The Rangeland Avenger

  27

  Behind the sheriff's apprehensive glance there had been reason. Truethe door had closed upon Arizona, and the door was thick. But themoment Arizona had passed through the door, he clapped his ear to thekeyhole and listened, holding his breath, for he was certain that themoment his back was turned the shameful story of his exploits in thelumber camp eight years before would come out for the edification ofKern. If so, it meant ruin for him. Arizona was closed to him; all thisdistrict would be closed by the story of his early light-fingeredness.He felt as if he were being driven to the wall. Consequently helistened with set teeth to the early questions of the sheriff; then hebreathed easier, still incredulous, when he heard Sinclair refuse totell the tale.

  Still he lingered, dreading that the truth might out, and so heard thetalk turn to a new channel--Cold Feet. Cold Feet meant many things toSour Creek; to Arizona, the schoolteacher meant only onething--twenty-five-hundred dollars. And Arizona was broke.

  To his hungry ear came the tidings: "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'llgive you the layout for finding Cold Feet. Ride west out of Sour Creekand head for a flat-topped mountain. On the shoulder just under thehead you'll find Cold Feet. Go get him!"

  To Arizona it seemed as if this last injunction were personal advice.He waited to hear no more; if he had paused for a moment he might havelearned that the hope of twenty-five hundred was an illusion and asnare. He saw the bright vision of a small fortune placed in his handsas the result of a single gunplay. He had seen the schoolteacher. Heknew by instinct that there was no fighting quality in Jig. And themoment he heard the location it was as good as cash in his pocket, hewas sure.

  There was only one difficulty. He must beat out the sheriff. To thatend he hurried to the stable behind the hotel, broke all records forspeed in getting the saddle on his roan mare, and then jogged herquietly out of town so as to rouse no suspicions. But hardly was hepast the outskirts, hardly crediting his good luck that the sheriffhimself was not yet on the way, than he touched the flanks with hisspurs and sent the mare flying west.

  In the west the moon was dropping behind the upper ranges, as he rodethrough the foothills; when he began to climb the side of the mountain,the dawn began to grow. So much the better for Arizona. But, knowingthat he had only Cold Feet to deal with, he did not adopt all thecaution of Sandersen on the same trail. Instead he cut boldly straightfor the shoulder of the mountain, knowing what he would find there onhis arrival. In the nearest grove he left his horse and then walkedswiftly up to the level. There the first thing that caught his eyes wasthe form wrapped in the blanket. But the next thing he saw was the paleglimmer of the dawn on the barrel of a revolver. He reached for his owngun, only to see, over the rock above him, the grinning face ofSandersen arise.

  "Too late, Arizona," called the tall man. "Too late for one job,partner, but just in time for the next!"

  Arizona cursed softly, steadily, through snarling lips.

  "What job?"

  "Sinclair! He's gone, but he'll be back any minute. And it'll need usboth to down him, Arizona. We'll split on Sinclair's reward."

  Disgust and wrath consumed Arizona. Without other answer he strode tothe prostrate form, slashed the rope and tore the handkerchief frombetween the teeth of Cold Feet. The schoolteacher sat up, gasping forbreath, purple of face.

  "Leave him be!" cried Sandersen, his voice shrill with anger. "Leavehim be! He's the bait, Arizona, and we're the trap that'll catchSinclair."

  But Arizona cursed again bitterly. "Leave that bait lie till the sunburns it up. You'll never catch Sinclair with it."

  "How come?"

  From around the rock Sandersen appeared and walked down to the fat man.

  "Because Sinclair's already caught."

  If he had expected the tall man to groan with disappointment, there wasa surprise in store for him. Sandersen exclaimed shrilly for joy.

  "Sinclair took! Took dead, then!"

  "Dead? Why?"

  "You don't mean he was taken alive?"

  "Yes, I sure do! And I done the figuring that led up to him beingcaught."

  The slender form of Jig rose before them, trembling.

  "It isn't true! It isn't true! There aren't enough of you in Sour Creekto take Riley Sinclair!"

  "Ain't it true?" asked Arizona. "All right, son, you'll meet him prontoin the Sour Creek jail, unless the boys finish their party of the otherday and string you up before you get inside the jail."

  This brought a peculiar, low-pitched moan from Cold Feet.

  "Cheer up," said Sandersen. "You ain't swinging yet awhile."

  "But he's hurt! If he's alive, he's terribly wounded?"

  Arizona beat down the appealing hand with a brutal gesture.

  "No, he ain't particular hurt. Just his neck squashed a bit where thesheriff throttled him. He didn't fight enough to get hurt, curse him!"

  Frowning, Sandersen shook his head. "He's a fighting man, Arizona, ifthey ever was one."

  It seemed that everything infuriated the fat man.

  "What d'you know about it, Lanky?" he demanded of Sandersen. "Didn't Irun the affair? Wasn't it me that planted the whole trap? Wasn't it methat knowed he'd come into town for you or Cartwright?"

  "Cartwright!" gasped Jig.

  "Sure! We nailed him in Cartwright's room, just the way I said wewould. And they laughed at me, the fools!"

  He might have gathered singular inferences from the lowered head of Jigand the soft murmur: "I might have known--I might have known he'd tryfor me."

  "And I might have had the pleasure of drilling him clean," saidArizona, harking back to it with savage pleasure, "but I shot out thelight. I wanted him to die slow, and before the end I wanted to pry hiseyes open and make him see my face and know that it was me that donefor him! That was what I wanted. But he turned yaller and wouldn'tfight."

  "He wouldn't kill," said Jig coldly. "But for courage--I laugh at you,Arizona!"

  "Easy," scowled the cowpuncher. "Easy, Jig. You ain't behind the barsyet. You're in reach of my fist, and I'd think nothing of busting youin the face. Shut up till I talk to you."

  The misty eyes of Sandersen brightened a little and grew hard. Therewas a great deal of fighting spirit in the man, and his easy victory ofthat morning had roused him to a battling pitch.

  "Looks to me like you ain't running this here party, Arizona," he saiddryly. "If there are any directions to give Cold Feet, I'll give 'em.It was me that took him!"

  No direct answer could Arizona find to this true statement, and, asalways when a man is at a loss for words, his temper rose, and hisfists clenched. For the first time he looked at Sandersen with an eyeof savage calculation. He had come to hope of a tidy little fortune. Hehad found it snatched out of his hand, and, as he measured Sandersen,his heart rose. Twenty-five-hundred dollars would fairly well equip himin life. The anger faded out of his eyes, and in its place came thecold gleam of the man who thinks and calculates. All at once he beganto smile, a mirthless smile that was of the lips only.

  "Maybe you're right, Sandersen, but I'm thinking you'd have to provethat you took Cold Feet.'

  "Prove it?"

  "Sure! The boys wouldn't be apt to believe that sleepy Sandersen wokeup and took Cold Feet alive."

  Instantly the gorge of Sandersen rose, and he began to see red.

  "Are you out to find trouble, Fatty?"

  The adjective found no comfortable lodging place in the mind ofArizona.

  "Me? Sure I ain't. I'm just stating facts the way I know 'em."

  "Well, the facts you know ain't worth a damn."

  "No?"

  It was growing clearer and clearer to the fat man that between him andtwenty-five-hundred dollars there stood only the unamiable figure ofthe long, lean cowpuncher. He steadied his eye till a fixed glittercame in it. He hated lean men by instinct and distrusted them.

  "Sure they ain't. How you going to get around the fact that I did takeCold Feet?"

  "Well, Sandersen, you see that they's twenty-five
-hundred dollarshanging on the head of this Cold Feet?"

  "Certainly! And I see ten ways of spending just that amount."

  "So do I," said Arizona.

  "You do?"

  "Partner, you've heard me talk!"

  "Arizona, you're talking mighty queer. What d'ye mean?"

  "Now, suppose it was me that brought in Cold Feet, who'd get themoney?"

  "Why, you that brought him in?"

  "Yep, me. And suppose I brought him in with two murders charged to himinstead of one."

  "I don't foller you. What's the second murder, Fatty?"

  "You!"

  Sandersen blinked and gave back a little. Plainly he was beginning tofear that the reason of Arizona was unbalanced.

  He shook his head.

  "I'll show you how it'll be charged to Cold Feet," said the fat man.

  Taking the cartridge belt of Jig he shook the revolver out of theholster and pumped a shot into the ground. The sharp crack of theexplosion roused no echo for a perceptible space. Then it struck backat them from a solid wall of rock, almost as loud as it had been infact. Off among the hills the echo was repeated to a faint whisper.Arizona dropped the revolver carelessly on the ground.

  "Fatty, you've gone nutty," said Sandersen.

  "I'll tell you a yarn," said Arizona.

  Sandersen looked past him to the east. The light was growing rapidlyabout the mountains. In another moment or so that sunrise which he hadbeen looking forward to with such solemn dread, would occur. He wassafe, of course, and still that sense of impending danger would notleave him. He noted Jig, erect, very pale, watching them with intenseand frightened interest.

  "Here's the story," went on the fat man. "I come out of Sour Creekhunting for Cold Feet. I came straight to this here mountain. Halfwayup the side I hear a shot. I hurry along and soft-foot on to thisshoulder. I see Cold Feet standing, over the dead body of Sandersen.Then I stick up Cold Feet and take him back to Sour Creek and get thereward. Won't that be two murders on his head?"

  The thin Swede rubbed his chin. "For a grown man, Fatty, you're doing alot of supposing."

  "I'm going to turn it into fact," said Arizona.

  "How?"

  "With a chunk of lead! Pull your gun, you lanky fool!"

  It seemed to Jig, watching with terrible interest, that Sandersenstared not at Arizona, as he went for his gun, but beyond the stubbycowpuncher--far behind and into the east, where the dawn was growingbrighter, losing its color, as sunrises do, just before the rising ofthe sun. His long arm jerked back, the revolver whipped into his hand,and he stiffened his forearm for the shot.

  All that Jig saw, with eyes sharpened, so that each movement seemed tobe taking whole seconds, was a sneering Arizona, waiting till the lastsecond. When he moved, however, it was with an almost leisurely flip ofthe wrist. The heavy Colt was conjured into his hand. With gracefulease the big weapon slipped out and exploded before Sandersen'sforefinger had curled around the trigger.

  Out of the hand of the Swede slipped the gun and clanged unheeded onthe ground at his feet. She saw a patch of red spring up on his breast,while he lurched forward with long, stiff strides, threw up his handsto the east, and pitched on his face. She turned from the dead thing ather feet.

  The white rim of the sun had just slid over the top of a mountain.