CHAPTER V
BILL JUSTIFIES HIS CREATION
Bill Howland careened along the stage route, rapidly leaving Ford'sStation in his rear. He rolled through the arroyo on alternate pairs ofwheels, splashed through the Limping Water, leaving it roiled andmuddy, and shot up the opposite bank with a rush. Before him was astretch of a dozen miles, level as a billiard table, and then theroute traversed a country rocky and uneven and wound through cuts anddefiles and around rocky buttes of strange formation. This continuedfor ten miles, and the last defile cut through a ridge of rock, calledthe Backbone, which ranged in height from twenty to forty feet, smooth,unbroken and perpendicular on its eastern face. This ridge wound andtwisted from the big chaparral twenty miles below the defile to a branchof the Limping Water, fifteen miles above. And in all the thirty-fivemiles there was but a single opening, the one used by Bill and the stage.
In crossing the level plain Bill could see for miles to either side ofhim, but when once in the rough country his view was restricted to yards,and more often to feet. It was here that he expected trouble if at all,and he usually went through it with a speed which was reckless, to saythe least.
He had just dismissed the possibility of meeting with Apaches as heturned into the last long defile, which he was pleased to call a canyon. Ashe made the first turn he nearly fell from his seat in astonishment atwhat he saw. Squarely in the center of the trail ahead of him was ahorseman, who rode the horse which had formerly belonged to Jimmy ofthe Cross Bar-8, and across the cut lay a heavy piece of timber, oneof the dead trees which were found occasionally at that altitude, andit effectively barred the passing of the stage. The horseman wore hissombrero far back on his head and a rifle lay across his saddle, whiletwo repeating Winchesters were slung on either side of his horse. Onestartled look revealed the worst to the driver--The Orphan, the terribleOrphan faced him!
"Don't choke--I'm not going to eat you," assured the horseman with asmile. "But I'm going to smoke half of your tobacco--and you can bring mea half pound when you come back from Sagetown. Just throw it up yonder,"pointing to a rocky ledge, "and keep going right ahead."
Bill looked very much relieved, and hastily fumbled in his hip pocket,which was a most suicidal thing to do in a hurry; but The Orphan didn'teven move at the play, having judged the man before him and having faithin his judgment. The hand came out again with a pouch of tobacco, whichits owner flung to the outlaw. After putting half of it in his own pouchand enclosing a coin to pay for his half pound, The Orphan tossed itback again and then moved the tree trunk until it fell to the road, whenhe dismounted and rolled it aside.
"You forget right now that you have seen me or you'll have heart diseasesome day in this place," warned the horseman, moving aside. Bill sworeearnestly that at times his memory was too short to even remember his ownname, and he enthusiastically lashed his cayuse sextet. As he swung outon the plain again he glanced furtively over his shoulder and breathed adeep breath of relief when he found that the outlaw was not in sight.He then tied a knot in his handkerchief so as to be sure to remember toget a half-pound package of tobacco. A new responsibility, and one whichhe had never borne before, weighed upon him. He must keep silent--and whata rich subject for endless conversations! Talking material which wouldlast him for years must be sealed tightly within his memory on penaltyof death if he failed to keep it secret.
After an uneventful trip across the open plain, which passed so rapidlybecause of his intent thoughts that he hardly realized it, he rippedinto Sagetown with a burst of speed and flung the mail bag at the stationagent, after which he hastened to float the dust down his throat.
When he met his Sagetown friends he had fairly to choke down his secret,and his aching desire to create a sensation pained and worried him.
"You made her faster than usual, Bill," remarked the bartender casually."Yore half-an-hour ahead of time," he added in a congratulatory tone ashe placed a bottle and glass before the new arrival.
"Yes, and I had to stop, too," Bill replied, and then hastily gulped downhis liquor to save himself.
"That so?" asked old Pop Westley, an habitue of the saloon. Pop Westleyhad fought through the Civil War and never forgot to tell of hisexperiences, which must have been unusually numerous, even for four yearsof hard campaigning, if one may judge from the fact that he never had torepeat, and yet used them as his _coup d'etat_ in many conversationalbouts. "What was it, Injuns?" he asked, winking at the bartender as ifin prophecy as to what the driver would choose for his next lie.
"Oh, no," replied Bill, groping for an idea to get him out of trouble."Nope, just had to lose twenty minutes rollin' rocks out of thecanyon--they must have been a little landslide since I went through herthe last time. Some of 'em was purty big, too."
"I thought you might a had to kill some Injuns, like you did when theybroke out four years ago," responded the bartender gravely. "Tell us aboutthat time you licked them dozen mad Apache warriors, Bill," he requested."That was a blamed good scrap from what I can remember."
"Oh, I've told you about that scrap so much I'm ashamed to tell it again,"replied the driver, wishing that he could remember just what he had saidabout it, and sorry that his memory was so inferior to his imagination.
"Bet you get scalped goin' back," pleasantly remarked Johnny Sands, whohad not fought in the Civil War, but who often ferociously wished he hadwhen old Pop Westley was telling of how Mead took Vicksburg, or some othersuch bit of history. Pop must have been connected to a flying regiment,for he had fought under every general on the Union side.
"You're on for the drinks, Johnny," answered Bill promptly, feeling thatit would be a double joy to win. "The war-whoops never lived who couldscalp Bill Howland, and don't forget it, neither," he boastfully averredas he made for the door, very anxious to get away from that awful gnawingtemptation to open their eyes wide about his recent experience.
"Then The Orphan will get you, shore," came from Pop Westley. Bill jumpedand slammed the door so hard that it shook the building.
He saw that his sextet was being properly fed and watered for the returntrip, which would not take place until the next day. But a trifle liketwenty-four hours had no effect on Bill under his present stress ofexcitement, and he fooled about the coach as if it was his dearestpossession, inspecting the king-bolt, running-gear and whiffletrees withanxious eyes. He wanted no break-down, because the Apaches _might_ befarther north than was their custom. That done he took his rifle apartand thoroughly cleaned and oiled it, seeing that the magazine was fullto the end. Then he had his supper and went straight therefrom to bed,not daring to again meet his friends for fear of breaking his promiseto The Orphan.
At dawn he drew up beside the small station and waited for the arrival ofthe train, which even then was a speck at the meeting place of the railson the horizon.
The station agent sauntered over to him and grinned.
"I guess I will get that telegraph line after all, Bill," he remarkedhappily. "I heard that the division superintendent wanted to get wordto me in a hurry the other day, and raised the devil when he couldn't.I've been fighting for a wire to civilization for three years, and now Ireckon she'll come."
"I always said you ought to have a telegraph line out here," Bill replied."Suppose that train should run off the track some day, what would theydo, hey?"
"Huh, that train never goes fast enough to run off of anything," retortedthe station agent. "She'd stop dead if she hit a coyote--by gosh! Hereshe comes now! What do you think of that, eh? Half-an-hour ahead of time,too! Must be trying to hit up a better average than she's had for thelast year. She's usually due three hours late," he added in bewilderment."She owes the world about a month--must have left the day before bymistake."
"Johnny Sands says he raced her once for ten miles, and beat it a mile,"replied Bill, crossing his legs and yawning. Then he began one of hisendless talks, and the agent hastily departed and left him to himself.
When the train finally stopped at its destination, afte
r running pastthe station and having to back to the platform, three women alighted andlooked around. Seeing the stage, they ordered their baggage transferred toit and gave Bill a shock by their appearance.
"Is this the stage which runs to Ford's Station?" the eldest asked of Bill.
Bill fumbled at his sombrero and tore it from his head as he replied.
"Yes, sir, er--ma'am!" he said, confusedly. "Are you Sheriff's sister,ma'am?"
"Yes," she answered. "Why do you ask? Has anything happened to him in thisawful country?" she asked in alarm.
"No, ma'am, not yet," responded Bill in confusion. "He just didn't expectyou 'til the next train, ma'am, that's all. He was going to meet you then."
"Now, _isn't_ that just like a man?" she asked her companions. "Idistinctly remember that I wrote him I would come on the twenty-fourth.How stupid of him!"
"Yes, ma'am, you did," interposed Bill, eagerly. "But this is only thetwenty-first, ma'am."
She refused to notice the correction and waved her hand toward the coach.
"Get in, dears," she said. "I _do_ so hope it isn't dirty anduncomfortable, and we have so far to go in it, too. Thirty miles--thinkof it!"
Bill thought of it, but refrained from offering correction. If Shieldshad said it was thirty miles when he knew it was eighty that was Shields'affair, and he didn't care to have any unpleasantness. He had offeredcorrection about the date, and that was enough for him. Clambering downheavily he opened the side door of the vehicle and then helped thestation agent put the trunks and valises and hat boxes on the hangingshelf behind the coach and saw that they were lashed securely intoplace. Then he threw the mail bag upon his seat, climbed after it andstarted on his journey with a whoop and rush, for this trip was to be arecord-breaker. Shields had said it was thirty miles, and it behovethe driver to make it seem as short as possible.
The unexpected arrival of the women had driven everything else fromhis mind, even The Orphan, and after he had covered a mile he had astrong desire to smoke. Giving his whip a jerk he threw it along the topof the coach and slipped the handle under his arm. Then he felt forhis pouch, and as his fingers closed upon it he suddenly stiffened andgasped. He had forgotten The Orphan's half pound! Swearing earnestlyand badly frightened at the close call he had from incurring the anger ofa man like the outlaw, he pulled on the reins with a suddenness whichcaused the sextet to lay back their ears and indulge in a few heartfeltkicks. But the darting whip kept peace and he swung around and returnedto town.
As he drove past the station Mary Shields, the sheriff's elder sister,poked her head out of the door and called to him.
"Driver!" she exclaimed. "Driver!"
Bill craned his neck and looked down.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied anxiously.
"Are we there already?" she asked.
"Why, no, ma'am, it's ei--thirty miles yet," he responded as he sprangto the ground.
"Then where are we, for goodness' sake?"
"Back in Sagetown, ma'am," he hurriedly replied. "I shore forgotsomething," he added in explanation of the return as he ran towardthe saloon.
She turned to her companions with a gesture of despair:
"Isn't it awful," she asked, "what a terrible thing drinking is? A mostdetestable habit! Here we are back to where we started from and justbecause our driver must have a drink of nasty liquor! Why, we would havebeen there by this time. I will most assuredly speak to James about this!"
"Well, I suppose we may go on now!" she exclaimed as Bill bolted intosight again, holding a package firmly in his two hands. "I suppose hefeels quite capable of driving now."
Bill, blissfully ignorant of the remarks he had called forth, tossedthe tobacco upon the mail bag and climbed to his seat again. The longwhip hissed and cracked as he bellowed to the team, and once more theystarted for Ford's Station.
The passengers had all they could do to keep their seats because of thegymnastics of the erratic stage. Bill, who had always found delight inseeing how near he could come to missing things and who was elated atthe joy of getting over the worst parts of the trail with speed, decidedthat this was a rare and most auspicious occasion to show just what hecould do in the way of fancy driving. The return to town had spoiledhis chances for a record, but he still could do some high-class workwith the reins. The weight of the baggage on the tail-board botheredhim until he discovered that it acted as a tail to his Concord kite,and when he learned that he joyously essayed feats which he had longdreamed of doing. The result was fully appreciated by the terrifiedpassengers who, choking with the dust which forced its way in to them,could only hold fast to whatever came to their grasp and pray that theywould survive.
As he passed a peculiarly formed clump of organ cacti, which he regardedas being his half-way mark, he happened to glance behind, and his faceblanched in a sudden fear which gripped his heart in an icy grasp.
He leaped to his feet, wrapping the reins about his wrists, and the"blacksnake" coiled and writhed and hissed. Its reports sounded likethose of a gun, and every time it straightened out a horse lost a bit ofhair and skin. Both of the leaders had limp and torn ears, and a suddenterror surged through the team, causing their eyes to dilate and growred. The driver's voice, strong and full, rang out in blood-curdlingwhoops, which ended in the wailing howl of a coyote, wonderfully wellimitated. The combination of voice and whip was too much, and the sixhorses, maddened by the terrible sting of the lash and the frightful,haunting howl, became frenzied and bolted.
Braced firmly on the footboard, poised carefully and with just the righttension on the reins, the driver scanned the trail before him, avoidingas best he could the rocks and deep ruts, and watching alertly for astumble. His sombrero had deserted him and his long brown hair snappedbehind him in the wind. Bill was frightened, but not for himself alone.With all his bravado he was built of good timber, and his one thought wasfor the women under his care. He unconsciously prayed that they might notbe brought face to face with the realization of what menaced them; thatthey would not learn why the coach lurched so terribly; that the trunkwhich obstructed the back window of the coach would not shift and givethem a sight of the danger. Oh, that the running gear held! That theking-bolt, new, thank God, proved the words of the boasting blacksmithto be true! He soon came to the beginning of a three-hundred-yard stretchof perfect road and he hazarded a quick backward glance. Instantly hiseyes were to the front again, but his brain retained the picture he hadseen, retained it perfectly and in wonderful clearness. He saw that theApaches were no longer a mile away, but that they had gained upon hima very little, so very little that only an eye accustomed to gaugingchanging distances could have noticed the difference. And he also sawthat the group was no longer compact, but that it was already spreadingout into the dreaded, deadly crescent, a crescent with the best horses atthe horns, which would endeavor to sweep forward and past the coach,drawing closer together until the circle was complete, with the stageas the center.
Another yell burst from him, and again and again the whip writhed andhissed and cracked, and a new burst of speed was the reward. Well itwas that the horses were the best and most enduring to be found on therange. He was dependent on his team, he and his passengers. He could nothope to take up his rifle until the last desperate stand. Oh, if he onlyhad the sheriff, the cool, laughing, accurate sheriff with him to lieagainst the seat and shoot for his sisters! Already the bullets weredropping behind him, but he did not know of it. They dropped, as yet,many yards too short, and he could not hear the flat reports. The windwhich roared and whistled past his ears spared him that.
A stumble! But up again and without injury, for a master hand held thereins, a hand as cunning as the eyes were calculating. Could Bill'sscoffing friends see him now their scoffing would freeze on lips open inadmiring astonishment. If he attained nothing more in his life he wasjustifying his creation. He was doing his best, and doing it wonderfullywell. Long since had fear left him. He was now only a superb driver,an alert, quick-thinking master of his chosen
trade. He thrilled witha peculiar elation, for was he not playing his hand against death? Alone hand and with no hope of a lucky draw. All he could hope for was thathe be not unlucky and lose the game because of the weakness of a wheel,or the traces, or that new king-bolt; that the splendid, ugly, terrorizedunits of his sextet would last until he had gained the canyon, wherethe stage would nearly block the narrow opening, and where he couldexchange reins for rifle!
Within the coach three women were miserably huddled in a mass on thefloor. Two would be more proper, because the third, a slim girl ofnineteen, was temporarily out of her misery, having fainted, which was aboon denied to her companions. Thrown from side to side as if they werestraws in weight, they first crashed into one wall and then into theother, buffeted from the edge of the front seat to that of the rear one.Bruised and bleeding and terrified, they dumbly prayed for deliverancefrom the madman up above them.
The driver's eye caught sight of the turn, which lay ten miles northeastof the canyon--then he had passed it.
"Only ten miles more, bronchs!" he shouted, imploringly, beseechingly."Hold it, boys! Hold it, pets! Only ten miles more!" he repeated untilthe left-hand leader lurched forward and lost its footing. Another bitof masterly manipulation of the reins saved it from going down, and againthe coyote yell rang out in all of its acute, quavering, hair-raisingmournfulness. The blacksnake again and again mercilessly leaped andstruck, and another wonderful burst of speed rewarded him.
His heart suddenly went out to his horses, as he realized what speed theywere making and had been holding for so long a time, and he swore to treatthem better than they had ever known if they pulled him safely to themouth of the canyon.
A second backward glance, forced from him because of the awful uncertaintyat his back, because if it was the last thing he ever did he must lookbehind him as a child looks back into the awful darkness of the room,caused his face to be convulsed with smiles, sudden and sincere. Heshouted madly in his joy at what he saw, dancing up and down regardlessof his perilous footing, bending his knees with a recklessness almostcriminal, as he uncoiled the hissing blacksnake high up in the air.Again and again the whistling, hissing length of braided rawhide curledand straightened and cracked, faster and faster until the reportsalmost merged. He tossed his head and laughed wildly, hysterically,and danced as only a man can dance when eased of a terrible nervoustension; the rasping of the icy, grasping fingers of Death along hisback suddenly ceased, and there came to him assurance of life andvengeance. Turning again he hurled the writhing length of his whip atthe yelling Apaches, snapping the rifle-like reports at their faces,cursing them in shouted words; hot, joyous, cynical, taunting wordsfresh from the soul of him, throbbing with his hatred; venomous,contemptuous, scathing, too heartfelt to be over-profane.
"Come _on_, d----n you! Your slide to h--l is greased _now!_ Come on,you wolves! You cheap, blind vultures! Come on! _Come on!!_" he yelled,well nigh out of his senses from the reaction. "Yes, yell! Yell, d----nyou!" he shouted as they replied to his taunts. "Yell! Shoot your tin gunswhile you can, for you'll soon be so full of lead you'll stop forever!_Come on!_ COME ON!"
They came. All their energies were bent toward the grotesque figure thatreviled them. They could not catch his words, but their eyes flashed atwhat they could see. Dust arose in huge, low clouds behind them, and theygained rapidly for a time, but only for a time, for their mounts hadcovered many miles in the last few days and were jaded and without theirusual strength because of insufficient food. But they gained enough todrop their shots on the coach, although accurate shooting at the pace theywere keeping was beyond their skill.
Puffs of dust spurted from the plain in front of the team and arosebeside it, and a jagged splinter of seasoned ash whizzed past the driver'sear. A long, gray furrow suddenly appeared in the end of the seat andholes began to show in the woodwork of the stage. One bullet, closer thanthe others, almost tore the reins from the driver's hands as it hit theloose end of leather which flapped in the air. Its jerk caused him toturn again and renew his verbal cautery, tears in his eyes from thefervor of his madness.
"Hi-yi! Whoop-e-e!" he shouted at his straining, steaming sextet. "Keep itup, bronchs! Hold her for ten minutes more, boys! We'll win! We'll win!We'll laugh them into h--l yet! We'll dance on their painted faces! Keepher steady! You're all right, every d----d one of you! Hold her steady!Whoop-e-e!"
A new factor had drawn cards, and the new factor could play his cardsbetter than any two men under that washed-out, faded blue sky.