Lord Stranleigh Abroad, Robert Barr [room on the broom read aloud TXT] 📗

against his authority.

"Go outside yourself. It is you who have brought all this upon us. You shot him through the shoulder; you proposed capturing him, and it was you who fell asleep last night and let him escape."

Jim did not combat their charges.

"All right," he said. "I'll go out, and you sit here and shiver while I enjoy a little conversation with him."

Raising his hands above his head, Dean stepped across the threshold into the open, and stood like an oriental about to begin his prayers. He saw at once the wall that had been built during the night, and then caught sight of Stranleigh standing behind it. Pulling out a white handkerchief, and waving it, Dean proceeded towards the mine.

"Have you got a revolver?" shouted Stranleigh.

"No," answered Dean.

"Then put down your hands, and approach as a Christian should."

Jim obeyed.

"Now stand where you are," said Stranleigh, when the other was within four or five yards of the wall. "I see your ear is bleeding. That was rather a neat shot of mine, don't you think?"

"It was," admitted Dean, without enthusiasm.

"When you shot at my shoulder, you had a bigger mark."

"Oh, not so very much," growled Dean. "My ears are celebrated for their size."

"You'd better wrap it up in this handkerchief," commented Stranleigh, rolling it up in a ball, and flinging it towards Jim. The wounded man tied it round his voluminous ear.

"And now," said Stranleigh, "get through with your parley as soon as possible, then go to Miss Armstrong, who will very expertly attend to your hurt. But in order to win the privilege of surgical treatment, you must recognise that you are a prisoner."

"A prisoner?" echoed Dean.

"Certainly. You must give me your word you will say nothing to Miss Armstrong to show that I have had a hand in the game. Make whatever excuse you like for the disaster, and then get back to the bunk house, tell your fellows the condition of the game as far as we have gone. I will allow you five minutes after your return to show those chaps the letter 'S' I have perforated in the door. They are a very unbelieving lot, and I wish to gain their affection and respect. Without hurting anybody I mean to prove that I am a dead shot. I'm well provisioned here, and prepared to stand a siege. Until Mr. Armstrong returns, not one of you will be allowed outside the chalet. Don't be misled by the fact that you outnumber me six to one. I hold a magazine rifle, possess an ample supply of ammunition, and have just given evidence of the rapidity with which reloading can be performed."

"Yes," said Dean, meditatively, "your position would be bull strong and hog tight, if you had a chum with you who could shoot as well as you do. But as it is, you've nobody to relieve you, and a man must sleep. It will only take one of us to defeat you. We've no magazine rifles and don't need none. I'll undertake the job myself."

"How do you propose to do it?"

"That would be telling," said Jim, craftily.

"Why not?" answered Stranleigh. "I'm placing my cards on the table. Why don't you do the same? I'm not yearning for war and bloodshed, but have inaugurated a sort of Hague tribunal. There were two things I determined to accomplish when I broke jail. I hope that wounded ear hasn't impaired your hearing, so that you may listen with attention. It's always as well to know what your enemy desires."

"I'm listening," said Jim.

"The first thing was to shoot you through the leg or the arm or the ear, choosing some spot that was not vital. This in return for your shooting me. One good turn deserves another, you know. That part of my programme I have accomplished."

"What's the other part?"

"The second is to keep you gentlemen in prison just as long as you kept me in prison. One good imprisonment deserves another. Now will you tell me what you intend to do?"

"No; I won't."

"That's mean of you, Jim; secretive, over-cautious and that sort of thing. I'm not so chary and so will give you the information. There are only two portions of the night during which you can come out unnoticed; before the moon rises and after it sets. You will steal out and take up a position where you can see the barricade when day begins to dawn. You'll need to chose a spot a long way off, because the explosion, when it comes, will wreck everything in the neighbourhood."

"What explosion?"

"The dynamite explosion. This wall is built of rock intersticed with those dynamite cartridges of yours. It is very likely you will obliterate the farm-house."

"I'll obliterate you, anyway."

"Quite so, but at a tremendous cost, because whatever the fate of Mr. Armstrong's residence, the doom of the bunk house is certain. You may be outside that danger, but you won't be free of another. You suppose, doubtless, that I shall be asleep in the cavern. As a matter of fact I shall be sleeping placidly under the stars, quite out of reach of the main disaster. Your first shot will awaken me. Now, it is by no means certain that your first shot will send off the dynamite. You may have to fire half a dozen times, and your best rifle is an old breech-loader. I use smokeless powder, and you don't. I could pepper away at you for half an hour and you'd never know where the bullets were coming from. The smoke from your rifle would give _you_ away at once. When I fire at you next time, Jim, I shall aim at a more vital point, because, my dear boy, the person who sets off that dynamite is a murderer. So before you put your plan into operation, just consult your comrades and explain to them its disadvantages."

Dean stood there meditating for a few moments before he spoke.

"I'm very much obliged to you," he said at last, "for telling me what you mean to do. We'll change that plan a little, and come out of the bunk house together. We'll search the country for you, and so won't need to blow up the mine."

"That's a much more humane expedient, and will prevent unnecessary loss of life. I shall be lying quiet under whatever cover I can find. Your crowd will perambulate the locality, and I may remind you that you are no lightfooted Cinderellas. A herd of elephants would make less noise. I shall see you long before you see me, and I leave the result to your own imagination. And now, Jimmy, take the advice of a true friend. Your time to act was when you were snoring at that door and I was climbing the chimney. Once you allowed me to get my rifle, you had permitted opportunity to pass you, because I am a good shot, and I came West in order to shoot. When a person accustomed to downy beds of ease slumbers peacefully, as I did this morning, on hard and jagged rocks thinly disguised by a blanket, with my right ear against a dynamite cartridge, there's nothing the matter with his nerves, is there?"

"No; there isn't," said Dean, with conviction.

"Now, what you chaps want is not a battle, but an armistice. Leave well enough alone, I say, and accept the _status quo_. If you remain in the bunk house, you are as safe as in a Presbyterian church."

Jim did not reply, but deliberated, his open palm against his bandaged ear.

"Hurt?" asked Stranleigh.

"Yes, it does," admitted Jim, ruefully.

"Well, my shoulder hurt a good deal after you fired at me. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do, Jim. Next time I shoot at you, I'll take the other ear. You're determined to prove yourself a brigand, or a pirate, or something of that sort, and as pirates always wear earrings, that will put you in a position to adopt them. What do you say to my proposal for an armistice?"

"I can't answer for the rest of the boys without consulting them. If we need an armistice or a _status quo_, why, I suppose we ought to have them."

"All right. If your ear hurts, the sooner you get it attended to, the better. You go directly down to the house and see Miss Armstrong, and you can reflect upon the situation while she is dressing the wound. Deep thinking will take your mind from the pain. Then go up and consult the company. Come and let me know what they decide. Meanwhile, I'll guarantee that no one comes out of that bunk house without being shot at."

"Mr. Stranleigh, I'll do what you say, but I'll change the order. I'll go first to our shack, and warn the boys. That's only fair, for they're watching from that door, and if they see me going to the house they may think it's all right, and come outside. After talking with them, I'll visit Miss Armstrong, and then come back here to tell you what the boys say."

"Yes, Jim; that's a better plan than mine. But first give me your word that you will take no advantage of this respite until war. An armistice, you know, is a cessation of hostilities."

"You mean that there will be no shenanigan? I give you my word."

The wounded man made his way to the bunk house. Shortly afterwards Stranleigh saw him emerge, and go towards the homestead. After a longer interval he came slowly up towards the fortress, his ear neatly bandaged in white linen, which showed up, as one might say, like a small flag of truce.

"Well, what did Miss Armstrong say about the wounded ear?"

"She says it's about as serious as the sting of a bee, and won't hurt much longer than that would, and will be cured nearly as soon."

"That's first-rate, and relieves my conscience, which has been troubling me, because I'd much rather smite a man on the ear with my fist than with a bullet. For the same reason I hope you found your messmates undergoing a spasm of common sense."

"They agreed with me that it wasn't very healthy to take outdoor exercise for a while. If we decide to begin fighting again, we'll give you twelve hours' notice. Will that suit you?"

"I don't know that it does, quite. I want you to promise that you will not break loose either until Mr. Armstrong returns, or the auction is over."

"The boys wouldn't agree to that, Mr. Stranleigh. We're bound to attend that auction."

Stranleigh sighed.

"Very good," he conceded. "I must content myself with what you offer. I accept your proposal, for I feel certain that Mr. Armstrong will return before the ranch is sold. So good-bye. Give my love to the boys."

Stranleigh watched the retreating figure until it disappeared into the bunk house. A moment later the perforated door was drawn shut, and then he rolled up the bedclothes into a bundle, and deposited it at the further end of the cavern. This done, he took his rifle under his arm, crossed the barricade, and strolled down to the farm-house. Miss Armstrong greeted him with surprise.

"I thought you had gone to New York," she said.

"I took the train east, but only to the next station from Bleachers."

"You've not been stopping at that wretched hotel