The Rangeland Avenger by Max Brand
32
Through the branches of the copse in which she was hidden, the girl sawthe sun descend in the west, a streak of slowly dropping fire. And nowshe became excited.
"As soon as it's dark," Arizona had promised, "I'll make my start. Haveyour hoss ready. Be in the saddle, and the minute you see us come downthat trail out of Sour Creek, be ready to feed your hoss the spur andjoin us, because when we come, we'll come fast. Don't make no mistake.If you ride too slow we'll have to ride slow, too, and slow ridin'means gunplay on both sides, and gunplay means dead men, because theevenin' is a pile worse nor the dark for fooling a man's aim. You'llsee me and Sinclair scoot along that there road, with the gang yellin'behind us!"
Having made this farewell speech, he waved his hand and, with a smileof confidence, jogged away from her. It was the beginning of a dull dayof waiting for her, yet a day in which she dared not altogether relaxher vigilance, because at any time the break might come, and Arizonamight appear flying down the trail with the familiar tall form ofSinclair beside him. Wearily she waited until sundown.
With the coming of dusk she wakened suddenly and became tinglinglyalert. The night spread rapidly down out of the mountains. The colorfaded, and the sudden chill of the high altitude settled about her. Herhands and her feet were cold with the fear of excitement.
Into the gathering gloom she strained her eyes; toward Sour Creek shestrained her ears, starting at every faint sound of a man's shout orthe barking of a dog, as if this might be the beginning of the uproarthat would announce the escape.
Something swung on to the road out of the end of the main street. Shewas instantly in the saddle, but, by the time she reached the edge ofthe copse, she found it to be only a wagon filled with singing mengoing back to some nearby ranch. Then quiet dropped over the valley,and she became aware that it was the utter dark.
Arizona had failed! That knowledge grew more surely upon her with everymoment. His intention must have been guessed, for she could not imaginethat slippery and cold-minded fellow being thwarted, if he were leftfree to work as he pleased toward an object he desired. She could notstay in the grove all night. Besides, this was the critical time forRiley Sinclair. Tomorrow he would be taken to the security of theWoodville jail, and the end would be close. If anything were done forhim, it must be before morning.
With this thought in mind she rode boldly out of the trees and took theroad into town, where the lights of the early evening had turned fromwhite to yellow, as the night deepened. Sour Creek was hardly a mileaway when a rattling in the dark announced the approach of a buckboard.She drew rein at the side of the trail. Suddenly the wagon loomed outat her, with two down-headed horses jogging along and the loose reinsswinging above their backs.
"Halloo!" called Jig.
The brakes ground against the wheels, squeaking in protest. The horsescame to a halt so willing and sudden that the collars shoved halfway uptheir necks, and the tongue of the wagon lurched beyond their noses.
"Whoa! Evening, there! You gimme a kind of a start, stranger."
Parodying the dialect as well as she was able, Jig said: "Sorry,stranger. Might that be Sour Creek?"
"It sure might be," said the driver, leaning through the dark to makeout Jig. "New in these parts?"
"Yep, I'm over from Whiteacre way, and I'm aiming for Woodville."
"Whiteacre? Doggone me if it ain't good to meet a Whiteacre boy. I wasraised there, son! Joe Lunids is my name."
"I'm Texas Lou," said the girl.
There was a subdued chuckle from the darkness.
"You sound kind of young for a name like that, kid. Leastwise, yourvoice is tolerable young."
"I'm old enough," said Jig aggressively.
"Sure, sure," placated the other. "Sure you are."
"Besides," she went on, "I wanted a name that I could grow up to."
It brought a hearty burst of laughter from the wagon.
"That's a good one, Texas. Have a drink?"
She set her teeth over the refusal that had come to her lips and,reining near, reached out for the flask. The driver passed over thebottle and at the same time lighted a match for the apparent purpose ofstarting his cigarette. But Jig nodded her head in time to obscure herface with the flopping brim of her sombrero. The other coughed hisdisappointment. She raised the bottle after uncorking it, firmlysecuring the neck with her thumb. After a moment she lowered it andsighed with satisfaction, as she had heard men do.
"Thanks," said Jig, handing back the flask. "Hot stuff, partner."
"You got a tough throat," observed the rancher. "First I ever see thatdidn't choke on a swig of that. But you youngsters has the advantage ofa sound lining for your innards."
He helped himself from the flask, coughed heavily, and then poundedhome the cork.
"How's things up Whiteacre way?"
"Fair to middlin'," said Jig. "They ain't hollering for rain so much asthey was."
"I reckon not," agreed the rancher.
"And how's things down Sour Creek way?" asked Jig.
"Trouble busting every minute," said the other. "Murder, gun scrapes,brawls in the hotel--to beat anything I ever see. The town is suregoing plumb to the dogs at this rate!"
"You don't say! Well, I heard something about a gent named Quade beingplugged."
"Him? He was just the beginning--just the start! Since then we had aman took away from old Kern, which don't happen once in a coon's age.Then we had a fine fresh murder right this morning, and the presentminute they's two in jail on murder charges, and both are sure toswing!"
Jig gasped. "Two!" she exclaimed.
"Yep. They was a skinny schoolteacher named--I forget what. Mostgeneral he was called Cold Feet, which fitted. They thought he killedQuade account of a girl. But a gent named Sinclair up and confessed,and he is waiting for the rope. And then a sheriff all by himselfgrabbed Arizona for the murder of Sandersen. Oh, times is picking upconsiderable in Sour Creek. Reminds me of twenty years back before Kerncome on the job and cleaned up the gunfighters!"
"Two murders!" repeated the girl faintly. "And has Arizona confessed,too?"
"Not him! But the sheriff has enough to give him a hard run. I got tobe drifting on, son. Take my advice and head straight for Woodville.You lack five years of being old enough for Sour Creek these days!" Hecalled his farewell, threw off the brake and cursed the span of horsesinto their former trot.
As for Jig, she waited until the scent of alkali dust died away, andthe rattle of the buckboard was faint in the distance. Then she turnedher horse back toward Sour Creek and urged it to a steady gallop,bouncing in the saddle.
There seemed a fatality about her. On her account Sinclair had thrownhis life in peril, and now Arizona was caught and held in the samedanger. Enough of sacrifices for her; her mind was firm to repay someof these services at any cost, and she had thought of a way.
With that gloomy purpose before her, her ordinary timidity disappeared.It was strange to ride into Sour Creek, and she passed in review amongthe rough men of the town, constantly fearful that they might pierceher disguise. She had trained herself to a long stride and a swaggeringdemeanor, and by constant practice she had been able to lower the pitchof her voice and roughen its quality. Yet, in spite of the constantpractice, she never had been able to gain absolute self-confidence.Tonight, however, there was no fear in her.
She went straight to the hotel, threw the reins, and walked boldlythrough the door into a cluster of men. They yelled at the sight ofher.
"Jig, by guns! He's come in! Say, kid, the sheriff's been looking foryou."
They swerved around her, grinning good-naturedly. When a person hasbeen almost lynched for a crime another has committed, he gains acertain standing, no matter what may be the public opinion of hiscourage. The schoolteacher had become a personage. But Jig met theirsmiles with a level eye.
"If the sheriff's looking for me," she said, "tell him I have a room inthe hotel. He can find me here."
Pop shook hands before he shov
Nodding, she turned to sign her name in the bold, free hand which shehad cultivated. She could feel the crowd staring behind her, and shecould hear their murmurs. But she was not nervous. It seemed that allapprehension had left her.
"Where's Cartwright?" she asked.
"Sitting in a game of poker."
"Hello, Buddy!" she called to a redheaded youngster. "Go in and tellCartwright that I'm waiting for him in my room, will you?"
"Ain't no use," said Pop, staring at this new and more masculine Jig."Cartwright is all heated up about the game. And he's lost enough toget anybody excited. He won't come. Better go in there if you want tosee him."
"I'll try my luck this way," said Jig coldly. "Run along, Buddy."
Buddy obeyed, and Jig went up the stairs to her room.
"What come over him?" asked the crowd, the moment Cold Feet was out ofsight. "Looks like he's growed up in a day!"
"He's gone through enough to make a man of him," answered Pop. "Nevercan tell how a kid will turn out."
But in her room Jig had sunk into a chair, dropped her elbows on thetable, and buried her face in her hands, trying to steady her thoughts.She heard the heavy pounding of feet on the stairs, a strong tread inthe hall that made the flooring of the old building quiver, and thenthe door was flung open, slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock.Cartwright set his shoulders against the door, as though he feared shewould try to rush past him. He stared at her, with a queer admixture offear, rage, and astonishment.
"So I've got you at last, eh? I've got you, after all this?"
Curiously she stared at him. She had dreaded the interview, but nowthat he was before her she was surprised to find that she felt no fear.She examined him as if from a distance.
"Yes," she admitted, "you have me. Will you sit down?"
"I need room to talk," he said, swaggering to the table. He struck hisfist on it. "Now, to start with, what in thunder did you mean byrunning away?"
"We're leaving the past to bury the past," she said. "That's the firstconcession you have to make."
He laughed, his laughter ending with a choked sound. "And why should_I_ make concessions?"
Jig watched the veins of fury swell in his forehead, watched calmly,and then threw her sombrero on the bed and smoothed back her hair,still watching without a change of expression. It seemed as if her calmacted to sober him, and the passing of her hand across the bright,silken hair all at once softened him. He sank into the opposite chair,leaning far across the table toward her.
"Honey, take you all in all, you're prettier right here in this man'soutfit that I ever see you--a pile prettier!"
For a moment she closed her eyes. The sacrifice which she intended wasbecoming harder, desperately hard to make.
"I'm going to take you back and forgive you," said Cartwright,apparently blind to what was going on in her mind. "I ain't one tocarry malice. You keep to the line from now on, and we'll get alongfine. But you step crooked just once more, and I'll learn you a pile ofthings you never even dreamed could happen!"
To her it seemed that he stood in a shaft of consuming light thatexposed every shadowy nook and cranny of his nature, and thenarrow-minded meanness that she saw, startled her.
"What you do afterward with me is your own affair," she said. "It'sabout the present that I've come to bargain."
"Bargain?"
"Exactly! Do what I ask, and I go back and act as your wife. If yourefuse, I walk out of your life forever."
He could not speak for a moment. Then he exploded.
"It's funny. I could almost laugh hearing you chatter crazy like this.Don't you think I got a right to make my own wife come home with me,now that I've found her? Wouldn't the law stand behind me?"
"You can force me to come," she admitted quietly, "but if you do, I'lllet the whole truth be known that I ran away from you. Can your pridestand that, Jude?"
He writhed. "And how'll you get around that, even if I don't make you,and you come back of your own free will?"
"Somehow I'll manage. I'll find a story of how I was carried away byhalf a dozen men who had come to loot the upper rooms of the house,while the wedding party was downstairs. I'll find a story that willwash."
"Yes, I think you will," said Cartwright, breathing heavily. "I surethink you will. You was always a clever little devil, I know! But abargain! I'd ought to--" He checked himself. "But I'm through with theblack talk. When I get you back on the ranch I'll show you that you canbe happy up there. And when you get over your fool notions, you'll be awife to be proud of. Now, honey, tell me what you want?"
"I want you to save the lives of two men. They're both in jail--on myaccount. And they're both charged with murder. You know whom I mean."
Cartwright rose out of his chair.
"Sinclair!" he groaned. "Curse him! Sinclair, ag'in, eh? What's theybetween you two?"
Her answer smothered his fury again. It was pain that was giving herstrength.
"Jude, if you really want me to go back with you, don't ask thatquestion. He has treated me as an honorable man always treats awoman--he tried to serve me."
"Serve you? By coming here trying to kill me?"
"He may have thought I wished to be free. He didn't tell me what he wasgoing to do."
"That's a lie." He stopped, watching her white face. "I don't meanthat, you know. But you ain't actually asking me to get Sinclair out ofjail? Besides, I couldn't do it!"
"You could easily. Moreover, it's to your interest. It will take astrong jail to hold him, and if he breaks away, you know that he's adangerous man. He hates you, Jude, and he might try to find you. If hedid--"
She waved her hand, and Cartwright followed the gesture with great,fascinated eyes, as if he saw himself dissolving into thin air.
"I know; he's a desperado, right enough, this Sinclair. Ain't I seenhim work?" He shuddered at the memory.
"But get him out of the jail, Jude, and that will be ended. He'll beyour friend."
"Could I trust him?"
"Don't you think Riley Sinclair is a man to be trusted?"
"I dunno." He lowered his eyes. "Maybe he is."
"As for Arizona," she went on, "the same thing holds for him."
"Yes; if I could get one out, I could get two. But how can I do it?This Sheriff Kern is a fighting idiot, and loves a gunplay. I ain't noman-killer, honey."
"But you're rich, Jude."
"Tolerable. They may be one or two has more than me, around theseparts."
"And money buys men!"
"Don't it, though?" said Jude, expanding. "Why, when they found that Iwas a spender they started in hounding me. One gent wanted me to helphim on a mortgage--only fifty bucks to meet a payment. And they's halfa dozen would mortgage their souls if I'd stake 'em to enoughdownstairs to get them into a crap game, or something."
"Then let them have the money they need. Why, it wouldn't be more thana hundred dollars altogether."
"A hundred is a hundred. Why should I throw it away on them bums?"
"Because after you've done it, you'll have a dozen men who'll followyou. You'll have a mob."
"Sure! But what of that? Expect me to lead an attack on a jail, eh?Throw my life away? By guns, I think you'd like that!"
"You don't have to lead. Just give them the money they need and thenspread the word around that Riley Sinclair is really an honorable manwho killed Quade in a fair fight. I know what they thought of Quade. Hewas a bully. No one liked him. Tell them it's a shame that a man likeSinclair should die because he killed a big, hulking cur such as Quade.They'll listen--particularly if they have your money. I know these men,Jude. If they think an injustice is being done, they'll risk theirnecks to right it! And if you work on them in the right way, you canhave twenty men who'll risk everything to get Riley out. But therewon't be a risk. If twenty men rush the jail, the guards will simplythrow down their guns and give up."
"I'm sure of it, Jude. Do you think a deputy will let himself be killedsimply to keep a prisoner safely? They won't do it!"
"You don't know this Kern!"
"I _do_ know him, and I know that he's human. I've seen him beaten oncealready."
"By Sinclair! You keep coming back to him!"
"Jude, if you do this thing for me," she said steadily, "I'll go backwith you. I don't love you, but if I go back I'll keep you from a greatdeal of shameful talk. I'm sorry, truly, that I left. I couldn't helpit. It was an impulse that--took me by the throat. And if I go backI'll honestly try to make you a good wife."
She faltered a little before that last word, and her voice fell. ButJude Cartwright was wholly fascinated by the color in her face, and thesoftness of her voice he mistook for a sudden rise of tenderness.
"They's only one thing I got to ask--you and Sinclair--have you ever--Imean--have you ever told him you're pretty fond of him--that you lovehim?" He blurted it out, stammering.
Certainly she knew that her answer was a lie, though it was true in theletter.
"I have never told him so," she said firmly. "But I owe him a greatdebt--he must not die because he's a gentleman, Jude."
All the time she was speaking, he watched her with ferret sharpness,thinking busily. Before she ended he had reached his decision.
"I'm going to raise that mob."
"Jude!"
What a ring in her voice! If he had been in doubt he would have knownthen. No matter what she said, she loved Riley Sinclair. He smiledsourly down on her.
"Keep your thanks. You'll hear news of Sinclair before morning." And hestalked out of the room.