CHAPTER XXI
Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and tryto find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These menDuane wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine,was the brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin whoneeded to be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duaneexperienced a strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin morethan thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious overthis emotion.
Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdalefor a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new painin his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to lethis mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.
He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived atBradford.
The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail andexpress train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargomessenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carriedaway. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, andengineer and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad menand citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made upbefore the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duanehad the sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind tofind; and, acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradfordunobserved. As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in thedirection of Ord, he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hopethat he might be taken for a train-robber.
He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black peak ofOrd Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted, tied his horse, andslept until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now he took his timecooking breakfast. When the sun was well up he saddled Bullet, and,leaving the trail where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he puthis horse to the rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough,roundabout, and difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skillof a long-hunted fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded andcovered with lather. It added considerable to his arrival that the manDuane remembered as Fletcher and several others saw him come in the backway through the lots and jump a fence into the road.
Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard.He was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just enjoyed a morningdrink.
"Howdy, Dodge," said Fletcher, laconically.
Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest.
"Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists asmight happen to ride up curious-like."
"Haw! haw! haw!"
Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter.
"Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe inthe 'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too, but you'll hev torustle water."
Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, andleft him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch Duane saw the groupof men had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before.Without comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and whereverone of the tracks of his horse showed he carefully obliterated it. Thisprocedure was attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
"Wal, Dodge," remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, "thet's safer 'nprayin' fer rain."
Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effectthat a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to thirst. They alljoined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and mostassuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever hisability, it probably lay in execution of orders. Apparently at thattime these men had nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern.Evidently they were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observedthey could borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. Duane setout to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was card-playingfor small stakes, idle jests of coarse nature, much bantering among theyounger fellows, and occasionally a mild quarrel. All morning men cameand went, until, all told, Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty.Toward the middle of the afternoon a young fellow burst into the saloonand yelled one word:
"Posse!"
From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuingaction was rare in Ord.
"What the hell!" muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark,compact bunch of horses and riders. "Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord!We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil washere or Poggy. Now all you gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'."
The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and halted ina bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of about twenty men,all heavily armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean-limbedcowboy. Duane experienced considerable satisfaction at the absence ofthe sheriff who he had understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he wasout in another direction with a different force.
"Hello, Jim Fletcher," called the cowboy.
"Howdy," replied Fletcher.
At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out beforethe posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for Fletcher. Theoutlaw was different now.
"Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place.Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hitinto the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us.Think he went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over therest of the way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late lastnight or early this mornin'?"
"Nope," replied Fletcher.
His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidentlythe cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of theposse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was differenceof opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse.
"Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?"protested an old hawk-faced rancher. "Them hoss tracks we follored ain'tlike any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up."
"I'm not so sure of that," replied the leader.
"Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life--'
"But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush."
"Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bentfer election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right thisroad-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right throughtown. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Somegreasers has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute."
"But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered thegreasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by noordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the enginean' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' hisgun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' didthe killin'--he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it."
Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the oldcattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
"Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasonsSavvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me--I tell you what--I'dtake a chance an' clean up this hole!"
All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.
"Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk," he said. Themenace was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
"You can--an' be damned to you, Fletcher!" called Guthrie, as the horsesstarted.
Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched theposse out of sight.
"Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here," he said, as they disappeared.Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane awayfrom the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face itwas somehow an entirely changed scrutiny.
"Dodge, where'd you hide
the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal,seein' I staved off Guthrie."
Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it.First he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any knowledgewhatever of the train-robbery other than Fletcher had heard himself.Then at Fletcher's persistence and admiration and increasing show offriendliness he laughed occasionally and allowed himself to swellwith pride, though still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistentwill-power and seemed to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion andgrew silent, then surly. Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate victory,desisted for the time being; however, in his solicitous regard and closecompanionship for the rest of that day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horseand make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
"Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here.Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' Ihedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now.I tell you, Dodge, it ain't square."
"I'll square it. I pay my debts," replied Duane. "But I can't put uphere all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different."
"What gang?" asked Fletcher, bluntly.
"Why, Cheseldine's."
Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
Duane laughed. "I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure,he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason Ihad for bein' on earth or some such like--why, I up an' told him."
Fletcher appeared staggered.
"Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?"
"Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth overthere."
All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white."Cheseldine--Longstreth!" he whispered, hoarsely. "Gord Almighty! Youbraced the--" Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. Hegulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But hecould not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching thisrude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement,the proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, amaster of men!
"WHO AIR YOU?" queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
"You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shoreit hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin'in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana."
The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as hereturned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness--allwithout a word.
Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus andmesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night.His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playinghis game. He sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end,always haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was theapproach that needed all his mind.
He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trailand road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried todisguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had notexpected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom withFletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidentlywell known and liked by his fellows, and Duane beard him say, before hecould possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the lossof money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck ofthis report. He pretended not to have heard.
In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll toa log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he tookout a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a wordhanded one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran throughthe roll.
"Five hundred!" he exclaimed. "Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,considerin' the job wasn't--"
"Considerin' nothin'," interrupted Duane. "I'm makin' no reference toa job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. Ifthet doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in thiscountry."
Fletcher was won.
The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitioushistory about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth alaughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his beliefthat this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, andthen Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcherboasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled astroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had anyinfluence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; allthe rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never lovedanything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldinewas already won by Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would havekilled Duane.
Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longedto know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory!Cheseldine's hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep,high-walled valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job,where he met and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executedhe basked in the sunshine before one or another of the public placeshe owned. He was there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan thebiggest job yet. It was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not asyet been advised.
Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all detailspertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places coveringa period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewithwas unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible inits brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep andgrasp of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane wasstunned. Compared to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher,stock-buyer, cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duanehad ever known sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunnedDuane; the strange fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricateinside working of his great system was equally stunning. But when Duanerecovered from that the old terrible passion to kill consumed him,and it raged fiercely and it could not be checked. If that red-handedPoggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! Butthey were not, and Duane with help of time got what he hoped was theupper hand of himself.