The Rangeland Avenger by Max Brand
34
The moment her husband was gone, Jig dropped back in her chair andburied her face in her arms, weeping. But there is a sort of sadhappiness in making sacrifices for those we love, and presently Jig waslaughing through her tears and trembling as she wiped the tears away.After a time she was able to make herself ready for another appearancein the street of Sour Creek. She practiced back and forth in her roomthat exaggerated swagger, jerked her sombrero rakishly over one eye,cocked up her cartridge belt at one side, and swung down the stairs.
She went straight to the jail and met the sheriff at the door, where hesat, smoking a stub of a pipe. He gaped widely at the sight of her,smoke streaming up past his eyes. Then he rose and shook handsviolently.
"All I got to say, Jig," he remarked, "is that the others was the onesthat made the big mistake. When I went and arrested you, I was justfollowing in line. But I'm sorry, and I'm mighty glad that you beenfound to be O.K."
Wanly she smiled and thanked him for his good wishes.
"I'd like to see Sinclair," she said.
Kern's amiability increased.
"The best thing I know about you, Jig, is that you ain't turningSinclair down, now that he's in trouble. Go right back in the jail. Himand Arizona is chinning. Wait a minute. I guess I got to keep an eye onyou to see you don't pass nothing through the bars. Keep clean backfrom them bars, Jig, and then you can talk all you want. I'll stay herewhere I can watch you but can't hear. Is that square?"
"Nothing squarer in the world," said Jig and went in.
She left the sheriff grinning vacantly into the dark. There was apeculiar something in Jig's smile that softened men.
But when she stepped into the sphere of the lantern light that spreadfaintly through the cell, she was astonished to see Arizona andSinclair kneeling opposite each other, shooting dice with abandon andsnapping of the fingers. They rose, laughing at the sight of her, andcame to the bars.
"But you aren't worried?" asked Jig. "You aren't upset by all this?"
It was Arizona who answered, a strangely changed Arizona since hisentrance into the jail.
"Look here," he said gaily, "why should we be worryin'? Ain't we got agood sound roof over our heads, with a set of blankets to sleep in?"
He smiled at tall Sinclair, then changed his voice.
"Things fell through," he said softly, glancing at the far-off shadowyfigure of the sheriff. "Sorry, but we'll work this out yet."
"I know," she answered. She lowered her voice to caution. "I'm onlygoing to stay a moment to keep away suspicions. Listen! Something isgoing to happen tonight that will set you both free. Don't ask me whatit is. But, among those cottonwoods behind the blacksmith shop, I'mgoing to have two good horses saddled and ready for you. One will beyour roan, Arizona. And I'll have a good horse for you, Riley. And whenyou're free start for those horses."
Sinclair laid hold on the bars with his big hands and pressed his faceclose to the iron, staring at her.
"You ain't coming along with us?" he asked.
"I--no."
"Are you going to stay here?"
"Perhaps! I don't know--I haven't made up my mind."
"Has Cartwright--"
She broke away from those entangling questions. "I must go."
"But you'll be at the place with the horses?"
"Yes."
"Then so long till the time comes. And--you're a brick, Jig!"
Once outside the jail, she set to work at once. As for getting theroan, it was the simplest thing in the world. There was no one in thestable behind the hotel, and no one to ask questions. She calmlysaddled the roan, mounted him, and rode by a wider detour to thecottonwoods behind the blacksmith shop.
Her own horse was to be for Sinclair. But before she took him, she wentinto the hotel, and the first man she found on the veranda wasCartwright. He came to her at once, shifting away from the others.
"How are things?"
"Good," said Cartwright. "Ain't you heard 'em talking?"
Here and there about the hotel, men stood in knots of three and four,talking in low voices.
"Are they talking about _that_?"
"Sure they are," said Cartwright, relieved. "You ain't heard nothing?"
"Not a word."
"Then the thing for you to do is to keep under cover. You don't want toget mixed up in this thing, eh?"
"I suppose not."
"Keep out of sight, honey. The crowd will start pretty soon and tearthings loose." He could not resist one savage thrust. "A rope, or apair of ropes, will do the work."
"Ropes?"
"One to tie Kern, and one to tie his deputy," he explained smoothly."Where you going now?"
"Getting their retreat ready," she whispered excitedly. "I've alreadywarned them where to go to get the horses."
She waved to him and stepped back into the night, convinced that allwas well. As for Cartwright, he hesitated, staring after her. Afterall, if his plan developed, it would be wise for him to allow theothers to do the work of mischief. He had no wish to be actively mixedup with a lynching party. Sometimes there were after results. And if hehad done no more than talk, there would be small hold upon him by thelaw.
Moreover, things were going smoothly under the guidance of Whitey. Thepale-faced man had thrown himself body and soul into the movement. Itwas a rare thing to see Whitey excited. Other men were readilyimpressed. After a time, when anger had reached a certain point wheremen melt into hot action, these fixed figures of men would sweep intofluid action. And then the fates of Arizona and Sinclair would bedetermined.
It pleased Cartwright more than any action of his life to feel that hehad stirred up this movement. It pleased him still more to know that hecould now step back and watch the work of ruin go on. It was likedisturbing the one small stone which starts the avalanche, whicheventually smashes the far-off forest.
So much was done, then. And now why not make sure that the very lastmeans of retreat for the pair was blocked? The girl went to get thehorses. And if, by the one chance in twenty, the two should actuallybreak out of the jail, it would remain to Cartwright to kill the horsesor the men. He did not care which.
He slipped behind the hotel and presently saw the girl come out of thestable with her horse. He followed, skulking softly behind her until hereached the appointed place among the cottonwoods. The trees grew talland thick of trunk, and about their bases was a growth of denseshrubbery. It was a simple thing to conceal two saddled horses in ahollow which sank into the edge of the shrubbery.
Cartwright's first desire was to couch himself in shooting distance.Then he remembered that shooting with a revolver by moonlight wasuncertain work. He slipped away to the hotel and got a rifle readyenough. Men were milling through the lower rooms of the hotel. Thepoint of discussion had long since been passed. The ringleaders hadmade up their minds. They went about with faces so black that those whowere asked to join, hardly had the courage to question. There wasbroad-voiced rumor growing swiftly. Something was wrong--something wasvery wrong. It was like that mysterious whisper which goes through theforest before the heavy storm strikes. Something was terribly wrong andmust be righted.
How the ringleaders had reasoned, nobody paused to ask. It wassufficient that a score of men were saying: "The sheriff figures onletting Sinclair and Arizona go."
A typical scene between two men. They meet casually, one man whistling,the other thoughtful.
"What's the bad luck?" asks the whistler.
"No time for whistling," says the other.
"Say, what you mean?"
"I ask you just this," said the gloomy man, with a mystery of muchknowledge in his face: "Are gents around here going to be murdered, andthe murderers go free?"
"Well?"
"Sinclair and Arizona--that's what's up! They're going to bust loose."
"I dunno about Arizona, but Sinclair, they say, is a square shooter."
"Who told you that? Sinclair himself? He's got a rep as long as my arm.He's a bad one, son!"<
"You don't say!"
"I do say. And something has got to be done, or Sour Creek won't be adecent man's town no more."
"Let me in." Off they went arm in arm.
Cartwright saw half a dozen little interviews of this nature, as heentered the hotel. Men were excited, they hardly knew why. There is noneed for reason in a mob. One has only to cry, "Kill!" and the mob willstart of its own volition to find something that may be slain. Also, amob has no conscience and no remorse. It is the nearest thing to adevil that exists, and it is also the nearest thing to the divine mercyand courage. It is braver than the bravest man; it is more timorousthan the most fearful; it is fiercer than a lion, gentler than a lamb.All these things by turns, and each one to the exclusion of all theothers.
Now the thunderclouds were piling on the horizon, and Cartwright couldfeel the electricity in the air. He went to Pop.
"I got to have a rifle."
"What for?"
"You know," said Cartwright significantly.
The hotelkeeper nodded. He brought out an old Winchester, still mobileof action and deadly. With that weapon under his arm, Cartwrightstarted back, but then he remembered that there were excellent chancesof missing even with a rifle, when he was shooting through the shadowsand by the treacherous moonlight. It would be better, far better, tohave his horse with him. Then, if he actually succeeded in wounding oneor both of them, he could run his victim down, or, perhaps, keep up asteady fire of rifle shots from the rear, that would bring half thetown pouring out to join in the chase.
So he swung back to the stables, saddled his horse, trotted it aroundin a comfortably wide detour, and, coming within sound distance of thecottonwoods behind the blacksmith shop, he dismounted and led his horseinto a dense growth of shrubbery. That close approach would have beenimpossible without alarming the girl, had it not been for a stiff windblowing across into his face, completely muffling the noise of hiscoming. In the bushes he ensconced himself safely. Only a few yardsaway he kept his eye on the opening among the cottonwoods, behind whichthe girl and the two horses moved from time to time, growing more andmore visible, as the moon climbed above the horizon mist.
He tightened his grip on the rifle and amused himself with drawingbeads on stumps and bright bits of foliage, from time to time. He mustbe ready for any sort of action if the two should ever appear.
While he waited, sounds reached his ear from the town, sounds eloquentof purpose. He listened to them as to beautiful music. It was a low,distinct, and continuous humming sound. Voices of men went into it, lowas the growl of an angered dog, and there was a background of slammingdoors, and footsteps on verandas. Sour Creek was mustering for theassault.