The Rangeland Avenger

  6

  Down in the kitchen they demanded a loaf of bread and some coffee fromthe Chinese cook, and then the seven dealers of justice took horse andturned into the silence of the long mountain trail.

  The sunrise had picked those mountains out of the night, directly aboveSour Creek. Riley Sinclair regarded them with a longing eye. That washis country. A man could see up there, and he could see the truth. Downhere in the valley everything was askew. Men lived blindly and didblind things, like this "justice" which the six riders were bringing onan innocent man.

  Not by any means had Riley decided what he would do. If he confessedthe truth he would not only have a man-sized job trying to escape fromthe posse, but he would have to flee before he had a chance to dealfinally with Sandersen. Chiefly he wanted time. He wanted a chance tostudy Sandersen. The fellow had spoken for him like a man, but Sinclairwas suspicious.

  In his quandary he turned to sad-faced Montana and asked: "Who's thisgent you call Cold Feet?"

  "He's a tenderfoot," declared Montana, "and he's queer. He's yaller,they say, and that's why they call him Cold Feet. Besides, he teachesthe school. Where's they a real man that would do a schoolma'am's work?Living or dying, he ain't much good. You can lay to that!"

  Sinclair was comforted by this speech. Perhaps the schoolteacher was,as Montana stated, not much good, dead or alive. Sinclair had knownmany men whose lives were not worth an ounce of powder. In this case hewould let Cold Feet be hanged. It was a conclusion sufficiently grim,but Riley Sinclair was admittedly a grim man. He had lived for himself,he had worked for himself. On his younger brother, Hal, he had wastedall the better and tenderer side of his nature. For Hal's education andadvantage he had sweated and saved for a long time. With the death ofHal, the better side of Riley Sinclair died.

  The horses sweated up a rise of ground.

  "For a schoolteacher he lives sort of far out of town, I figure," saidRiley Sinclair.

  "That's on account of Sally Bent," answered Denver Jim. "Sally and herbrother got a shack out this way, and Cold Feet boards with 'em."

  "Sally Bent! That's an old-maidish-sounding name."

  Denver Jim grinned broadly. "Tolerable," he said, "just tolerableold-maidish sounding."

  When they reached the top of the knoll, the horses paused, as if bycommon assent. Now they stood with their heads bowed, sullen, tiredalready, steam going up from them into the cool of the morning.

  "There it is!"

  It was as comfortably placed a house as Riley Sinclair had ever seen.The mountain came down out of the sky in ragged, uneven steps. Here itdipped away into a lap of quite level ground. A stream of spring waterflashed across that little tableland, dark in the shadow of the bigtrees, silver in the sunlight. At the back of the natural clearing wasthe cabin, built solidly of logs. Wood, water, and commanding positionfor defense! Riley Sinclair ran his eye appreciatively over theseadvantages.

  "My guns, I'd forgot Sally!" exclaimed the massive Buck Mason.

  "Is that her?" asked Riley Sinclair.

  A woman had come out of the shadow of a tree and stood over the edge ofthe stream, a bucket in her hand. At that distance it was quiteimpossible to make out her features, although Riley Sinclair foundhimself squinting and peering to make them out. She had on somethingwhite over her head and neck, and her dress was the faded blue of oldgingham. Then the wind struck her dress, and it seemed to lift the girlin its current.

  "I'd forgot Sally Bent!"

  "What difference does she make?" asked Riley.

  "You don't know her, stranger."

  "And she won't know us. Got anything for masks?"

  "I'm sure a Roman-nosed fool!" declared Mason. "Of course we got towear masks."

  The girl's pail flashed, as she raised it up from the stream anddissolved into the shadow of a big tree.

  "She don't seem noways interested in this here party," remarked Riley.

  "That's her way," said Denver Jim, arranging his bandanna to mask thelower part of his face from the bridge of his nose down. "She'll showplenty of interest when it comes to a pinch."

  Riley adjusted his own mask, and he did it thoroughly. Out of his vesthe ripped a section of black lining, and, having cut eyeholes, hefastened the upper edge of the cloth under the brim of his hat and tiedthe loose ends behind his head. Red, white, blue, black, and polka dotwas that quaint array of masks.

  Having completed his arrangements, Larsen started on at a lope, and therest of the party followed in a lurching, loose-formed wedge. At theedge of the little tableland, Larsen drew down his mount to a walk andturned in the saddle.

  "Quick work, no talk, and a getaway," he said as he swung down to theground.

  In the crisis of action the big Swede seemed to be accorded the placeof leader by natural right. The others imitated his example silently.Before they reached the door Larsen turned again.

  "Watch Jerry Bent," he said softly. "You watch him, Denver, and you,Sandersen. Me and Buck will take care of Cold Feet. He may fight like arat. That's the way with a coward when he gets cornered." Then hestrode toward the door.

  "How thick is Sally Bent with this schoolteaching gent?" asked RileySinclair of Mason.

  "I dunno. Nobody knows. Sally keeps her thinking to herself."

  Larsen kicked open the door and at the same moment drew hissix-shooter. That example was also imitated by the rest, with theexception of Riley Sinclair. He hung in the background, watching.

  "Gaspar!" called Larsen.

  There was a voice of answer, a man's thin voice, then the sharp cry ofa girl from the interior of the house. Sinclair heard a flurry ofskirts.

  "Hysterics now," he said into his mask.

  She sprang into the doorway, her hands holding the jamb on either side.In her haste the big white handkerchief around her throat had beentwisted awry. Sinclair looked over the heads of Mason and Denver Jiminto the suntanned face that had now paled into a delicate olive color.Her very lips were pale, and her great black eyes were flashing atthem. She seemed more a picture of rage than hysterical fear.

  "Why for?" she asked. "What are you-all here for in masks, boys? Whatyou mean calling for Gaspar? What's he done?"

  In a moment of waiting Larsen cleared his throat solemnly. "It'd bebest we tell Gaspar direct what we're here for."

  This seemed to tell her everything. "Oh," she gasped, "you're notreally _after_ him?"

  "Lady, we sure be."

  "But Jig--he wouldn't hurt a mouse--he couldn't!"

  "Sally, he's done a murder!"

  "No, no, no!"

  "Sally, will you stand out of the door?"

  "It ain't--it ain't a lynching party, boys? Oh, you fools, you'll hangfor it, every one of you!"

  Sinclair confided to Buck Mason beside him: "Larsen is letting her talkdown to him. She'll spoil this here party."

  "We're the voice of justice," said Judge Lodge pompously. "We ain't gotany other names. They wouldn't be nothing to hang."

  "Don't you suppose I know you?" asked the girl, stiffening to her fullheight. "D'you think those fool masks mean anything? I can tell you byyour little eyes, Denver Jim!"

  Denver cringed suddenly behind the man before him.

  "I know you by that roan hoss of yours, Oscar Larsen. Judge Lodge, theyain't nobody but you that talks about 'justice' and 'voices.' BuckMason, I could tell you by your build, a mile off. Montana, you'd oughtto have masked your neck and your Adam's apple sooner'n your face. Andyou're Bill Sandersen. They ain't any other man in these parts thatstands on one heel and points his off toe like a horse with a sore leg.I know you all, and, if you touch a hair on Jig's head, I'll have youinto court for murder! You hear--murder! I'll have you hung, every manjack!"

  She had lowered her voice for the last part of this speech. Now shemade a sweeping gesture, closing her hand as if she had clutched theirdestinies in the palm of her hand and could throw it into their faces.

  "You-all climb right back on your hosses and feed 'em the spur."

  Th
ey stood amazed, shifting from foot to foot, exchanging miserableglances. She began to laugh; mysterious lights danced and twinkled inher eyes. The laughter chimed away into words grown suddenly gentle,suddenly friendly. Such a voice Riley Sinclair had never heard. Itwalked into a man's heart, breaking the lock.

  "Why, Buck Mason, you of all men to be mixed up in a deal like this.And you, Oscar Larsen, after you and me had talked like partners somany a time! Denver Jim, we'll have a good laugh about this necktieparty later on. Why, boys, you-all know that Jig ain't guilty of noharm!"

  "Sally," said the wretched Denver Jim, "things seemed to be sort ofpointing to a--"

  There was a growl from the rear of the party, and Riley Sinclair strodeto the front and faced the girl. "They's a gent charged with murderinside," he said. "Stand off, girl. You're in the way!"

  Before she answered him, her teeth glinted. If she had been a man, shewould have struck him in the face. He saw that, and it pleased him.

  "Stranger," she said deliberately, making sure that every one in theparty should hear her words, "what you need is a stay around Sour Creeklong enough for the boys to teach you how to talk to a lady."

  "Honey," replied Riley Sinclair with provoking calm, "you sure put up atidy bluff. Maybe you'd tell a judge that you knowed all these gentsbehind their masks, but they wouldn't be no way you could _prove_ it!"

  A stir behind him was ample assurance that this simple point hadescaped the cowpunchers. All the soul of the girl stood up in her eyesand hated Riley Sinclair, and again he was pleased. It was not that hewished to bring the schoolteacher to trouble, but it had angered him tosee one girl balk seven grown men.

  "Stand aside," said Riley Sinclair.

  "Not an inch!"

  "Lady, I'll move you."

  "Stranger, if you touch me, you'll be taught better. The gents in SourCreek don't stand for suchlike ways!"

  Before the appeal to the chivalry of Sour Creek was out of her lips,smoothly and swiftly the hands of Sinclair settled around her elbows.She was lifted lightly into the air and deposited to one side of thedoorway.

  Her cry rang in the ears of Riley Sinclair. Then her hand flashed up,and the mask was torn from his face.

  "I'll remember! Oh, if I have to wait twenty years, I'll remember!"

  "Look me over careful, lady. Today's most likely the last time you'llsee me," declared Riley, gazing straight into her eyes.

  A hand touched his arm. "Stranger, no rough play!"

  Riley Sinclair whirled with whiplash suddenness and, chopping the edgeof his hand downward, struck away the arm of Larsen, paralyzing thenerves with the same blow.

  "Hands off!" said Sinclair.

  The girl's clear voice rang again in his ear: "Thank you, Oscar Larsen.I sure know my friends--and the gentlemen!"

  She was pouring oil on the fire. She would have a feud blazing in amoment. With all his heart Riley Sinclair admired her dexterity. Hedrew the posse back to the work in hand by stepping into the doorwayand calling: "Hey, Gaspar!"