CHAPTER VII
M'CAY'S RECRUIT
The Texan, after circling the town of Midway, rode in again. It wasnot his way to leave a job unfinished, with only a threat behind. Thecigarette-paper note had aroused his curiosity to a fever heat. Heread it by the light of the moon. It consisted of threepencil-scrawled words:
GO CROSS STREET
Across the wide street from the saloon, there was but one building.Was it here that he was to go? Was it a trap of some kind? Hedismissed the latter possibility and decided to go at once to the bigframe general store, using all the caution possible.
Approaching the place from behind, he looked it over carefully beforedismounting. As Blizzard was conspicuous in the moonlight, he left himin a thick clump of bushes and slipped through the shadows on foot. Ashe neared the building, he discovered that it was not merely of frame,as he had at first thought. The boards in front masked a fortress oflogs. It was so planned that a handful of defenders might hold itagainst great odds.
As Kid Wolf knocked softly on the rear door, he wondered if it had beenbuilt merely as a security against the renegade Indians, or for someother and deeper purpose. For a few minutes after he knocked, therewas silence, then the door slowly opened. The Texan found himselflooking into the barrel of a .45!
"What do yuh want here?"
Framed in the doorway, the Kid saw a grim young face glaring at himover the sights of the six-gun.
"Speak quick!" said the voice again.
"I will," the Texan said, "if yo'll kindly take that .45 out of my eye.I can talk bettah when I'm not usin' yo' gun barrel fo' a telescope."
"That gun," said the other sharply, "is goin' to stay just where I'vegot it!"
But it didn't. Kid Wolf's left hand snapped up under the gun andrapped smartly at just the right spot the wrist that held it. It was atrick blow--one that paralyzed the nerves for a second. The Coltdropped from the boy's quickly extended fingers and fell neatly intoKid Wolf's right hand! All had happened so quickly that the youthhadn't time to squeeze the trigger. Before the amazed young man couldrecover himself, the Texan handed over the gun, butt first.
"Here yo' are," he drawled humorously. "To show yo' I mean well, I'mgivin' it back. I do wish, though, that yo'd kindly point it someother way while I'm talkin'."
The manner of the other changed at this. After losing his gun, he hadexpected a quick bullet.
"Guess yo're all right," he grinned slowly. "Come on in."
Passing through the door, Kid Wolf noted the thick loophole-piercedwalls and other provisions for defense. Rifles stood on their stocksat intervals, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice.
"Oh, dad!" the youth called in a low voice, as they entered the bigmain room of the building.
Six men were in the place, and The Kid took stock of them with oneappraising glance. Although just as heavily armed as the factionacross the street in the Idle Hour had been, they were of a differenttype. They were cattlemen, some old, some young. All looked up,startled. One of them got to his feet. He was a huge man and veryfat. His face was round and good-humored, although his puckered blueeyes told of force and character.
"What's the matter, 'Tip'?" he asked of Kid Wolf's escort. "Who isthis man?"
The Texan smiled and bowed courteously. "Maybe I should explain, sah,"he drawled. "And aftah I'm done, perhaps yo'll have some informationto give me."
He began his story, but was soon interrupted by an exclamation of angerand grief from the boy's father.
"A man on a strawberry roan, yuh say? And murdered! Why, that wasHodgson--one of my best men! Go on, young man! Go on with yore story!"
In a few words, the Texan told of bringing the half-breed to the saloonacross the street, and of his reception there.
"They-all told me to cleah out," he finished whimsically, "so I cleahedout the Idle Hour. Or rathah, I got the job started. Some one theah,"he added, "handed me this note. That's why I'm heah."
The big man looked at it, and his face lighted. "A short fella gaveyuh that? I thought so! That was George Durham--one o' my men. He'sthere as a spy."
"As a spy?" the Texan repeated blankly. "I'm afraid this is gettin'too deep fo' me, Mistah----"
"McCay is the name. 'Old Beef McCay, they call me," he chuckled."This lad, yuh've already met. He's Tip McCay, and my son. And you?"
"Kid Wolf, sah, from Texas--just 'Kid' to my friends."
The five punchers, who had been listening with intense interest to theTexan's story, came forward to shake hands. They were introduced asCaldwell, Anderson, Blake, Terry White, and "Scotty." All werekeen-eyed, resolute men.
"Now I'll tell yuh what this is all about," said the elder McCay."When I spoke of a spy, I meant that Durham is there to see if he canfind out why Jack Hardy has imported those gunmen, and what he plans todo. Yuh see, I'm a cattle buyer. At this halfway point I buy lots o'herds from owners who don't wish to drive 'em through to Dodge. Then Isell 'em there at a profit--when I can."
"And Jack Hahdy?" drawled the Texan.
"Hardy is nothin' more or less than a cattle rustler--a dealer instolen herds on a large scale. He's swore to get me, at the time whenit'll do him the most good. In other words, at the time when he canget the most loot.
"So far," McCay went on, "there's been no bloodshed. To-day it seemshe's had Hodgson murdered. Looks as if things are about ripe for war!"
"He seems to have mo' men than yo'," murmured Kid Wolf.
"Yuh don't know the half of it. A dozen more of his hired gunmen rodesouth on the Chisholm Trail this mornin'."
"What does that signify?"
"Plenty," McCay explained. "Six o' my men are drivin' fifteen hundredsteers up this way. Quite a haul, yuh see, for Hardy. They're duehere tonight. If they don't get here----" The big man's wide mouthhardened.
"But I'm afraid I'm a poor host," he added apologetically. "Yuh'llhave supper and stay the night with us, I'm sure. Tip, you an' Scottygo out and bring in The Kid's hoss."
The Texan consented, thanking him, and all began to make preparationsfor the night. The big general store seemed more like a fort in timeof war than anything else. Some of the men slept on the counters inthe main room. A place was made for Kid Wolf in the rear. Sentrieswere on watch during the entire night, which passed uneventfully.
In the morning, just as the dawn was glowing in the east, the Texan wasawakened by a horrified cry. All rushed to the front windows. Acrossthe wide street, over the Idle Hour Saloon, a man was dangling,suspended from the roof by a rope! It was Durham--the man who hadgiven Kid Wolf the cigarette-paper note. Some one had seen him in theact, and the fiends had lynched him.
"That settles it," said Kid Wolf grimly, turning to McCay. "I reckonI'm throwin' in with yo'. My guns are at yo' service!"
It was a situation not uncommon in that wilderness where "the lawisn't, and the six-shooter is." Kid Wolf, however, had never seen abolder attempt to trample on the rights of honest men. His veins beathot at the thought of it. And Jack Hardy seemed to have the power tosee it through to its murderous end.
It was not long after the discovery of Durham's murder when Tip McCaybrought in a new note that had been pinned to the door.
"It was put there durin' the night some time, probably by one o'Hardy's sneakin' half-breeds, because none o' our sentries saw any onethe whole night through," Tip said.
The note was roughly penciled on a sheet of yellow paper, and themessage it carried was significant:
Ef yu will all walk out of their without yore guns we promiss no harmwill com to yu. Ef yuh dont, we will get yu to the last man. Wealreddy got yore cattel. This offer dont go fer Kid Wolf. We no hestheir and we aim to kill him!
"They don't like me." The Texan laughed. "Well, I don't want 'em to.What do yo' intend to do, sah?"
The elder McCay's face was very red. His fingers, as he tore theinsolent letter to bits, were trembling with anger.
"I say
let 'em hop to it!" he jerked out. "I ain't givin' in toanybody!"
The others cheered. And it was a fighting group of men who gatheredfor a conference as to the defense of the store. It was agreed thattheir position was a serious one, outnumbered as they were.
Just how serious, they soon found out, for at the rising of the sun--asif it had been a signal--a burst of gunfire blazed out from the saloonacross the street. Splinters flew from the logs as bullets thuddedinto them. Several whined through the two windows and crashed into thewall.
Kid Wolf took an active part in quickly getting ready for a stand. Thewindows and the doors were heavily barricaded, at his suggestion.Sacks of flour, salt, and other supplies were piled over the openings,as these were best for stopping lead. Mattresses were stuffed behindthe barricade for further protection, and just enough space was leftclear to allow a gun to be aimed through.
The volley from the Idle Hour had injured no one. The firing continuedmore or less steadily, however, and an occasional slug ripped its waybetween the logs. Jack Hardy's gang were firing at the chinks.
Up until this time, the defenders had not fired a shot. Even now,after the preparations had been made, Kid Wolf advised against wastingammunition. The rustler gang were firing from the cover of the saloon,and were well protected.
"Hunt up all the guns heah," the Kid cried, "and load 'em. If theyrush us, we'll need to shoot fast!"
Several rifles were hunted up--Winchesters and two muzzle-loadingSharps .50s. There were also a powder-and-ball buffalo gun of the oldpattern, and, to Kid Wolf's delight, a sawed-off, double-barreledshotgun.
In the light of the early morning, each detail of the grim scene wasbrought out minutely. It was a picture Kid Wolf never forgot! Acrossthe street that formed the No Man's Land was the saloon, wreathed inpowder smoke, as guns spat sullen flame. And swinging slightly abovethe splintered green-shuttered doors was the dead body of Durham, neckstretched horribly, head on breast. It seemed a grotesque phantom,warning them of death to come.
The horses had been run into the back of the store itself, as aprotection against flying bullets. Kid Wolf suggested that they besaddled, so that they would be ready for use if occasion demanded it.
"We might have to make a run fo' it at any time," he warned.
The firing from the saloon went on for nearly an hour. Then there wasa sudden lull.
"Look out now!" The Kid exclaimed. "Looks like they mean to rush us!"
"We'll cure 'em o' that!" Old Beef McCay cried grimly. He picked upthe sawed-off shotgun.
The Texan was right. A yell went up from the saloon, and a dozen menrushed out, firing as they came. Six others carried a heavy beam,evidently torn from the interior of the Idle Hour. It was theirintention to use this as a battering-ram to smash in the door of thestore.
The cry from the defenders was "Let 'em have it!"
The terrific thunder of the shotgun and the buffalo rifle blended withthe loud roar of six-guns. Hammers fell with deadly regularity. Fireblazed from every loophole and shooting space.
When the smoke cleared away, Tip McCay emitted a whoop that the othersechoed. The charge had been stopped, and very effectively. The bigbeam lay on the ground, with the writhing bodies of four men around it.The "scatter gun" had accounted for three of them; Kid Wolf had put theother out of business with bullets through both legs. A little to oneside were two more of the outlaws, one of whom had been brought down byTip McCay, the other by the lantern-jawed, slow-spoken plainsman knownas Scotty. The others had beaten a quick retreat to the shelter of thesaloon.