35
Now that sound had entered the jail, and it had a peculiar effect. Itwas like that distant murmuring of the storm which walks over thetreetops far away. It made the sheriff and his two prisoners lift theirheads and look at one another in silence, for the sheriff was mostunprofessionally tilted back in a chair, with his feet braced againstthe bars of the cell, while he chatted with his bad men about men,women, and events. The sheriff had a distinct curiosity to learn howArizona had recovered so suddenly from his "blue funk."
Unquestionably the fat man had recovered. His voice was as steady nowas any man's, and the old, insolent glitter was in his eyes. He squaredhis shoulders and blew his smoke straight at the face of the sheriff,as he talked. What caused it, the sheriff could not tell, thisrehabilitation of a fighting man, but he connected the influence ofSinclair with the change.
By this time Sinclair himself was the more restless of the two. WhileArizona sat at ease on the bunk, the tall man ranged up and down thecell, with long, noiseless steps, turning quickly back and forth besidethe bars. He had spent his nervous energy cheering up Arizona, untilthe latter was filled with a reckless, careless courage. What wouldhappen Arizona could not guess, but Sinclair had assured him thatsomething _would_ happen, and he trusted implicitly to the word of histall companion. Sooner or later he would learn that they were hopeless,and Sinclair dreaded the breakdown which he knew would follow thatdiscovery.
In his heart Sinclair knew that there would be no hope, no chance. Thegirl, he felt, had been swept off her feet with some absurd dream offreeing them. For his own part he had implicit faith in the strength ofthe toolproof steel of the bars on the one hand, and the gun of thesheriff on the other. As long as they held, they would keep theirprisoners. The key to freedom was the key to the sheriff's heart, andSinclair was too much of a man to whine.
He had come to the end of his trail, and that was evident in therestlessness of his walking to and fro. The love of the one thing onearth that he cared for was his, according to Arizona, and there wasnothing to make the fat man lie. It seemed to Riley Sinclair that, atthe very moment he had set his hands upon priceless gold, the treasurewas crumbling to dead sand. He had lost her by the very thing that wonher.
In the midst of his pacing he stopped and lifted his head, just as thesheriff and Arizona did the same thing. The far-off murmur hummed andmoaned toward them, gathering strength. Then the sheriff pushed backhis chair and went to the front of the jail. They heard him givedirections to his deputy to find out what the murmuring meant. WhenKern returned he was patently worried.
"Gents," he said, "I've heard that same sort of a sound twice before,and it means business." None of the three spoke again until the doorof the jail was burst open, and the deputy came on them, running.
"Kern," he gasped, as he reached the sheriff, "they're coming."
"Who?"
"Every man in Sour Creek. They tried to get me with 'em. I told 'em I'dstay and then slipped off. They want both of these. They want 'em bad.They're going to fight to get 'em!"
"Do they want to grab Arizona and Sinclair?" asked the sheriff, withsurprising lack of emotion. "Don't think they're guilty?"
"You're wrong. They think they're sure guilty, and they're going tolynch 'em."
He whispered this, but his panting made the words louder than hethought. Sinclair heard; and by the shudder of Arizona, he knew thathis companion had heard as well.
Now came the low-pitched voice of the sheriff: "Are you with me, Pat?"
The deputy receded. "Why, man, you ain't going to fight the wholetown?"
"I'd fight the whole town," said the sheriff smoothly, "but I don'tneed you with me. You're through, partner. Close the door soft when yougo out!"
Pat made no argument, offered no sentimental protest of devotion. Hewas glad of any excuse, and he retreated at once. After him went thesheriff, and Sinclair heard the heavy door of the jail locked. Kerncame back, carrying a bundle. Outside, the murmuring had increased at asingle leap to a roar. The rush for the jail was beginning.
Arizona shrank back against the wall, his little eyes glaringdesperately at Sinclair, his last hope in the emergency. But Sinclairlooked to the sheriff. The bundle in the arms of the latter unrolledand showed two cartridge belts, with guns appended. Next, still insilence, the sheriff unlocked the door to the cell.
"Sinclair!"
The tall cowpuncher leaped beside him. Arizona skirted away to one sidestealthily.
"None of that!" commanded Kern. "No crooked work, Arizona. I'm givingyou a fighting chance for your lives."
Here he tossed a gun and belt to Sinclair. The latter without a wordbuckled it on.
"Now, quick work, boys," said the sheriff. "It's going to be the secondtime in my life that prisoners have got away and tied me up.Understand? They ain't going to be no massacre if I can help it. Gentslike Sinclair don't come in pairs, and he's going to have a fightingchance. Boys, tie me up fast and throw me in the corner. I'll tell 'emthat you slugged me through the bars and got the keys away. You hear?"
As he spoke he threw Arizona a gun and belt, and the latter imitatedSinclair in buckling it on. But the fat man then made for the door ofthe cell. Outside the rush reached the entrance to the jail and spliton it. The voices leaped into a tumult.
"By thunder," demanded Arizona, "are you going to wait for _that_?"
"You want Kern to get into trouble?" asked Sinclair. "Grab this end andtie his ankles, while I fix his hands."
Frantically they worked together.
"Are you comfortable, sheriff?"
He lay securely trussed in a corner of the passageway.
"Dead easy, boys. Now what's your plan?"
"Is there a back way out?"
"No way in or out but the front door. You got to wait till they smashit. There they start now! Then dive out, as they rush. They won't beexpecting nothing like that. But gag me first."
Hastily Sinclair obeyed. The door of the jail was shaking and groaningunder the attack from without, and the shouts were a steady roar. Thenhe hurried to the front of the little building. Arizona was alreadythere, gun in hand, watching the door bulge under the impact. Evidentlythey had caught up a heavy timber, and a dozen men were pounding itagainst the massive door. Sinclair caught the gun arm of his companion.
"Fatty," he said hastily, "gunplay will spoil everything. We got totake 'em by surprise. Fast running will save us, maybe. Fast shootingain't any good when it's one man agin' fifty, and these boys meanbusiness."
Arizona reluctantly let his gun drop back in its holster. He nodded toSinclair. The latter gave his directions swiftly, speaking loudly tomake his voice carry over the roar of the crowd.
"When the door goes down, which it'll do pretty pronto, I'll dive outfrom this side, and you run from the other side, straight into thecrowd. I'll turn to the right, and you turn to the left. The minuteyou're around the corner of the building shoot back over your shoulder,or straight into the air. It'll make 'em think that you've stopped andare going to fight 'em off from the corner. They'll take it slow, youcan bet. Then beat it straight on for the cottonwoods behind theblacksmith shop."
"They'll drop us the minute we show."
"Sure, we got the long chance, and nothing more. Is that good enoughfor you?"
He was rewarded in the dimness by a glint in the eyes of Arizona, andthen the fat man gripped his hand.
"You and me agin' the world."
In the meantime the door was bulging in the center under blows ofincreasing weight. A second battering ram was now brought into play,and the rain of blows was unceasing. Still between shocks, the doorsprang back, but there was a telltale rattle at every blow. Finally, asa yell sprang up from the crowd at the sight, the upper hinge snappedloudly, and the door sagged in. Both timbers were now apparently swungat the same moment. Under the joint impact the door was literallylifted from its last hinge and hurled inward. And with it lunged thetwo battering rams and the men who had wielded them. They tumbledheadlong, ca
rried away by the very weight of their successful blow.
"Now!" called Sinclair, and he sprang with an Indian yell over theheads of the sprawling men in the doorway and into the thick of thecrowd.
Half a dozen of the drawn guns whipped up at the sight, but no onecould make sure in the half-light of the identity of the man who haddashed out. Their imaginations placed the two prisoners safely behindthe bars inside. Before they could think twice, a second figure leapedthrough the doorway and passed them in the opposite direction.
Then they awakened to the fact, but they awakened in confusion. A dozenshots blazed in either direction, but they were wild, snapshots of mentaken off balance.
Two leaps took Sinclair through the thick of the astonished men beforehim. He came to the scattering edges and saw a man dive at him. Thecowpuncher beat the butt of his gun into the latter's face and sped on,whipping around the corner of the little jail, with bullets whistlingafter him.
His own gun, as he leaped out of sight, he fired into the ground, andhe heard a similar shot from the far side of the building. Those twoshots, as he had predicted, checked the pursuers one vital second andkept them milling in front of the jail. Then they spilled out aroundthe corners, each man running low, his gun ready.
But Sinclair, deep in the darkness of the tree shadows behind the jail,was already out of sight. He caught a glimpse of Arizona sprintingahead of him for dear life. They reached the cottonwoods together andwere greeted by a low shout from the girl; she was running out from theshelter, dragging the horses after her.
Arizona went into his saddle with a single leap. Sinclair paused totake the jump, with his hand on the pommel, and as he lifted himself upwith a jump, a gun blazed in point-blank range from the nearestshrubbery.
There was a yell from Arizona, not of pain, but of rage. They saw hisgun glistening in his hand, and, swerving his horse to disturb the aimof the marksman, his weapon's first report blended with the second shotfrom the bushes, a tongue of darting flame. Straight at the flash of atarget Arizona had fired, and there was an answering yell. Out of thedark of the shrubbery a great form leaped, with a grotesque shadowbeneath it on the moon-whitened ground.
"Cartwright!" cried Sinclair, as the big man collapsed and became ashapeless, inanimate black heap.
Straight ahead Arizona was already spurring, and Sinclair waved once tothe white face of Jig, then shot after his companion, while the treesand shrubbery to their left emitted a sudden swarm of men and barkingguns.
But to strike a rapidly moving object with a revolver is never easy,and to strike by the moonlight is difficult indeed. A dangerous flightof slugs bored the air around the fugitives for the first hundred yardsof their flight, but after that the firing ceased, as the men of SourCreek ran for their horses.
Straight on into the night rode the pair.
* * * * *
One year had made Arizona a little plumper, and one year had drawnRiley Sinclair more lean and somber, when they rode out on the shoulderof a flat-topped mountain and looked down into the hollow, where thelate afternoon sun was already sending broad shadows out from everyrise of ground. Sour Creek was a blur and a twinkle of glass in thedistance.
"Come to think of it," said Arizona, "it's just one year today. Riley,was it that that brung you back here, and me, unknowing?"
The tall man made no answer, but shaded his eyes to peer down into thevalley, and Arizona made no attempt to pursue the conversation. He waslong since accustomed to the silences of his traveling mate. Seeingthat Sinclair showed no disposition either to speak or move, he leftthe big cowpuncher to himself and started off through the trees insearch of game. The sign of a deer caught his eye and hurried him oninto a futile chase, from which he returned in the early dark of theevening. He was guided by the fire which Sinclair had kindled on theshoulder, but to his surprise, as he drew nearer, the fire dwindled,very much as if Riley had entirely forgotten to replenish it with drywood.
A year of wild life had sharpened the caution of Arizona. That neglectof his fire was by no means in keeping with the usual methods ofSinclair. Before he came to the last spur of the hill, Arizonadismounted and stole up on foot. He listened intently. There was not asound of anyone moving about. There was only an occasional crackle ofthe dying fire. When he came to the edge of the shoulder, Arizonaraised his head cautiously to peer over.
He saw a faintly illumined picture of Riley Sinclair, sitting with hishat off, his face raised, and such a light in his face that thereneeded no play of the fire to tell its meaning. Beside him sat a girl,more distinct, for she was dressed in white, and the fire gleamed andcurled and modeled her hair and cast a highlight on her chin, herthroat, and her hand in the brown hand of Sinclair.
Arizona winced down out of sight and stole back under the trees.
"Doggone me," he said to his horse, "they both remembered the day."
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