The Coming of the Law Part 12

The would-be killer did not have even time enough to pull the trigger of his six-shooter. It fell from his hand and thudded dully to the floor as his knees doubled under him and he collapsed in an inert, motionless heap near the door.

With a grim smile on his face Hollis picked up Ten Spot's weapon and placed it on the desk. For an instant he stood at the window, looking out into the street. Down near the Fas.h.i.+on he saw some men--Yuma Ed among them. No doubt they were waiting the sound of the pistol shot which would tell them that Ten Spot had disposed of Hollis. Hollis grinned widely--Yuma and his gang were due for a surprise. For perhaps a minute Hollis stood beside the desk, watching Ten Spot. Then when the latter's hands began to twitch and a trace of color appeared in his face, Hollis pulled out his own revolver and approached him, standing within a few feet of him and looking down at him.

There was no mark on Ten Spot's jaw to show where Hollis's blow had landed, for his fist had struck flush on the point, its force directed upward. Ten Spot's mouth had been open at the instant and the snapping of his teeth from the impact of the blow no doubt had much to do with his long period of unconsciousness.

He stirred presently and then with an effort sat up and looked at his conqueror with a glance of puzzled wonderment. Seeing Hollis's weapon and his own on the desk, the light of past events seemed to filter into his bewildered brain. He grinned owlishly, felt of his jaw and then bowed his head, a flush of shame overspreading his face.

"Herd-rode!" he said dismally. "Herd-rode, an' by a tenderfoot! Oh, Lordy!" He suddenly looked up at Hollis, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with rage and defiance.

"d.a.m.n your hide, why don't you shoot?" he demanded. He placed his hands, palm down, on the floor, preparatory to rising, but ceased his efforts when he heard Hollis's voice, coldly humorous:

"I shall shoot you just the instant you get to your feet. I rather think that I am running things here now."

Ten Spot sagged back and looked up at him. "Why I reckon you are," he said. No method of action having suggested itself to him, he continued to sit, watching Hollis narrowly.

The latter retreated to his chair and dropped into it, moving deliberately. When he spoke his voice was cold and metallic.

"When you first came into the office," he said, "you applied a vile epithet to me. Once after that you did it again. You have asked me why I don't shoot you. If you really want me to shoot you you can keep your mouth closed for just one minute. If you want to continue to live you can tell me that you didn't mean a word of what you said on those two occasions. It's up to you." He sat silent, looking steadily at Ten Spot.

The latter fidgeted, shame again reddening his cheeks. "Why," he said finally, "I reckon she don't go, tenderfoot. You see, she's only a noma de ploom which we uses when we wants to rile somebody. I cert'nly didn't mean nothin' by it."

"Thanks," drawled Hollis dryly; "I'll call that sufficient. But you certainly did 'rile' me some."

"I reckon I must have done just that," grinned Ten Spot ruefully.

"You're sh.o.r.ely some she-wolf with them there claws of your'n. An' I done laffed at Dunlavey an' Yuma after you'd clawed them." His face sobered, his eyes suddenly filling with an expression of defiant resignation.

"I reckon when you're done triflin' with me you c'n start to pumpin'

your lead," he said. "There ain't no use of prolongin' the agony." He looked steadily at Hollis, his eyes filling with decision as he again placed his hands beside him on the floor to rise.

"You c'n open the ball when you get d.a.m.n good an' ready," he sneered, "but I'm gettin' up right now. I ain't goin' to die off my pins like a d.a.m.n coyote!"

He rose quickly, plainly expecting to be shot down the moment he reached his feet. When he discovered that Hollis evidently intended to delay the fatal moment he stiffened, his lips twitching queerly.

"Ten Spot," said Hollis quietly, "by apologizing for what you said when you came in you have shown that there is a great deal of the man left in you despite your bad habits and a.s.sociations. I am going to show you that I think there is enough of the man left in you to trust you with your gun."

He turned abruptly to the desk and took up Ten Spot's weapon, holding it by the muzzle and presenting it to the latter. Ten Spot looked from the weapon to Hollis and back again to the weapon, blank amazement pictured on his face. Then he reached out mechanically, taking the weapon and holding it in his hands, turning it over and over as though half inclined to believe that it was not a revolver at all.

"Chuck full of cattridges, too!" he exclaimed in amazement, as he examined the chambers.

"Why, h.e.l.l----" He crouched and deftly swung the six-shooter around, the b.u.t.t in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. In this position he looked at Hollis.

The latter had not moved, but his own weapon was in his right hand, its muzzle covering Ten Spot, and when the latter swung his weapon up Hollis smiled grimly at him.

"Using it?" he questioned.

For an instant it seemed that Ten Spot would. An exultant, designing expression came into his eyes, he grinned, his teeth showing tigerishly.

Then suddenly he snapped himself erect and with a single, dexterous movement holstered the weapon. Then his right hand came suddenly out toward Hollis.

"Shake!" he said. "By ----, you're white!"

Hollis smiled as he returned the hearty handclasp.

"You're cert'nly plum grit," a.s.sured Ten Spot as he released Hollis's hand and stepped back the better to look at the latter. "But I reckon you're some d.a.m.n fool too. How did you know that I wouldn't turn you into a colander when you give me back my gun?"

"I didn't know," smiled Hollis. "I just took a chance. You see," he added, "it was this way. I never intended to shoot you. That sort of thing isn't in my line and I don't intend to shoot anyone if there is any way out of it. But I certainly wasn't going to allow you to shoot me." He smiled oddly. "So I watched my chance and slugged you. Then when I was certain that you weren't dangerous any more I had to face another problem. If I had turned you loose after taking your gun what would you have done?"

"I'd have gone out an' rustled another gun an' come back here an'

salivated you."

"That's just what you would have done," smiled Hollis. "I intend to stay in this country, Ten Spot, and if I had turned you loose without an understanding you would have shot me at the first opportunity. As it stands now you owe me-----"

"As it stands now," interrupted Ten Spot, a queer expression on his face, "I'm done shootin' as far as you're concerned." He walked to the door, hesitated on the threshold and looked back. "Mister man," he said slowly, "mebbe you won't lick Big Bill in this here little mix-up, but I'm telling you that you're goin' to give him a d.a.m.n good run for his money! So-long."

He stepped down and disappeared. For a moment Hollis looked after him, and then he sat down at the desk, his face softening into a satisfied smile. It was something to receive a tribute from a man like Ten Spot.

CHAPTER X

THE LOST TRAIL

It was after seven o'clock when Hollis mounted his pony in the rear of the _Kicker_ office and rode out over the plains toward the Circle Bar. He was properly elated by the outcome of his affair with Ten Spot.

The latter had come to the _Kicker_ office as an enemy looking for an opportunity to kill. He had left the office, perhaps not a friend, but at least a neutral, sympathetic onlooker, for according to Hollis's interpretation of his words at parting he would take no further part in Dunlavey's campaign--at least he would do no more shooting.

Hollis was compelled to make a long detour in order to strike the Circle Bar trail, and when at seven-thirty o'clock he rode down through a dry arroyo toward a little basin which he must cross to reach a ridge that had been his landmark during all his trips back and forth from Dry Bottom to the Circle Bar, dusk had fallen and the shadows of the oncoming night were settling somberly down over the plains.

He rode slowly forward; there was no reason for haste, for he had told Potter to say nothing about the reason of his delay in leaving Dry Bottom, and Potter would not expect him before nine o'clock. Hollis had warmed toward Potter this day; there had been in the old printer's manner that afternoon a certain solicitous concern and sympathy that had struck a responsive chord in his heart. He was not a sentimentalist, but many times during his acquaintance with Potter he had felt a genuine pity for the man. It had been this sentiment which had moved him to ask Potter to remove temporarily to the Circle Bar, though one consideration had been the fact at the Circle Bar he would most of the time be beyond the evil influence of Dry Bottom's saloons. That Potter appreciated this had been shown by his successful fight against temptation the night before, when postponement of the publication of the _Kicker_ would have been fraught with serious consequences.

Riding down through the little basin at the end of the arroyo Hollis yielded to a deep, stirring satisfaction over the excellent beginning he had made in his fight against Dunlavey and the interests behind him.

Many times he smiled, thinking of the surprise his old friends in the East must have felt over the perusal of their copies of the _Kicker_; over the information that he--who had been something of a figure in Eastern newspaperdom--had become the owner and editor of a newspaper in a G.o.d-forsaken town in New Mexico, and that at the outset he was waging war against interests that ridiculed a judge of the United States Court. He smiled grimly. They might be surprised, but they must feel, all who knew him, that he would stay and fight until victory rewarded him or until black, bitter defeat became his portion. There could be no compromise.

When he reached the ridge toward which he had been riding for the greater part of an hour night had come. The day had been hot, but there had been a slight breeze, and in the _Kicker_ office, with the front and rear doors open, he had not noticed the heat very much. But just as he reached the ridge he became aware that the breeze had died down; that waves of hot, sultry air were rising from the sun-baked earth. Usually at this time of the night there were countless stars, and now as he looked up into the great, vast arc of sky he saw no stars at all except away down in the west in a big rift between some mountains.

He pulled up his pony and sat motionless in the saddle, watching the sky. A sudden awe for the grandeur of the scene filled him. He remembered to have seen nothing quite like it in the East.

Back toward Dry Bottom, and on the north and south, rose great, black thunderheads with white crests, seeming like mountains with snowcapped peaks. Between the thunder-heads were other clouds, of grayish-white, fleecy, wind-whipped, weird shapes, riding on the wings of the Storm-Kings. Other clouds flanked these, moving slowly and majestically--like great s.h.i.+ps on the sea--in striking contrast to the fleecy, unstable shapes between the thunderheads, which, though rus.h.i.+ng always onward, were riven and broken by the irresistible force behind them. To Hollis it seemed there were two mighty opposing forces at work in the sky, marshalling, maneuvering, preparing for conflict. While he sat motionless in the saddle watching, a sudden gust of cold wind swirled up around him, dashed some fine, flint-like sand against his face and into his eyes, and then swept onward. He was blinded for an instant, and allowed the reins to drop on his pony's neck while he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He sat thus through an ominous hush and then to his ears came a low, distant rumble.

He touched his pony lightly on the flanks with his spurs and headed it along the ridge, convinced that a storm was coming and suddenly realizing that he was many miles from shelter.

He had traveled only a little distance when clouds of sand and dust, wind-driven, enveloped him, blinding him again, stinging his face and hands and blotting out the landmarks upon which he depended to guide him to the Circle Bar. The sky had grown blacker; even the patch of blue that he had seen in the rift between the distant mountains was now gone.

There was nothing above him--it seemed--except inky black clouds, nothing below but chaos and wind. He could not see a foot of the trail and so he gave the pony the rein, trusting to its instinct.

When Norton had provided him with an outfit the inevitable tarpaulin had not been neglected. Hollis remembered that this was attached to the cantle of the saddle, and so, after he had proceeded a little way along the crest of the ridge, he halted the pony, dismounted, unstrapped the tarpaulin, and folded it about him. Then he remounted and continued on his way, mentally thanking Norton for his foresight.

The pony had negotiated the ridge; had slowly loped down its slope to a comparatively low and level stretch of country, and was traveling steadily forward, when Hollis noticed a change in the atmosphere. It had grown hot again--sultry; the heat seemed to cling to him. An ominous calm had succeeded the aerial disturbance. From a great distance came a slight sound--a gentle sighing--gradually diminis.h.i.+ng until it died away entirely. Then again came the ominous, premonitory silence--an absolute absence of life and movement. Hollis urged the pony forward, hoping the calm would last until he had covered a goodly part of the distance to the Circle Bar. For a quarter of an hour he went on at a good pace. But he had scarcely reached the edge of a stretch of broken country--which he dreaded even in the daylight--when the storm was upon him.

It did not come unheralded. A blinding flash of lightning illuminated miles of the surrounding country, showing Hollis the naked peaks of ridges and hills around him; gullies, draws, barrancas, the levels, lava beds, fantastic rock shapes--mocking his ignorance of the country. He saw them all for an instant and then they were gone and darkness--blacker than before--succeeded. It was as though a huge map had suddenly been thrust before his eyes by some giant hand, an intense light thrown upon it, and the light suddenly turned off. Immediately there came a heavy crash as though the Storm-Kings, having marshalled their forces, had thrown them together in one, great, clas.h.i.+ng onrush.