the Grizzly Run bank day before yesterday. And now they’ll be gittin’ further away every minute! Oh, Judas J. Iscariot! Of all the dumb, bone- headed jackasses—”
“Heh! heh! heh!” I said cynically. “You must think I ain’t got no sense. If yo’re the sheriff, where at’s yore star?”
“It was on my suspenders,” he said despairingly. “When you hauled me out by the laig my suspenders caught on somethin’ and tore off. If you’ll lemme look amongst them rooins—”
“You set still,” I commanded. “You cain’t fool me. Yo’re Tranchler Bixby yoreself. Sheriff Hopkins told me so. Him and the posse’ll be here directly. Set still and shet up.”
We stayed there, and the feller which claimed to be the sheriff moaned and pulled his hair and shed a few tears, and the other fellers tried to convince me they was deputies till I got tired of their gab and told ’em to shet up or I’d bend my Winchester over their heads. I wondered why Hopkins and them didn’t come, and I begun to get nervous, and all to onst the feller which said he was the sheriff give a yell that startled me so I jumped and nearly shot him. He had something in his hand and was waving it around.
“See here?” he hollered so loud his voice cracked. “I found it! It must of fell down into my shirt when my suspenders busted! Look at it, you derned mountain grizzly!”
I looked and my flesh crawled. It was a shiny silver star.
“Hopkins said he lost his’n,” I said weakly. “Maybe you found it in the bresh.”
“You know better!” he bellered. “Yo’re one of Bixby’s men. You was left here to hold us whilst Tarantula and the rest made their gitaway. You’ll git ninety years for this!”
I turned cold all over as I remembered them hosses I heard galloping. I’d been fooled! This was the sheriff! That pot-bellied thug which shot at me had been Bixby hisself! And whilst I held up the real sheriff and his posse, them outlaws was riding out of the country! I was the prize sucker.
“You better gimme that gun and surrender,” opined Hopkins. “Maybe if you do they won’t hang you.”
“Set still!” I snarled. “I’m the biggest fool that ever straddled a mustang, but even idjits has their feelin’s. Pap said never resist a officer, but this here is a special case. You ain’t goin’ to put me behind no bars, jest because I made a mistake. I’m goin’ up that there slope, but I’ll be watchin’ you. I’ve throwed yore guns over there in the bresh. If anybody makes a move towards ‘em, I’ll shove a harp right into his hand.”
They set up a chant of hate as I backed away, but they sot still. I went up the slope backwards till I hit the rim, and then I turned and ducked into the bresh and run. I heard ’em cussing something awful down in the hollow, but I didn’t pause. I come to where I’d left Cap’n Kidd and forked him and pulled out, being thankful them outlaws had been in too big a hurry to steal him. But I doubt if he’d a-let ‘em. I throwed away the rifle they give me and headed west.
I aimed to cross Thunder River at Ghost Canyon, and head into the wild mountain region beyond there. I figgered I could dodge a posse indefinite onst I got there. I let Cap’n Kidd out into a long lope, cussing my reins which had been notched deep by Bixby’s bullet. I didn’t have time to fix ‘em, and Cap’n Kidd was a iron-jawed outlaw.
He was sweating plenty when I finally hove in sight of the place I was heading for. As I topped the canyon’s crest before I dipped down to the crossing, I looked back. They was a high notch in the hills a few miles behind me, and as I looked three hossmen was etched in that notch, lined agen the sky behind ‘em. I cussed free and fervent. Why hadn’t I had sense enough to know Hopkins and his men was bound to have hosses tied somewheres near? They got their mounts and follered me, figgering I’d aim for the country beyond Thunder River. It was about the only place I could go.
Not wanting no running fight with no sheriff’s posse, I raced recklessly down the sloping canyon wall, busted out of the bushes — and stopped short. Thunder River was on the rampage — bank-full in the narrow channel and boiling and foaming. Been a cloud-bust somewhere away up on the head, and the hoss warn’t never foaled which could swum it. Not even Cap’n Kidd, though he snorted warlike and was game to try it.
They wasn’t but one thing to do, and I done it. I wheeled Cap’n Kidd and headed up the canyon. Five miles up the river they was another crossing, with a bridge — if it hadn’t been washed away. Like as not it had been, with the luck I was having. A nice pickle Uncle Garfield’s cussed watch had got me in, I reflected bitterly. Jest when I was all sot to squelch Glory McGraw onst and for all by marrying Ellen Reynolds, here I was throwed into circumstances which made me a fugitive from justice. I could just imagine Glory laughing at me, and it nigh locoed me.
I was so absorbed in these thoughts I paid little attention to my imejit surroundings, but all of a sudden I heard a noise ahead, above the roar of the river and the thunder of Cap’n Kidd’s hoofs on the rocky canyon floor. We was approaching a bend in the gorge where a low ridge run out from the canyon wall, and beyond that ridge I heard guns banging. I heaved back on the reins — and both of ’em snapped in two!
Cap’n Kidd instantly clamped his teeth on the bit and bolted, like he always does when he gits the chance. He headed straight fo
r the bushes at the end of the ridge, and I leaned forward and tried to get hold of the bit rings with my fingers. But all I done was swerve him from his course. Instead of follering the canyon bed on around the end of the ridge, he went right over the rise, which sloped on that side. It didn’t slope on t’other side; it fell away abrupt. I had a fleeting glimpse of five men crouching amongst the bushes on the canyon floor with guns in their hands. They looked up — and Cap’n Kidd braced his laigs and slid to a halt at the lip of the blow bluff, and simultaneous bogged his head and throwed me heels over head down amongst ‘em.
My boot heel landed on somebody’s head, and the spur knocked him cold and blame near sculped him. That partly bust my fall, and it was further cushioned by another feller which I lit on in a setting position, and which taken no further interest in the proceedings. But the other three fell on me with loud brutal yells, and I reched for my .45 and found to my humiliation that it had fell out of my scabbard when I was throwed.
So I riz up with a rock in my hand and bounced it offa the head of a feller which was fixing to shoot me, and he dropped his pistol and fell on top of it. At this juncture one of the survivors put a buffalo gun to his shoulder and sighted, then evidently fearing he would hit his companion which was carving at me on the other side with a bowie knife, he reversed it and run in swinging it like a club.
The man with the knife got in a slash across my ribs and I then hit him on the chin which was how his jawbone got broke in four places. Meanwhile the other’n swung at me with his rifle, but missed my head and broke the stock off across my shoulder. Irritated at his persistency in trying to brain me with the barrel, I laid hands on him and throwed him head-on agen the bluff, which is when he got his fractured skull and concussion of the brain, I reckon.
I then shaken the sweat outa my eyes, and glaring down, rekernized the remains as Bixby and his gang. I might have knew they’d head for the wild country across the river, same as me. Only place they could go.
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 48