The Black Box Part 59

"Been at your games again, Long Jim?" he began. "I hear you declined to hand over a criminal who's been sheltering on your ranch? You'll get into trouble before you've finished."

"Got the warrant?" Jim asked.

The deputy produced it. Long Jim looked at it curiously and handed it back.

"Guess the only other thing you want, then, is the man."

"Better produce him quickly," the deputy advised.

Jim turned away.

"Can't do it. He's beat it."

"You mean that you've let him go?"

"Let him go?" Jim repeated. "I ain't got no right to keep him. He took the job on at a moment's notice and he left at a moment's notice. There's some of your party after him, all right."

The deputies whispered to one another. The elder of the two turned around.

"Look here," he said to the cowboys, glancing around for Long Jim, who had disappeared, "we've had about enough of your goings-on. I reckon we'll take one of you back and see what seven days' bread and water will do towards civilising you."

There was a little mutter. The deputies stood side by side. With an almost simultaneous movement they had drawn their guns.

"Where's Long Jim?" the older one asked.

There was a sudden whirring about their heads. A lariat, thrown with unerring accuracy, had gathered them both in its coil. With a jerk they were drawn close together, their hands pinned to their side. Two cowboys quickly disarmed them. Long Jim came sauntering round from the other side of the range wagon, tightening the rope as he walked.

"Say, you've got a h.e.l.l of a nerve, b.u.t.ting into a peaceable camp like this. We ain't broke no laws. So you're a'going to civilise us, eh? Well, Mister Harris, we can play that civilising game, too. Hey boys, all together, tie 'em up against that wagon."

A dozen willing hands secured them. The two men spluttered wildly, half in anger, half in fear of their tormentors, but in a few seconds they were secured firmly against the canvas-topped wagon.

"Now sit easy, gentlemen, sit easy. Nothing's going to hurt you." Long Jim shoved fresh cartridges into his forty-five. "That is, unless you're unlucky. Line up there, boys, one at a time now. Bud, you and Tim and Dough-head give them guys a singe, their hair's getting too long. The rest of you boys just content yourselves doing a fancy decoration on the canvas all around 'em. I'll deevote my entire attenshun to tr.i.m.m.i.n.g them lugshuriant whiskers, Mister Harris is a-sporting. All ready now,--one, two, three, let 'em whistle!"

The two deputies gave a simultaneous yell as several bullets sung by their ears.

"Whoa, old horses," drawled Long Jim. "Flies bothering you some, eh? Sit easy, sit easy. Too dangerous hopping around that way. You might stick yourselves right in the way of one of them spitb.a.l.l.s. Some nerve tonic this! A.X.X. Ranch brand, ready to serve at all hours, cheap at half the price. Ah ha, pretty near shaved your upper lip that time, didn't I, Mister Harris. My hand's a bit unsteady, what with all the excitement hereabouts. Say, put a stem on that chrysanthemum you're doing, Cotton-top."

The two men, racked with fury and terror, ridiculous in their trussed-up state, motionless and strained, crouched in terror while the bullets pa.s.sed all around them. Inspector French tapped Long Jim on the shoulder.

"Look here," he remonstrated, "you're looking for trouble. You can't treat the representatives of the law like this."

Long Jim turned slowly around. His politeness was ominous.

"Say, you got me scared," he replied. "Am I going to be hung?"

"The law must be respected," French said firmly. "Untie those men."

Long Jim scratched his head for a moment.

"Say, Mr. Inspector," he remarked, "you're a fine man in your way but you weigh too much--that's what's the matter with you. Boys," he added, turning around, "what's the best exercise for reducing flesh?"

"Dancing," they shouted.

Long Jim grinned. He fell a little back. Suddenly he lowered his gun and shot into the ground, barely an inch from French's feet. The Inspector leaped into the air.

"Once more, boys," the cowboy went on. "Keep it up, Inspector. Jump a little higher next time. You barely cleared that one."

The bullets buried themselves in the dust around the Inspector's feet.

Fuming with anger, French found himself continually forced to jump. The two deputies, forgotten for the moment, watched with something that was almost like a grin upon their faces. Laura, protesting loudly, was obliged more than once to look away to hide a smile. Jim at last slipped his gun into his holster.

"No more ammunition to waste, boys," he declared. "Untie the guys with the warrant and bring out the bottle of rye. Say," he went on, addressing the deputies as they struggled to their feet, "and you, Mr. New-Yorker, is it to be friends and a drink, or do you want a quarrel?"

The deputies were very thirsty. The perspiration was streaming down French's forehead. They all looked at one another. Laura whispered in French's ear and he nodded.

"We'll call it a drink," he decided.

The hunted man turned around with a little gasp. Before him was the rude mountain bridge, and on the other side--freedom. Scarcely a dozen lengths away was Lenora, and close behind her came Quest. He slackened speed as he walked his horse cautiously on to the planked bridge. Suddenly he gave a little cry. The frail structure, unexpectedly insecure, seemed to sway beneath his weight. Lenora, who had been riding fast, was unable to stop herself. She came on to the bridge at a half canter. Craig, who had reached the other side in safety, threw up his hands.

"Look out!" he cried. "My G.o.d!"

The bridge suddenly collapsed as though it had been made of paper. Lenora, grasping her horse, was thrown into the stream. Quest, galloping up, was only able to check himself just in time. He flung himself from his horse, and plunged into the stream. It was several moments before he was able to reach Lenora. From the opposite bank Craig watched them, glancing once or twice at the bridge. One of the wooden pillars had been sawn completely through.

"Are you hurt, dear?" Quest gasped, as he drew Lenora to the bank.

She shook her head.

"Just my side. Did Craig get away?"

Quest looked gloomily across the stream.

"Craig's in Mexico, right enough," he answered savagely, "but I am beginning to feel that I could fetch him back out of h.e.l.l!"

CHAPTER XIV

TONGUES OF FLAME

1.

From the shadows of the trees on the further side of the river, Craig with strained eyes watched Quest's struggle. He saw him reach Lenora, watched him struggle to the bank with her, waited until he had lifted her on to his horse. Then he turned slowly around and faced the one country in the world where freedom was still possible for him. He looked into a wall of darkness, penetrated only at one spot by a little blaze of light. Slowly, with his arm through the bridle of his horse, he limped towards it. As he drew nearer and discovered its source, he hesitated. The light came through the uncurtained windows of a saloon, three long, yellow shafts illuminating the stunted shrubs and sandy places. Craig kept in the shadow between them and drew a little nearer. From inside he could hear the thumping of a worn piano, the tw.a.n.ging of a guitar, the rattle of gla.s.ses, the uproarious shouting of men, the shrill laughter of women. The tired man and the lame horse stole reluctantly a little nearer. Craig listened once more wearily. It was home he longed for so much--and rest. The very thought of the place sickened him. Even when he reached the door, he hesitated and instead of entering stood back amongst the shadows. If only he could find any other sort of shelter!

Inside, the scene was ordinary enough. There was a long bar, against which were lounging half-a-dozen typical Mexican cowpunchers. There was a small s.p.a.ce cleared for dancing, at the further end of which two performers were making weird but vehement music. Three girls were dancing with cowboys, not ungracefully considering the state of the floor and the frequent discords in the music. One of them--the prettiest--stopped abruptly and pushed her partner away from her.

"You have drunk too much, Jose!" she exclaimed. "You cannot dance. You tread on my feet and you lean against me. I do not like it. I will dance with you another night when you are sober. Go away, please."