CHAPTER XII
THE COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH
Hampton staggered blindly to his feet, looking down on the motionlessbody. He was yet dazed from the sudden cessation of struggle, dazedstill more by something he had seen in the instant that deadly knifeflashed past him. For a moment the room appeared to swim before hiseyes, and he clutched at the overturned table for support, Then, as hissenses returned, he perceived the figures of a number of men jammingthe narrow doorway, and became aware of their loud, excited voices.Back to his benumbed brain there came with a rush the whole scene, thedesperation of his present situation. He had been found alone with thedead man. Those men, when they came surging in attracted by the noiseof strife, had found him lying on Slavin, his hand clutching theknife-hilt. He ran his eyes over their horrified faces, and knewinstantly they held him the murderer.
The shock of this discovery steadied him. He realized the meaning, thedread, terrible meaning, for he knew the West, its fierce, implacablespirit of vengeance, its merciless code of lynch-law. The vigilantesof the mining camps were to him an old story; more than once he hadwitnessed their work, been cognizant of their power. This was no timeto parley or to hesitate. He had seen and heard in that room thatwhich left him eager to live, to be free, to open a long-closed doorhiding the mystery of years. The key, at last, had fallen almostwithin reach of his fingers, and he would never consent to be robbed ofit by the wild rage of a mob. He grabbed the loaded revolver lyingupon the floor, and swung Slavin's discarded belt across his shoulder.If it was to be a fight, he would be found there to the death, and Godhave mercy on the man who stopped him!
"Stand aside, gentlemen," he commanded. "Step back, and let me pass!"
They obeyed. He swept them with watchful eyes, stepped past, andslammed the door behind him. In his heart he held them as curs, butcurs could snap, and enough of them might dare to pull him down. Menwere already beginning to pour into the saloon, uncertain yet of thefacts, and shouting questions to each other. Totally ignoring these,Hampton thrust himself recklessly through the crowd. Half-way down thebroad steps Buck Mason faced him, in shirt sleeves, his head uncovered,an ugly "45" in his up-lifted hand. Just an instant the eyes of thetwo men met, and neither doubted the grim purpose of the other.
"You've got ter do it, Bob," announced the marshal, shortly, "dead eralive."
Hampton never hesitated. "I 'm sorry I met you. I don't want to getanybody else mixed up in this fuss. If you'll promise me a chance formy life, Buck, I 'll throw up my hands. But I prefer a bullet to amob."
The little marshal was sandy-haired, freckle-faced, and all nerve. Hecast one quick glance to left and right. The crowd jammed within theOccidental had already turned and were surging toward the door; thehotel opposite was beginning to swarm; down the street a throng of menwas pouring forth from the Miners' Retreat, yelling fiercely, whilehurrying figures could be distinguished here and there among thescattered buildings, all headed in their direction. Hampton knew fromlong experience what this meant; these were the quickly inflamedcohorts of Judge Lynch--they would act first, and reflect later. Hissquare jaws set like a trap.
"All right, Bob," said the marshal. "You're my prisoner, and there 'llbe one hell of a fight afore them lads git ye. There's a chanceleft--leg it after me."
Just as the mob surged out of the Occidental, cursing and struggling,the two sprang forward and dashed into the narrow space between thelivery-stable and the hotel. Moffat chanced to be in the passage-way,and pausing to ask no questions, Mason promptly landed that gentlemanon the back of his head in a pile of discarded tin cans, and kickedviciously at a yellow dog which ventured to snap at them as they sweptpast. Behind arose a volley of curses, the thud of feet, an occasionalvoice roaring out orders, and a sharp spat of revolver shots. One ballplugged into the siding of the hotel, and a second threw a spit of sandinto their lowered faces, but neither man glanced back. They wererunning for their lives now, racing for a fair chance to turn at bayand fight, their sole hope the steep, rugged hill in their front.Hampton began to understand the purpose of his companion, the quick,unerring instinct which had led him to select the one suitable spotwhere the successful waging of battle against such odds waspossible--the deserted dump of the old Shasta mine.
With every nerve strained to the uttermost, the two men raced side byside down the steep slope, ploughed through the tangled underbrush, andtoiled up the sharp ascent beyond. Already their pursuers werecrowding the more open spaces below, incited by that fierce craze forswift vengeance which at times sweeps even the law-abiding off theirfeet. Little better than brutes they came howling on, caring only inthis moment to strike and slay. The whole affair had been like a flashof fire, neither pursuers nor pursued realizing the half of the storyin those first rapid seconds of breathless action. But back yonder laya dead man, and every instinct of the border demanded a victim inreturn.
At the summit of the ore dump the two men flung themselves pantingdown, for the first time able now to realize what it all meant. Theycould perceive the figures of their pursuers among the shadows of thebushes below, but these were not venturing out into the open--the firstmad, heedless rush had evidently ended. There were some cool headsamong the mob leaders, and it was highly probable that negotiationswould be tried before that crowd hurled itself against two desperatemen, armed and entrenched. Both fugitives realized this, and lay therecoolly watchful, their breath growing more regular, their eyessoftening.
"Whut is all this fuss about, anyhow?" questioned the marshal,evidently somewhat aggrieved. "I wus just eatin' dinner when a fellerstuck his head in an' yelled ye'd killed somebody over at theOccidental."
Hampton turned his face gravely toward him. "Buck, I don't knowwhether you'll believe me or not, but I guess you never heard me tell alie, or knew of my trying to dodge out of a bad scrape. Besides, Ihave n't anything to gain now, for I reckon you 're planning to staywith me, guilty or not guilty, but I did not kill that fellow. I don'texactly see how I can prove it, the way it all happened, but I give youmy word as a man, I did not kill him."
Mason looked him squarely in the eyes, his teeth showing behind hisstiff, closely clipped mustache. Then he deliberately extended hishand, and gripped Hampton's. "Of course I believe ye. Not that you're any too blame good, Bob, but you ain't the kind what pleads thebaby act. Who was the feller?"
"Red Slavin."
"No!" and the hand grip perceptibly tightened. "Holy Moses, whatingratitude! Why, the camp ought to get together and give ye a vote ofthanks, and instead, here they are trying their level best to hang you.Cussedest sorter thing a mob is, anyhow; goes like a flock o' sheepafter a leader, an' I bet I could name the fellers who are a-runnin'that crowd. How did the thing happen?"
Both men were intently observing the ingathering of their scatteredpursuers, but Hampton answered gravely, telling his brief story withcareful detail, appreciating the importance of reposing full confidencein this quiet, resourceful companion. The little marshal was all grit,nerve, faithfulness to duty, from his head to his heels.
"All I really saw of the fellow," he concluded, "was a hand and arm asthey drove in the knife. You can see there where it ripped me, and theunexpected blow of the man's body knocked me forward, and of course Ifell on Slavin. It may be I drove the point farther in when I camedown, but that was an accident. The fact is, Buck, I had every reasonto wish Slavin to live. I was just getting out of him some informationI needed."
Mason nodded, his eyes wandering from Hampton's expressive face to thecrowd beginning to collect beneath the shade of a huge oak a hundredyards below.
"Never carry a knife, do ye?"
"No."
"Thought not; always heard you fought with a gun. Caught no sight ofthe feller after ye got up?"
"All I saw then was the crowd blocking the door-way. I knew they hadcaught me lying on Slavin, with my hand grasping the knife-hilt, and,someway, I couldn't think of anything just then but how to get out ofth
ere into the open. I 've seen vigilantes turn loose before, and knewwhat was likely to happen!"
"Sure. Recognize anybody in that first bunch?"
"Big Jim, the bartender, was the only one I knew; he had a bung-starterin his hand."
Mason nodded thoughtfully, his mouth puckered. "It's him, and half adozen other fellers of the same stripe, who are kickin' up all thisfracas. The most of 'em are yonder now, an' if it wus n't fer leavin'a prisoner unprotected, darn me if I wud n't like to mosey right downthar an' pound a little hoss sense into thet bunch o' cattle. Thet's'bout the only thing ye kin do fer a plum fool, so long as the lawwon't let ye kill him."
They lapsed into contemplative silence, each man busied with his ownthought, and neither perceiving clearly any probable way out of thedifficulty. Hampton spoke first.
"I 'm really sorry that you got mixed up in this, Buck, for it looks tome about nine chances out of ten against either of us getting away fromhere unhurt."
"Oh, I don't know. It's bin my experience thet there's allers chancesif you only keep yer eyes skinned. Of course them fellers has got thebulge; they kin starve us out, maybe they kin smoke us out, and theykin sure make things onpleasant whenever they git their long-range gunsto throwin' lead permiscous. Thet's their side of the fun. Then, onthe other hand, if we kin only manage to hold 'em back till after darkwe maybe might creep away through the bush to take a hand in thislittle game. Anyhow, it 's up to us to play it out to the limit.Bless my eyes, if those lads ain't a-comin' up right now!"
A half-dozen men were starting to climb the hillside, following a dimtrail through the tangled underbrush. Looking down upon them, it wasimpossible to distinguish their faces, but two among them, at least,carried firearms. Mason stepped up on to the ore-dump where he couldsee better, and watched their movements closely.
"Hi, there!" he called, his voice harsh and strident. "You fellers arenot invited to this picnic, an' there'll be somethin' doin' if you pushalong any higher."
The little bunch halted instantly just without the edge of the heavytimber, turning their faces up toward the speaker. Evidently theyexpected to be hailed, but not quite so soon.
"Now, see here, Buck," answered one, taking a single step ahead of theothers, and hollowing his hand as a trumpet to speak through, "it don'tlook to us fellers as if this affair was any of your funeral, nohow,and we 've come 'long ahead of the others just on purpose to give you afair show to pull out of it afore the real trouble begins. _Sabe_?"
"Is thet so?"
The little marshal was too far away for them to perceive how his teethset beneath the bristly mustache.
"You bet! The boys don't consider thet it's hardly the square dealyour takin' up agin 'em in this way. They 'lected you marshal of thisyere camp, but it war n't expected you'd ever take no sides 'long withmurderers. Thet's too stiff fer us to abide by. So come on down,Buck, an' leave us to attend to the cuss."
"If you mean Hampton, he's my prisoner. Will you promise to let metake him down to Cheyenne fer trial?"
"Wal, I reckon not, old man. We kin give him a trial well 'nough righthere in Glencaid," roared another voice from out the group, which wasapparently growing restless over the delay. "But we ain't inclined todo you no harm onless ye ram in too far. So come on down, Buck, throwup yer cards; we've got all the aces, an' ye can't bluff this wholedarn camp."
Mason spat into the dump contemptuously, his hands thrust into hispockets. "You 're a fine-lookin' lot o' law-abidin' citizens, you are!Blamed if you ain't. Why, I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers fer thewhole kit and caboodle of ye, you low-down, sneakin' parcel o' thieves.Ye say it wus yer votes whut made me marshal o' this camp. Well, Ireckon they did, an' I reckon likewise I know 'bout whut my duty underthe law is, an' I'm a-goin' to do it. If you fellers thought ye'lected a chump, this is the time you git left. This yere man, BobHampton, is my prisoner, an' I'll take him to Cheyenne, if I have terbrain every tough in Glencaid to do it. Thet's me, gents."
"Oh, come off; you can't run your notions agin the whole blame moralsentiment of this camp."
"Moral sentiment! I 'm backin' up the law, not moral sentiment, yecross-eyed beer-slinger, an' if ye try edgin' up ther another step I'll plug you with this '45.'"
There was a minute of hesitancy while the men below conferred, themarshal looking contemptuously down upon them, his revolver gleamingominously in the light. Evidently the group hated to go back withoutthe prisoner.
"Oh, come on, Buck, show a little hoss sense," the leader sang out."We 've got every feller in camp along with us, an' there ain't no showfer the two o' ye to hold out against that sort of an outfit."
Mason smiled and patted the barrel of his Colt.
"Oh, go to blazes! When I want any advice, Jimmie, I'll send fer ye."
Some one fired, the ball digging up the soft earth at the marshal'sfeet, and flinging it in a blinding cloud into Hampton's eyes. Mason'sanswer was a sudden fusilade, which sent the crowd flyinghelter-skelter into the underbrush. One among them staggered and halffell, yet succeeded in dragging himself out of sight.
"Great Scott, if I don't believe I winged James!" the shooter remarkedcheerfully, reaching back into his pocket for more cartridges. "Maybethem boys will be a bit more keerful if they once onderstand they 'reup agin the real thing. Well, perhaps I better skin down, fer I reckonit's liable ter be rifles next."
It was rifles next, and the "winging" of Big Jim, however it may haveinspired caution, also developed fresh animosity in the hearts of hisfollowers, and brought forth evidences of discipline in their approach.Peering across the sheltering dump pile, the besieged were able toperceive the dark figures cautiously advancing through the protectingbrush; they spread out widely until their two flanks were close inagainst the wall of rock, and then the deadly rifles began to spitspitefully, the balls casting up the soft dirt in clouds or flatteningagainst the stones. The two men crouched lower, hugging their pile ofslag, unable to perceive even a stray assailant within range of theirready revolvers. Hampton remained cool, alert, and motionless,striving in vain to discover some means of escape, but the littlemarshal kept grimly cheerful, creeping constantly from point to pointin the endeavor to get a return shot at his tormentors.
"This whole blame country is full of discharged sojers," he growled,"an' they know their biz all right. I reckon them fellers is prettysure to git one of us yit; anyhow, they 've got us cooped. Say, Bob,thet lad crawling yonder ought to be in reach, an' it's our boundenduty not to let the boys git too gay."
Hampton tried the shot suggested, elevating considerable to overcomedistance. There was a yell, and a swift skurrying backward whichcaused Mason to laugh, although neither knew whether this result arosefrom fright or wound.
"'Bliged ter teach 'em manners onct in a while, or they 'll imbibe afool notion they kin come right 'long up yere without no invite. 'Tain't fer long, no how, 'less all them guys are ijuts."
Hampton turned his head and looked soberly into the freckled face,impressed by the speaker's grave tone.
"Why?"
"Fire, my boy, fire. The wind's dead right fer it; thet brush willburn like so much tinder, an' with this big wall o' rock back of us, itwill be hell here, all right. Some of 'em are bound to think of itpretty blame soon, an' then, Bob, I reckon you an' I will hev' to taketo the open on the jump."
Hampton's eyes hardened. God, how he desired to live just then, touncover that fleeing Murphy and wring from him the whole truth whichhad been eluding him all these years! Surely it was not justice thatall should be lost now. The smoke puffs rose from the encirclingrifles, and the hunted men cowered still lower, the whistling of thebullets in their ears.
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