CHAPTER XVI
A CLEAN UP
A slight accident occurred at the jail, one so unimportant that Scanlanthe jailer did not think it worth reporting to his chief. Blackwell, whileeating, knocked a glass from the table and broke it on the cement floor ofhis cell. There is a legend to the effect that for want of a nail a battlewas lost. By reason of a bit of glass secreted in his bed something quiteas important happened to the convict.
From the little table in his room he pried loose one of the corner braces.At night he scraped away at this with his bit of glass until the woodbegan to take the shape of a revolver. This he carefully blacked with theink brought him by his guard. To the end of his weapon he fitted an ironwasher taken from the bedstead. Then he waited for his opportunity.
His chance came through the good nature of Scanlan. The jailer was in thehabit of going down town to loaf for an hour or two with old cronies afterhe had locked up for the night. Blackwell pretended to be out of chewingtobacco and asked the guard to buy him some. About ten o'clock Scanlanreturned and brought the tobacco to his prisoner. The moon was shiningbrightly, and he did not bring a lantern with him. As he passed the plugthrough the grating Blackwell's fingers closed around his wrist and drewthe man close to the iron lattice work. Simultaneously a cold rim waspressed against the temple of the guard.
"Don't move, or I'll fill you full of holes," the convict warned.
Scanlan did not move, not until the man in the cell gave the word. Then heobeyed orders to the letter. His right hand found the bunch of keys,fitted the correct one to the door, and unlocked it according toinstructions. Not until he was relieved of his weapon did Blackwellrelease him. The jailer was backed into the cell, gagged with a piece oftorn bedding, and left locked up as securely as the other had been a fewminutes earlier.
The convict made his way downstairs, opened the outer door with the bunchof keys he had taken from Scanlan, locked it behind him, and slipped intothe first alley that offered refuge. By way of the Mexican quarters hereached the suburbs and open country. Two hours later he stole a horsefrom an irrigated ranch near town. Within twenty-four hours he had reachedthe Soapy Stone horse ranch and safety.
After this the plans for the raid on the Texas, Arizona & Pacific Flyermoved swiftly to a head. Soapy Stone and Sam dropped into Saguacheinconspicuously one evening. Next day Stone rode down to Tin Cup to lookover the ground. Maloney telephoned their movements to the Circle C and tothe Hashknife. This brought to Saguache Luck Cullison, Curly Flandrau, andSlats Davis. Bucky O'Connor had been called to Douglas on importantbusiness and could not lend his help.
Curly met Sam in front of Chalkeye's Place. They did the town together ina mild fashion and Flandrau proposed that they save money by taking acommon room. To this young Cullison agreed.
Luck, Curly and Dick Maloney had already ridden over the countrysurrounding the scene of the projected hold-up. They had decided that therobbery would probably take place at the depot, so that the outlaws couldget the agent to stop the Flyer without arousing suspicion. In a pocket ofthe hills back of the station a camp had been selected, its site well backfrom any trail and so situated that from it one could command a view ofTin Cup.
The owner of the Circle C selected three of his closemouthedriders--Sweeney, Jake and Buck were the ones he chose--to hold the campwith him until after the robbery. The only signal they needed was thestopping of the Flyer at Tin Cup. Then they would come pounding down fromthe hills in time to catch the robbers before they had got through withtheir work. Maloney or Curly would be on the train to take a hand in thebattle. Caught by surprise, Soapy's gang would surely be trapped.
So they planned it, but it happened that Soapy Stone had made hisarrangements differently.
Luck and his riders took their blankets and their traps down to Tin Cupaccording to agreement, while Davis, Maloney and Flandrau looked after theSaguache end of the business. All of them were very friendly with Sam. Theboy, younger than any of them, was flattered that three of the best knownriders in the territory should make so much of him. Moreover, Stone hadgiven him instructions to mix with Curly's crowd as much as he could. Hehad given as a reason that it would divert suspicion, but what he reallywanted was to throw the blame of the hold-up on these friends after Samwas found dead on the scene.
Young Cullison had stopped drinking, but he could not keep his nerves fromjumping. His companions pretended not to notice how worried he was, butthey watched him so closely that he was never out of the sight of at leastone of them. Soapy had decreed the boy's death by treachery, but hisfriends were determined to save him and to end forever the reign of Stoneas a bad man.
It was one day when the four young cowpunchers were sitting together inCurly's room playing poker that a special delivery letter came to Sam. Theothers, to cover their excitement, started an argument as to whether fiveaces (they were playing with the joker) beat a straight flush. PresentlySam spoke, as indifferently as he could.
"Got the offer of a job down the line. Think I'll run down to-night far asCasa Grande and see what's doing."
"If they need any extra riders here's some more out of a job," Dick toldhim.
"Heard to-day of a freighter that wants a mule-skinner. I'm going to seehim to-morrow," Slats chipped in.
"Darn this looking for a job anyhow. It's tur'ble slow work," Curlyfollowed up, yawning. "Well, here's hoping you land yours, Sam."
This was about two o'clock in the afternoon. The game dragged on for awhile, but nobody took any interest in it. Sam had to get ready for thework of the night, and the rest were anxious to get out and give him achance. So presently Dick threw down his cards.
"I've had enough poker for one session. Me, I'm going to drift out and seewhat's moving in town."
"Think I'll snooze for a while," Sam said, stretching sleepily.
The others trooped out and left him alone. From the room rented by Davisthe three watched to see that Sam did not leave without being observed. Hedid not appear, and about six o'clock Curly went back to his room.
"Time to grub," he sang out.
"That's right," Sam agreed.
They went to the New Orleans Hash House, and presently Davis and Maloneyalso arrived. The party ordered a good dinner and took plenty of time toeat it. Sam was obviously nervous, but eager to cover his uneasiness undera show of good spirits.
Curly finished eating just as Sam's second cup of coffee came. Flandrau,who had purposely chosen a seat in the corner where he was hemmed in bythe chairs of the others, began to feel in his vest pockets.
"Darned if I've got a cigar. Sam, you're young and nimble. Go buy me oneat the counter."
"Sure." Cullison was away on the instant.
Curly's hand came out of his pocket. In it was a paper. Quickly he shookthe contents of the paper into the steaming cup of coffee and stirred theliquid with a spoon.
Sam brought back the cigar and drank his coffee. Without any unnecessarydelay they returned to his room. Before the party had climbed the stairsthe boy was getting drowsy.
"Dunno what's the matter with me. I'm feeling awful sleepy," he said,sitting on the bed.
"Why don't you take a snooze? You've got lots of time before the traingoes."
"No, I don't reckon I better."
He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and slumped down. His lids wavered, shut,jerked open again, and closed slowly.
"Wake me, Curly--time for train." And with that he was sound asleep.
They took off his boots and settled him comfortably. In his pocket theyfound a black mask big enough to cover his whole face. The registeredletter could not be found and they decided he must have destroyed it.
The sight of the mask had given Curly an idea. He was of about the samebuild as Sam. Why not go in his place? It would be worth doing just tocatch sight of Soapy's face when he took the mask off after the robbershad been captured.
"What's the use?" Davis protested. "It's an unnecessary risk. They mightshoot you in place of Sam."
"I'll loo
k out for myself. Don't worry about that. Before the time forgetting rid of Sam comes Mr. Soapy and his bunch will be prisoners."
They argued it out, but Curly was set and could not be moved. He dressedin young Cullison's clothes and with Maloney took the express at 9:57.Davis remained to guard Sam.
Curly's watch showed 10:17 when the wheels began to grind from the settingof the air brakes. He was in the last sleeper, Dick in the day coach nearthe front. They had agreed that Dick was to drop off as soon as the trainslowed down enough to make it safe, whereas Curly would go on and playSam's part until the proper time.
The train almost slid to a halt from the pressure of the hard-jammedbrakes. A volley of shots rang out. Curly slipped the mask over his faceand rose with a revolver in each hand. He had been sitting at the end ofthe car, so that nobody noticed him until his voice rang out with a crisporder.
"Hands up! Don't anybody move!"
An earthquake shock could not have alarmed the passengers more. The colorwas washed completely from the faces of most of them.
"Reach for the roof. Come, punch a hole in the sky!" To do it thoroughly,Curly flung a couple of shots through the ceiling. That was enough. Handswent up without any argument, most of them quivering as from an Arkansaschill.
Presently Cranston herded the passengers in from the forward coaches. Withthem were most of the train crew. The front door of the car was locked sothat they could not easily get out.
"We're cutting off the express car and going forward to 'Dobe Wells withit. There we can blow open the safe uninterrupted," Bad Bill explained."You ride herd on the passengers here from the outside till you hear twoshots, then hump yourself forward and hop on the express car."
Fine! Curly was to stand out there in the moonlight and let anybody in thecar that had the nerve pepper away at him. If they did not attend to thejob of riddling him, his false friends would do it while he was runningforward to get aboard. Nothing could have been simpler--if he had nothappened to have had inside information of their intent.
He had to think quickly, for the plans of him and his friends had beenderanged. They had reckoned on the express car being rifled on the spot.This would have given Cullison time to reach the scene of action. Mow theywould be too late. Maloney, lying snugly in the bear grass beside thetrack, would not be informed as to the arrangement. Unless Curly couldstop it, the hold-up would go through according to the program of Soapyand not of his enemies.
The decision of Flamdrau was instantaneous. He slid down beside the trackinto the long grass. Whipping up one of his guns, he fired. As if inanswer to the first shot his revolver cracked twice. Simultaneously, helet out a cry of pain, wriggled back for a dozen yards through the grass,and crossed the track in the darkness. As he crouched down close to thewheels of the sleeper someone came running back on the other side.
"What's up, Sam? You hit?" he could hear Blackwell whisper.
No answer came. The paroled convict was standing close to the car for fearof being hit himself and he dared not move forward into the grass toinvestigate.
"Sam," he called again; then, "He's sure got his."
That was all Curly wanted to know. Softly he padded forward, keeping aslow as he could till he reached the empty sleepers. A brakeman was justuncoupling the express car when Curly dived underneath and nestled closeto the trucks.
From where he lay he could almost have reached out and touched Soapystanding by the car.
"What about the kid?" Stone asked Blackwell as the latter came up.
"They got him. Didn't you hear him yelp?"
"Yes, but did they put him out of business? See his body?"
Blackwell had no intention of going back into the fire zone and makingsure. For his part he was satisfied. So he lied.
"Yep. Blew the top of his head off."
"Good," Soapy nodded. "That's a receipt in full for Mr. Luck Cullison."
The wheels began to move. Soon they were hitting only the high spots.Curly guessed they must be doing close to sixty miles an hour. Down wherehe was the dust was flying so thickly he could scarce breathe, as itusually does on an Arizona track in the middle of summer.
Before many minutes the engine began to slow down. The wheels had hardlystopped moving when Curly crept out, plowed through the sand, up therubble of a little hill, and into a draw where a bunch of scrub oaksoffered cover.
A voice from in front called to him. Just then the moon appeared frombehind drifting clouds.
"Oh, it's you, Sam. Everything all right?"
"Right as the wheat. We're blowing open the safe now," Flandrau answered.
Moving closer, he saw that his questioner was the man in charge of thehorses. Though he knew the voice, he could not put a name to its owner.But this was not the point that first occupied his mind. _There were onlyfour horses for five riders._ Curly knew now that he had not beenmistaken. Soapy had expected one of his allies to stay on the field ofbattle, had prepared for it from the beginning. The knowledge of thisfroze any remorse the young _vaquero_ might have felt.
He pushed his revolver against the teeth of the horse wrangler.
"Don't move, you bandy-legged maverick, or I'll fill your hide full ofholes. And if you want to keep on living padlock that mouth of yours."
In spite of his surprise the man caught the point at once. He turned overhis weapons without a word.
Curly unwound a rope from one of the saddles and dropped a loop round theneck of his prisoner. The two men mounted and rode out of the draw, theoutlaw leading the other two horses. As soon as they reached the bluffabove Flandrau outlined the next step in the program.
"We'll stay here in the _tornilla_ and see what happens, my friend. Unlessyou've a fancy to get lead poisoning keep still."
"Who in Mexico are you?" the captured man asked.
"It's your showdown. Skin off that mask."
The man hesitated. His own revolver moved a few inches toward his head.Hastily he took off the mask. The moon shone on the face of the man calledDutch. Flandrau laughed. Last time they had met Curly had a rope aroundhis neck. Now the situation was reversed.
An explosion below told them that the robbers had blown open the safe.Presently Soapy's voice came faintly to them.
"Bring up the horses."
He called again, and a third time. The dwarfed figures of the outlawsstood out clear in the moonlight. One of them ran up the track toward thedraw. He disappeared into the scrub oaks, from whence his alarmed voicecame in a minute.
"Dutch! Oh, Dutch!"
The revolver rim pressed a little harder against the bridge of the horsewrangler's nose.
"He ain't here," Blackwell called back to his accomplices.
That brought Stone on the run. "You condemned idiot, he _must_ be there.Ain't he had two hours to get here since he left Tin Cup?"
They shouted themselves hoarse. They wandered up and down in a vainsearch. All the time Curly and his prisoner sat in the brush and scarcelybatted an eye.
At last Soapy gave up the hunt. The engine and the express car were sentback to join the rest of the train and as soon as they were out of sightthe robbers set out across country toward the Flatiron ranch.
Curly guessed their intentions. They would rustle horses there and headfor the border. It was the only chance still left them.
After they had gone Curly and his prisoner returned to the road and setout toward Tin Cup. About a mile and a half up the line they met Cullisonand his riders on the way down. Maloney was with them. He had been pickedup at the station.
Dick gave a shout of joy when he heard Flandrau's voice.
"Oh, you Curly! I've been scared stiff for fear they'd got you."
Luck caught the boy's hand and wrung it hard. "You plucky young idiot,you've got sand in your craw. What the deuce did you do it for?"
They held a conference while the Circle C riders handcuffed Dutch and tiedhim to a horse. Soon the posse was off again, having left the prisoner incharge of one of the men. They swung round in a wide ha
lf circle, notwishing to startle their game until the proper time. The horses pounded uphills, slid into washes, and plowed through sand on a Spanish trot,sometimes in the moonlight, more often in darkness. The going was rough,but they could not afford to slacken speed.
When they reached the edge of the mesa that looked down on the Flatironthe moon was out and the valley was swimming in light. They followed thedip of a road that led down to the corral. Passing the fenced lane leadingto the stable, they tied their ponies inside and took the places assignedto them by Cullison.
They had not long to wait. In less than half an hour three shadowy figuresslipped round the edge of the corral and up the lane. Each of them carrieda rifle in addition to his hip guns.
They slid into the open end of the stable. Cullison's voice rang outcoldly.
"Drop your guns!"
A startled oath, a shot, and before one could have lifted a hand thatsilent moonlit valley of peace had become a battlefield.
The outlaws fell back from the stable, weapons smoking furiously.Blackwell broke into a run, never looking behind him, but Soapy and BadBill gave back foot by foot fighting every step of the way.
Dick and Curly rose from behind the rocks where they had been placed andclosed the trap on Blackwell. The paroled convict let out one yell.
"I give up. Goddlemighty, don't shoot!"
His rifle he had already thrown away. With his arms reaching above him,his terror-stricken eyes popping from his head, he was a picture of themost frightened "bad man" who had ever done business in Arizona.
Half way down the lane Cranston was hit. He sank to his knees, and fromthere lopped over sideways to his left elbow. In the darkness his voicecould be heard, for the firing had momentarily ceased.
"They've got me, Soapy. Run for it. I'll hold 'em back."
"Hit bad, Bill?"
"I'm all in. _Vamos!_"
Stone turned to run, and for the first time saw that his retreat was cutoff. As fast as he could pump the lever his rifle began working again.
The firing this time did not last more than five seconds. When the smokecleared it was all over. Soapy lay on his back, shot through and through.Blackwell had taken advantage of the diversion to crawl through thestrands of barbed wire and to disappear in the chaparral. Bill had rolledover on his face.
Curly crept through the fence after the escaping man, but in that heavyundergrowth he knew it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Aftera time he gave it up and returned to the field of battle.
Dick was bending over Stone. He looked up at the approach of his friendand said just one word.
"Dead."
Cullison had torn open Cranston's shirt and was examining his wounds.
"No use, Luck. I've got a-plenty. You sure fooled us thorough. Was it Samgave us away?"
"No, Bill. Curly overheard Soapy and Blackwell at Chalkeye's Place. Samstood pat, though you were planning to murder him."
"I wasn't in on that, Luck--didn't know a thing about it till after theboy was shot. I wouldn't a-stood for it."
"He wasn't shot. Curly saved him. He had to give you away to do it."
"Good enough. Serves Soapy right for double crossing Sam. Take care ofthat kid, Luck. He's all right yet." His eye fell on Flandrau. "You're agame sport, son. You beat us all. No hard feelings."
"Sorry it had to be this way, Bill."
The dying man was already gray to the lips, but his nerve did not falter."It had to come some time. And it was Luck ought to have done it too." Hewaved aside Sweeney, who was holding a flask to his lips. "What's the use?I've got mine."
"Shall we take him to the house?" Maloney asked.
"No. I'll die in the open. Say, there's something else, boys. Curly hasbeen accused of that Bar Double M horse rustling back in the early summer.I did that job. He was not one of us. You hear, boys. Curly was not init."
A quarter of an hour later he died. He had lied to save from thepenitentiary the lad who had brought about his death. Curly knew why hehad done it--because he felt himself to blame for the affair. Maybe BadBill had been a desperado, a miscreant according to the usual standard,but when it came to dying he knew how to go better than many a respectablecitizen. Curly stole off into the darkness so that the boys would not seehim play the baby.
By this time the men from the Flatiron were appearing, armed with suchweapons as they could hastily gather. The situation was explained to them.Neighboring ranches were called up by telephone and a systematic huntstarted to capture Blackwell.
Luck left his three riders to help in the man hunt, but he returned withCurly and Maloney to Saguache. On the pommel of his saddle was a sack. Itcontained the loot from the express car of the Flyer. Two lives alreadyhad been sacrificed to get it, and the sum total taken amounted only toone hundred ninety-four dollars and sixteen cents.