The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XXXI

  FUGITIVE

  Rodeo, Hachita, Monument--long hours between each town as the local didits variable thirty-five miles an hour across the southern end of NewMexico. It was Pete's first experience in traveling by rail, and trueto himself he made the most of it. He used his eyes, and came to theconclusion that they were aboard a very fast train--a train that "wouldsure give a thoroughbred the run of its life"--Pete's standard of speedbeing altogether of the saddle--and that more people got on and offthat train than could possibly have homes in that vast and uninhabitedregion. The conductor was an exceedingly popular individual. Everyone called him by his "front name," which he acknowledged pleasantly inlike manner. Pete wondered if the uniformed gentleman packed a gun;and was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that that protuberancebeneath the conductor's brass-buttoned coat was nothing more deadlythan a leather wallet, pretty well filled with bills and loosesilver--for that isolated railroad did a good cash business anddiscriminating conductors grew unobtrusively wealthy. And what wasstill more strange to Pete was the fact that the conductor seemed toknow where each person was going, without having to refer to anypenciled notation or other evident data.

  The conductor was surprisingly genial, even to strangers, for, havingannounced that the next station was El Paso, he took the end seat ofthe combination baggage and smoking car, spread out his report sheet,and as he sorted and arranged the canceled tickets, he chatted withPete and Brevoort, who sat facing him. Had they heard the news?Brevoort shook his head. Well, there had been a big fight down alongthe line, between the northern cattlemen and Arguilla's soldiers. Itwas rumored that several American cowboys had been killed. He hadheard this from the agent at Hermanas, who had "listened in" on thewire to El Paso. Perhaps they had heard about it, though, as they hadcome up from that way. No? Well, the El Paso papers already had thenews, by wire. How was the cattle business going, anyway?

  Brevoort said that it was pretty fair.

  The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station--in fact hestopped there himself. El Paso was the end of his run. If the boyswere going to see the town, they couldn't do better than to stop atthis hotel. Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates.

  Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently withhis knee.

  "We was lookin' for a place like that," said Brevoort, suddenlyloquacious. "We sure aim to see this town. We just been paid off--wewas workin' for the Bar-Cross--and we figured on seein' a little highlife a-fore we went to punchin' again. Is that hotel you was speakin'about open all night?"

  The conductor chuckled. "Ain't been closed a minute for six years thatI know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in townmore than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room bythe week."

  "Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow."

  "Well, they'll use you all right," asserted the conductor. "And ifyou're looking for a place to buy anything--clothes or collars orshirts--why, right across from the hotel there's as fine a littleclothing-store as you can find in town. The man that runs is a friendof mine, and he'll use you white. Just tell him I sent you. Stokes ishis name--Len Stokes."

  "Thanks, neighbor," said Brevoort, and Pete thought that Brevoort'stone was the least bit sarcastic.

  "That's all right," said the genial conductor. "I always like to seethe boys have a good time."

  Pete himself was a trifle suspicious of the conductor's solicitude asto their welfare, naturally unaware that that worthy official got arake-off on all customers mentioning his name at the hotel andclothing-store.

  He gathered up his reports and tickets, snapped a rubber band roundthem, and dropped them in his capacious pocket. "We're eight minuteslate," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Now what--" He rose andmade for the end door as the train slowed up and stopped at an isolatedsiding. Pete glanced out and saw a little red box of a building, fouror five empty freight cars, and a curve of rail that swung off southfrom the main line. No passengers got on or off the train, but Petenoticed that the conductor was talking earnestly with a hollow-cheeked,blue-overalled man who had just handed him a slip of paper.

  The conductor waved his arm. The train pulled out. A little later hecame and took his seat opposite Pete. Conductor Stokes seemed evenmore genial than ever, elaborating on the opportunities for "a goodtime" in El Paso, and reiterating the hope that they would makethemselves at home at his hotel. He joked and talked familiarly aboutthe more notorious sections of the town, warned them to be on thelookout for thugs, and finally excused himself and entered the baggagecompartment.

  Pete saw Brevoort lean forward and hastily snatch up a crumpled slip ofpaper which had dropped from the conductor's pocket as he got up.Brevoort scanned the paper, crumpled it, and tossed it out in the aisle.

  "We didn't see that," he told Pete.

  "What was it?"

  "Forget it," said Brevoort, as the door opened and the conductor,glancing about, finally saw and recovered the service wire. "Runningorders," he said, as he stuffed it in his pocket and moved on down theaisle. Pete gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in looking atthe desert. Brevoort rolled a cigarette, and nodded casually.

  The door in the far end of the car slammed. Brevoort turned to Pete."Look straight ahead and--listen. That paper you saw was a telegraphfrom the agent at Sanborn sayin' a man had been found shot, and towatch out for two cow-punchers that bought tickets for El Paso--whichis us. That's how we came to stop at the junction back there, whichain't a regular stop. It means there'll be a marshal waitin' for us atEl Paso."

  "Then let's git off this doggone thing," suggested Pete.

  "She stops onct before we git in," said Brevoort. "It's gittin'dark--and we got one chanct. When she slows down, we go into thebaggage-car there and tell the boss we're lookin' for our war-bag,which we didn't have. Jest about the time she stops, we drop off. Theside door's open."

  "We'll be plumb afoot," said Pete.

  "Yes. And we'll have to hole up somewhere till we git somestore-clothes--and change our looks--and mebby our luck, which isrunnin' bad right now."

  "Do we split up when we hit town?" queried Pete.

  "We got to: and you want to git rid of that there cash just as quick asyou kin. Got any of your own money on you?"

  "Got a couple of month's pay. You got the tickets. I'll give youthat."

  "Forget it! Small change don't count right now. Awhile back I wasthinkin' of puttin' it up to you that we split the big money and take alittle pasear up to Alaska, where it ain't so warm. The Spider dassentsqueal to the law, bein' in bad hisself. We could sure make a get-awaywith it. But that there telegraph done settled that deal."

  "It was settled afore that, Ed."

  "Meanin' you wouldn't split, anyhow?"

  "That's what."

  "But it's crooked money, Pete. And it ain't lucky. Supposin' we getcaught? Who gits the money? The Spider, or Arguilla's bunch, or youor me? Not on your life! The cops get it--and keep it."

  "That's all right. But if I git through, these here pesos goes to thatbank. Anyhow, you said it ain't lucky money. So I aim to git awayfrom it pronto. Then I'm square with The Spider--and I quit."

  "You can't shake the game that easy, Pete. I quit when we started forSanborn--and what did we run into? And you bein' with me gits you inbad, likewise."

  "If that's what's botherin' you, why, I'll take the chanct, and stick,"said Pete.

  "Nope. Right now I'm lookin' out for myself, and nobody else. If theykin hang that last deal onto me--and you know what I mean--why, yourUncle Ed'll sure have to take the long trail. And I aim to keepa-ridin' in the sun for a spell yet. We're gittin' clost to town.Mebby we can drop off easy and sift out of sight without any fuss.Then we got a chanct to change our clothes and git rid of that dough.They'll be lightin' the lamps right soon. Them saddle-bags buckled?"

  "They sure are."
r />   "All right. When you hear 'em whistle for the crossin' jest stand upand drop 'em out of the window. Nobody kin see you from behind. Thenwe mosey into the baggage-car and tell the agent in there we're lookin'for our war-bag. Bein' express messenger, he packs a gun. You want tostep lively for that side door."

  "I git you, Ed. What's all them lights out there?"

  "That's the town. She's jest whistlin' for the crossin'. Dump yourfreight--easy, like you was lookin' out at the scenery. That's her.Now, stretch your arms and kind of look round. The conductor is out onthe back platform. Come on!"

  The express messenger was leaning from the side door in the act ofswinging a parcel to the local agent at the Grossing, when Brevoort andPete entered. With his back toward them and absorbed in launching thepackage he did not see them as they angled quickly to the other doorand dropped off into the night. The train slowed almost to a stop, thegrinding brakes eased, and it drew away, leaving Pete and Brevoortsquatting behind a row of empty oil barrels along the track.