The Man From Bar-20, Clarence E. Mulford [distant reading TXT] 📗

“That’s Fleming, th’ fool,” growled Holbrook. “I suppose he wants me to step out on th’ edge of the platform an’ speak a piece for him.”

A laugh rang out at the head of the trail. “Answer th’ gentleman,” said Johnny in a low voice, fully appreciating Holbrook’s feelings. “Don’t it beat all how some folks allus pick th’ wrong time in their yearnin’ for conversation? I’ve been there; more’n once. You promise to go down an’ give him a lickin’ an’ I won’t pull a trigger on you while yo’re on th’ trail!”

“Hey, Frank! Oh, Frank!” persisted Fleming.

“Tell him to shut up,” chuckled Johnny. “Here, I’ll do it for you: Hello!” he shouted. “Hello, you loquacious fool! Frank says for you to shut up!”

Fleming’s retort was unkind.

“Frank says he ain’t smelled no skunk since he left th’ canyon!” jeered Johnny. “Don’t you get up-wind of me!”

Fleming’s retort was even more unkind.

“Hey!” yelled Purdy, cheerfully “You ought to ‘a’ heard what Quigley said when Art odored into th’ house! Dan’l Boone was scared it would get in his wounds an’ poison him to death.”

“Yo’re a sociable ki-yote!” jeered Fleming.

Johnny laughed. “I’m that sociable I carries callin’ cards, like you read about in th’ mail-order catalogues. They’re snub-nosed an’ covered with grease, which I mostly rubs off because of th’ sand stickin’ to it. I’m ‘most as sociable as th’ dogs that drove me out of my valley, burned my cabin, stole my cows, an’ put me out of th’ game. I’m ‘most as sociable as th’ three skunks that laid for me that night. I told Quigley in Pop Hayes’ saloon what I’d do if I was pestered; an’ I’ve been doin’ it. An’ I ain’t through yet, neither. Here’s one of my cards now,” he jeered, sending a .45 down the trail to let Holbrook know that he was not forgotten.

“You stopped my play, an’ stole my cows,” he said. “So I’m goin’ to take all them that you got in yore sink. When I gets through, I’ll be th’ owner of th’ QE ranch, all by myself; an’ there won’t be none of you left to bother me. Hoggin’ a free country is a game two can play at, an’ you shore got a good pupil when you taught me th’ game. I’m aimin’ to set up a record for th’ cow-country. I never heard tell of a man shootin’ off a whole outfit an’ takin’ their ranch; but that’s just what Fm goin’ to do unless you fellers get out of th’ country while you can.”

Jeering laughter and ridicule answered him; and then Purdy had an inspiration and voiced it with unnecessary vigor and quite a little pride.

“Hey, Frank!” he yelled. “If yo’re all right, heave a rock over th’ edge!”

There was a moment’s silence and then a faint crash sounded in the canyon.

“There,” called Johnny pleasantly. “Does that satisfy you, or shall I heave another?”

Fluent swearing came from below, in which Holbrook fervently joined, sotto voce and he heaved another rock’

Johnny laughed loudly. “There’s another in case you didn’t hear th’ first. I’m tellin’ you about it because I don’t want to deceive you. Mebby one of you fellers would like to sneak up here an’ drag yore friend down?”

Holbrook reviewed the situation and could not see that he gained anything by keeping silent.

“I heaved them rocks!” he shouted savagely. “I’m all right. Now you put out that fire an’ gimme a chance. I don’t want to stay up here forever!”

“All right, Frank,” called a new voice, which Johnny recognized as belonging to Quigley.

“Shore,” jeered Johnny. “Run out an’ kick it apart an’ smother it with sand,” he invited, reaching for his rifle. “But you want to do a good job. An’ if he’s still there at daylight you won’t have to bother about him no more. I mean business now. I gave three of you thieves yore lives th’ night you burned my cabin; but I’m shootin’ on sight now.”

“You got too cussed much to say!” snapped Holbrook angrily.

“An’ I’ll have more to say if yo’re there at sunup,” retorted Johnny. “An’ lemme tell you, fire or no fire, you ain’t down in th’ canyon yet!”

Holbrook laughed. “You’ll be as savin’ of yort cartridges as you are of yore grub. How long do you reckon you can hold out?” he sneered.

“It only takes four bullets to clear a way for me, I ‘ retorted Johnny.

New sounds came from the canyon. Rock after rock curved into the arc of illumination and landed in the fire, knocking it apart and sending blazing sticks flying toward the wall of the butte. Quigley warned his men to be careful and not set the brush on fire. There wa? a sudden puff of steam and the light dimmed quickly. Several other hatfuls of water turned the blazing embers into a black, smoking mass, where only an occasional red speck showed in the darkness.

The trail was blotted out and Johnny sent a .45 whining along it. A flash from below replied to him and he listened for a sound which would tell him that Holbrook had started on the return trip. But that individual, boots in hand, made no noise as he slipped along the wall. Coming to another recess, he sought its shelter, tied the boots together with his neckerchief, slung them over his shoulder and started down again.

Quigley ordered his companions not to shoot. “You might get Frank; an’ he’s in danger enough as it is. Yore flash will give that coyote a fair idea of where th’ trail is.”

“Did you hear what that ki-yote said about takin I our ranch?” asked Purdy.

Quigley laughed. “Yes; an’ I admire his gall. He’s got three of us, if he got Ackerman; but we wasn’t awake to his game then.” Another flash came from the top of the butte, and he growled when he heard the pat of the bullet. “He ain’t lost th’ trail yet, but he’s puttin’ ‘em high.”

“He’d be a handy man to have around,” said Fleming. “I wonder if he’d ‘a’ throwed in with us, ‘stead of rustlin’ by hisself?”

“I’d’ve found that out if Ackerman hadn’t ‘a’ been so dead set ag’in him,” grunted Quigley, not refusing to take credit for an idea that was not his own. “I wonder,” he mused.

“Offer him a share,” suggested Purdy. “If we change our minds later, that’s our business. We’re losin’ a lot of time with him; too much.”

There was a sudden rattle of shale and pebbles, lowvoiced profanity and a crash of breaking branches. “Cuss them rotten ledges!” said a voice not far distant. “An’ d—n these cactus an’ locusts I—I owe him more than he can ever square up, blast his hide!”

“Thank th’ Lord,” muttered Quigley in sudden relief.

“But mebby he is workin’ for Logan,” objected Fleming. “Hey, Frank! Over here.”

“If he is it’s about time for th’ CL to hunt him up,” Purdy growled anxiously. “We’d shore be in a fix if they caught us down here!”

“CL or no CL, we stays!” snapped Holbrook, rounding a bowlder and swearing at every step. “We got him now; an I we ain’t goin’ to let him go!”

“Shore!” endorsed Quigley. “They drove me off th’ range; but I’ll stay in these hills if I dies for it. Once we get this feller out of th’ way an’ get back to th’ ranch we can put up an awful fight from th’ houses, if we’re forced to. They’re stocked good enough to last us six fellers over four months. It’s a show-down for me, come what might; but any man can take his share of th’ money an’ get away, if he wants.”

Growls answered him, and he laughed. “That’s th’ way! Well, Frank; now what do you think of th’ grand opportunity?”

“It was there; I started too late!” snapped Holbrook angrily. “If Art an’ Purdy had any sense, one of ‘em would ‘a’ jumped for that trail when th’ first rock came down, instead of duckin’ around these bowlders like a pair of sage hens. I didn’t wake up till th’ show was ‘most over; an’ I got within a hundred yards at that. Five minutes more an’ I’d ‘a’ been layin’ behind a rock waitin’ for him to come back. It would ‘a’ been all over by now.”

“Well, don’t try it again,” said Quigley. “He’s got all th’ best of it up there. We’ll give him a week for his grub to peter out before we force things. An’ there ain’t no use of ill of us stayin’ out here. This is th’ only way he can come down. Two of us out here is plenty, takin’ turns watchin’ th’ trail. An’ if you keep a fire burnin’ you both could almost sleep nights. He’d never tackle it. Purdy, you an’ Art clear out for th’ ranch at daylight. Me an’ Holbrook will stay here tomorrow an’ tomorrow night, when you fellers can relieve us. I’d feel better, anyhow, if there was somebody besides Ben an’ th’ cook in them houses. You can’t tell what might happen. It’ll be light in an hour, so I’ll go over an’ start some breakfast.”

“Say, Tom,” said Fleming. “Make yore camp up on th’ other Twin, an’ get out of this cussed hole with its heat an’ its pests. Th’ man off guard could get a real sleep up there. But, of course, you’ll have to do th’ cookin’ down here, where there’s water handy.”

“See about that later,” answered Quigley. “Any-. how, we can sleep up there without shiftin’ th’ camp,” and he disappeared in the darkness.

Fleming rolled a cigarette by sense of touch and thoughtlessly struck a match. Spang! said a bowlder at his side. Ping-ing-ing-g-g! sang the ricochet down the canyon.

“Put it out!” yelled Holbrook, diving for cover.

“You d–-d fool!” sputtered Purdy from behind a pile of rocks.

“Beats all how careless a feller will get,” laughed Fleming as he slid behind a rock. “I plumb forgot!”