Part 6

Black Jack, his breath coming in sobbing gasps, had regained his feet. He saw Pete lurch to a sitting posture.

“Here!” called the wounded man and thrust the .45 into Black Jack’s hand. “Finish the ——!”

The half-breed jumped forward. The next instant the gun barrel crashed against Pete’s head and the fight was over.

X

“Ladd,” said Joe Kipp, breaking a long silence that followed their departure from the Basset ranch, “how long was you at the lone cottonwood afore yuh let me see yuh?”

“Mebbeso half an hour, Kipp. I laid in the brush watchin’ yuh.”

“Figgered yuh must ’a’ bin cold-trailin’ me er you’d uh ketched up with me long afore yuh did. I’d kinda like tuh know jest how yuh figger me out.”

“That’s a hard question, pardner. Dang me if I kin read yore hand even when I’ve had a look at yore hole card. The sign all says that yo’re playin’ a double game. Yet I’d shore hate tuh think it.”

“I’m obliged, Ladd. I hope tuh clear some things up afore many hours. Supposin’ I tell yuh that by comin’ along with me now, yo’re hinderin’ instead uh helpin’ things?”

“’Twouldn’t keep me from comin’, Kipp. Not when my Shorty pardner is mixed up in the deal. I aim tuh see it through, regardless.”

Tad’s tone and the look in his eyes forbade further argument.

“You heerd me and Black Jack talkin’?”

“Only some, when yuh raised yore voices. I heered enough tuh _sabe_ that you was aimin’ tuh lay fer Fox, that was about all.”

“You got reason tuh want Fox killed. Yet yuh kept me from doin’ it. Why?”

“Because, like I said, I knowed you wa’n’t that sort uh man and it wouldn’t he’p none tuh kill Fox from the brush. I reckon yo’re goin’ tuh clear up things if yuh kin and I’ll lend a hand if the play comes up. I hope yuh come out winners, Kipp.”

“Yet yuh won’t trust me tuh go alone?”

“Not when Shorty’s needin’ me, no.” Again an uncomfortable silence fell over them, unbroken till they reached the edge of the bad-lands.

“There’ll be a man on guard farther along this trail,” said Kipp. “If I ride up alone, he’ll let me pass. If you come along, there’ll be shootin’ and we’ll lose a horse apiece and go back afoot. Will yuh trust me to go that far by myself? I’ll signal yuh from that bald knoll when I’ve cleared the trail.”

Tad pondered this for a long moment as he searched Kipp’s eyes. Apparently satisfied with what he read in the older man’s face, he nodded briefly.

“I’ll wait half an hour, Kipp. Then I’ll be comin’, regardless uh ary signal. Them that tries tuh stop me will find they got a game.”

Kipp nodded and, leaving Tad squatted on the ground rolling a cigaret, rode on.

Tad consulted a battered silver-cased watch and shoved it back in his overall pocket. A squint at the sun told him that dusk was but an hour distant. Smoke curling lazily from his nostrils, he watched Kipp out of sight.

Despite Kipp’s apparent duplicity, Tad liked the white-haired old man and felt certain that he was not being tricked. There had been an indefinable something in the sheriff’s eyes that puzzled Tad. He felt certain that whatever hold Fox and Black Jack had on Kipp, it must be a terrible one. He knew that Kipp’s momentary lapse of physical courage was a minor point. There was something far greater than any fear of physical pain that threatened the sheriff. Now Kipp was about to break that hold. What would be the outcome?

Thus pondering, Tad saw Kipp ride to the bare knoll and signal with his hat. Tad was on his feet and in the saddle before the hat quit waving. Across Tad’s saddle pommel lay his Winchester, a shell in the barrel, the hammer at half-cock.

Kipp met him, smiling thinly.

“Where’s the guard?” asked Tad. “Gagged and hog-tied in the brush yonder. He quit easy when I threw down on him. We’re safe now till we hit the river bottom. They only had one man on guard today. They bin brandin’, so the gent told me. We’ll take our time now. Dark’ll come on quick here in the cañons and we’ll slip into the Pocket afore they spot us.”

“How many men down there?”

“Hard tuh tell. Mebbe three-four. Mebbe so a dozen. They drift in and out. If they bin brandin’, like as not there’ll be half a dozen.”

Kipp led the way along the narrow trail that now led along the side of the shale cliff. Tad understood now why it required but one man to guard the trail. A single man could, by hiding behind the rimrock above, drop as many men as he had cartridges in his gun. If Kipp were bent on tricking him, now was his chance.

Tad felt a shiver pass along his spine, and glanced uneasily about him. Then he shifted his gun to cover Kipp, grimly determined to shoot if treachery showed in the shape any movement near the rimrock.

Kipp, turning in his saddle to address some remark, saw Tad’s gun covering him. The faint smile on the old officer’s lips could not hide the pain of humiliation in his eyes. Tad grinned uneasily but did not shift the position of his gun.

The sheriff faced forward once more, the remark he had been about to make unspoken. In the fading light, Tad gazed at the tufts of snow-hued hair beneath the battered hat. The shoulders beneath Kipp’s faded jumper sagged as if beneath the weight of some great load.

“——,” muttered Tad, and shifted his Winchester so that the weapon rested across his saddle, muzzle toward the cliff.

“I’ll borry the use of a chaw if yuh got ary handy,” he called.

In the pocket of his chaps was a plug, but he somehow felt ashamed of mistrusting Kipp and wanted the old fellow to know that he was no longer covered.

Kipp tossed him a piece of tobacco, noticing the while that Tad’s Winchester now pointed in another direction. He grinned understandingly and they rode on down the steep trail.

Dark fell like a black blanket, to be followed by the pale moonlight. From the river bottom, miles below, the faint sound of shots echoed, reechoed, and died away, leaving a silence charged with a sinister foreboding that caused Tad Ladd’s eyes to narrow dangerously.

“Can’t we make better time down this —— trail, Kipp?” he growled. “I don’t like them shots.”

“Goin’ faster might mean a fall, Ladd. The more haste, the less speed, right now. We can’t do them boys much good if we gits crippled up.”

Tad, boiling with impatience, realized the truth of Kipp’s assertion. It seemed hours before the trail widened and they found themselves on level ground in the deep shadow of towering cottonwoods.

The bawling of a cow, hunting her calf. The distant crack of brush as a white-tail buck broke cover. The mournful call of a horned owl. Then silence.

“The corrals is nigh a mile from here,” whispered Kipp. “The cabins lays beyond them a hundred yards. It might be wise fer me tuh go on alone. They know that Pete Basset broke out and there may be a man er two scattered along the trail. Two of us ’ud look queer. If I was tuh go on alone, I’d sorter spring ary traps they had set fer visitors, savvy, and not git shot. Trust me?”

“Them shots we heered, Kipp. I don’t like tuh set here doin’ nothin’ while mebbeso Shorty’s needin’ me bad.”

“If he was needin’ yuh tuh help out ary gun scrap, there’d be more shots. If that shootin’ was sign of a fight, the fight’s done fit and won long ago. Best let me go on alone. Iffen I gits in a tight, I’ll shoot and you kin come a foggin’. Gimme half a hour. Then come on keerful.”

If Kipp was bent on leading him into a trap, thought Tad, he would have done so before they quit the narrow trail.

“I’ll chance it, Sheriff,” he replied.

Kipp nodded briefly and in a moment was lost to sight along the trail that faded into the tall trees.

The sheriff’s horse made but little noise as it traveled along the trail. Minutes passed and his coming was not challenged. Then without warning, a sickening crash of breaking timber under the horse. Kipp and his mount dropped out of sight in the thinly covered pit. Snorting with fear, the horse went down, Kipp striving desperately to free himself from the falling animal. The sheriff’s head struck something solid and he lost consciousness.

Two heavily armed men stepped from a clump of choke-cherry brush.

“I’m right glad that —— deadfall ketched somethin’,” grinned one of them. “I shore sweat a plenty diggin’ her. Wonder how this gent got past the guard.”

“I ketched sight uh his face as he dropped in,” growled the other. “It was Kipp. That’s how-come he got down the trail without bein’ drilled. Hope it didn’t bust the hoss’s leg.”

“Ner Kipp’s neck. Black Jack’ll raise —— if he gits killed and a stranger gits put in the sheriff office. Fox’d have a shore tough time of it if a hard man was put in Kipp’s place. Lower the ladder and we’ll look over the damage.”

“I’d give somethin’ tuh know what they got on old Kipp,” muttered the other as he lowered a ladder into the pit.

One of them went down the ladder. A moment later a match sputtered and lit up the inky blackness of the hole.

“Kipp’s knocked out and the hoss is good as ever,” he called in guarded tones. “Better shove down the gangplank so we kin lead the critter up.”

* * * * *

A cleated plank runway was lowered and after some minutes of work the frightened horse was led to solid ground. Kipp, still unconscious and bleeding from a nasty scalp wound, was carried out.

“You lead his hoss. I’ll pack him across my saddle.”

Thus Joe Kipp was carried to the lighted cabin where Black Jack sat on the edge of a bunk smoking cigarets and taunting the two prisoners who were on the dirt floor, bound hand and foot, their backs against a log wall.

“Where’d yuh git him?” asked Black Jack.

“He rode into the pit.”

Black Jack picked up a water bucket and threw the contents roughly into Kipp’s face. The sheriff groaned and opened his eyes. The breed stooped and plucked the .45 from Kipp’s scabbard, then resumed his seat on the bunk. Behind his half-closed eyes lay some nervous tension and his brows knitted in a scowl as he watched Kipp sputter and struggle to a sitting posture on the floor.

Shorty and Pete exchanged a quick look but made no sound. Both were disheveled and Shorty’s face was swollen and caked with dried blood. Yet his eyes blazed defiantly and about his bruised lips played a sardonic smile. Pete, erect and defiant, strained cautiously at the ropes that bound his arms. Both the prisoners divided their glances between Black Jack and Kipp.

“Where’s Fox?” snapped Black Jack.

“He ain’t dead, if that’s what yo’re drivin’ at,” returned Kipp.

Black Jack seemed relieved at hearing this bit of news.

“Miss him?” he sneered. “Er lose yore guts at the last minute?”

“Neither.” Kipp was gathering his addled wits. “How long have I bin knocked out?”

“Ten minutes, rough guessin’,” grinned one of the men who had taken him from the pit.

Kipp, thinking of Tad, calculated swiftly. Fifteen minutes had passed since the two had parted. That meant that in fifteen minutes more, Tad would be riding along that trail into a similar trap perhaps.

“Got ary more uh them —— holes around here fer a man tuh fall into?” he growled, feeling gingerly of his head.

Black Jack laughed harshly.

“Nope. One’s a-plenty, I reckon. How come yuh never lit no signal fire from the rimrock like yuh was told to?”

“Fergot.”

Kipp felt somewhat relieved to learn that Tad would not be trapped as he had been.

“Fergot, eh?” Black Jack sneered. “Mebbe. Mebbe not. Looks tuh me like you was aimin’ tuh sneak in and take a look around. You bin weakenin’ fer some time. When I left yuh last night, you was doin’ some nasty talkin’. ’Lowed you was through with me and Fox. By ——, I’ll see about that! Afore yo’re a hour older, I’ll have yuh messed up so —— tight you won’t never make a peep. See them two skunks settin’ yonder? They’re cashin’ in their chips tonight, savvy? And yo’re the gent tuh do the job. Then yuh kin go back to Hank Basset and be —— to yuh. Go back and tell him how yuh hung his son and the nosey runt of a would-be gunman that come in here with him! Tell Basset that. I’ll learn yuh to lay down on me!”

The breed was literally shaking with rage now. His ugly lips twisted in a leering grin.

“I aimed tuh shoot them two and dump ’em in the river. Hangin’ beats that all tuh ——, though. ’Specially with Sheriff Kipp tuh lead their hosses out from under ’em and leave ’em danglin’ to a cottonwood limb.”

“——!” said Kipp hoarsely, reading full well the cruel cunning in Black Jack’s smoldering eyes. “You won’t! If ary harm come to them two boys, you’ll hang fer it. I’ll hang with ’em afore I’ll mix up in such a low-down murder. I told yuh I’d come to the place where I was quittin’. I meant what I said. I’m givin’ you a chanct that you don’t noways deserve. I’m givin’ you twenty-four hours tuh quit the country. After that time, I’m goin’ after yuh and by ——, I’ll put yuh back in the pen where yuh belong.”

Black Jack, calm again, sneered insultingly into the face of the sheriff.

“I reckon yo’re drunk. Yo’re fergettin’ who you are, ain’t yuh?”

“No,” said Kipp evenly, “I ain’t fergittin’. I’ve left papers behind me which tell the whole —— story. If I don’t come back in twenty-four hours there’ll be a hundred men in here to see what’s become uh me and to wipe out as low-down nest uh snakes as ever lived. I never lied tuh you. I ain’t lyin’ now. I’m givin’ you a fighting’ chanct tuh make a getaway. Take it er leave it.”

“You mean yo’re double-crossin’ me and Fox?” said Black Joe, his words falling slowly.

“I mean that I’m wipin’ my slate clean afore I resigns as sheriff. Wipin’ it clean, regardless uh what it costs. I’m givin’ you a chanct tuh leave me and these two boys here and git out. Do yuh take it?”

Kipp’s eyes were fixed on a battered alarm clock. The half hour was up. Tad would be starting. Even if he had a gun to fire a signal would only be putting Black Jack on guard. Tad would come cautiously. Fate would decide.

A calculating gleam flashed in the breed’s eyes. Documentary evidence to a criminal is a dangerous weapon. Dead men may tell no tales, but a written statement is as a voice from beyond the grave.

“Looks like yuh hold all the winnin’ cards this deal,” he said flatly. “Yuh shore out-figgered Fox when yuh planted them papers in yore safe tuh cover yore trail. I suppose yore friend Hank Basset holds the combination.”

It was a shrewd bit of calculating and Black Jack’s acting was without fault. He was playing for the highest stakes a man may wager: Life and freedom. Never did a gambler play more shrewdly.

Kipp, physically and mentally worn to the breaking point, was caught off guard.

“Yes, and Hank’s the man that’ll see justice done. I——”

Black Jack’s ugly laugh caught the sheriff up short. Too late, he realized the mistake he had made.

“Bill,” ordered the breed quickly, “take a man and ketch the fastest mounts in the _remuda_. Ride tuh town and bust open that cracker-box safe. Bring all the papers that’s in it. Tell Fox tuh play safe fer a spell. Tell him that Alder Gulch’ll be needin’ a new sheriff. Kipp’s dead.”

Bill and another man slipped outside and closed the door behind them. There now remained but two outlaws besides Black Jack. One of them was in a corner on a bunk, moaning from the pain of the broken arm Pete Basset had given him.

Where was Tad? That was the sole thought in Joe Kipp’s mind now. The departure of Bill and the other man lessened the odds.

“Better hog-tie the blattin’ old fool,” suggested Black Jack a moment later to the man who squatted against the closed door, a .45 in his hand.

“Lemme roll a smoke first,” requested Kipp, reaching for tobacco, hoping to delay things till Tad showed.

The man who had gotten to his feet hesitated.

“Tie him, I said. Smoke be——”

Kipp leaped forward. A clubbed gun caught the old officer across the jaw, whirling him about. Another blow from the man’s gun while Black Jack looked on in scowling approval. Kipp sank limply to the floor.

“Neat work. Now tie him afore he comes to. I’ll learn him what happens tuh them that loses their guts in this game.”

XI

“Half a hour and nary a sign uh Kipp.”

Tad shoved his watch back in his overall pocket and swung into the saddle. He mentally berated himself for letting Kipp out of his sight. Here on strange ground, on a dangerous mission, he had thrown away his only vantage when he allowed the sheriff to go on alone. Kipp had as much as admitted that he had been playing a crooked game. What was to keep him from adding one more misdeed to those of the past?

A shot from the brush, well aimed, and no one the wiser. These LF men were playing a desperate game for big stakes. They would not hesitate to kill a cowpuncher to gain their ends and avoid detection. Capture, for them, meant life imprisonment. Kipp admitted being on friendly terms with them. His every action showed plainly that this was not the sheriff’s first trip into the Pocket.

With these annoying thoughts to bear him company, Tad rode on, rode with a .45 in his hand and his eyes scanning every blurred shadow beneath the cottonwoods. The big hand that held the gun did not shake. There was not a trace of fear nor weakening in the keen eyes that swept the trail ahead. He faced his future without flinching, with splendid disregard of the heavy odds against him.

Years before, Goliad and the Alamo had known such men. They came from that heroic stock that followed Moses Austin to the Brazos River. No braver men ever lined sights amid spattering bullets than these Texans. So, as his sires had faced their enemies, so now did this son of Texas ride his trail.

The ears of his horse twitched forward. The animal halted and Tad was on the ground, crouched in the animal’s shadow. Ahead in the trail gaped the pit that had trapped Kipp. On the edge of the black hole lay a hat. Kipp’s battered old felt.

A moment’s cautious search proved the pit empty. Tad left his horse in the brush, removed his spurs and chaps, and, Winchester ready, slipped on afoot, avoiding the main trail as much as possible.

Voices and the creak of saddle leather. Tad crouched in the shadow to put the approaching riders against the skyline. He could hear them talking now. Bill and his companion, bound for town. They spoke in low tones, barely audible to the listener.

“Black Jack’s carryin’ this too —— far tuh suit me, Bill. I draws the line at murder, sheriffs especially. Once clear uh these bad-lands, I’m quittin’ the flats. Kipp’s plumb right, he’s holdin’ a paw full uh jokers, even if he dies a-holdin’ ’em. No more breeds fer me. They’re too danged coldblooded. Wait a minute while I tighten my cinch. This hoss swells up like a poisoned pup when yuh saddle him.”

The two halted but a few feet from where Tad crouched. One of them swung to the ground.

“Supposin’ we skirt town complete, pardner?” suggested Bill. “If we warns Fox, we gotta go through with it er shoot it out with that buzzard. We know too danged much tuh be let run loose over the range. I ain’t cravin’ none tuh match myself with Luther Fox. He’s lightnin’ with a gun. Say we drifts east from the edge uh the Pocket?

“Let this spread hold the sack. Black Jack ner Fox wouldn’t consider us if they was in a tight. That breed ’ud kill us the same as he aims tuh kill Kipp and Pete Basset and that short waddie. Say, them two kin shore scrap, mister. Only fer Slim a-lendin’ a hand, me’n the Apache would uh bin whupped neat. My hat’s off to ’em. Dang me if I don’t hope they gits away.”

“Fat chance. The Injun is comin’ out in Black Jack. I wouldn’t give two-bits Mex. fer their chances.”

They moved on, leaving Tad grinning in the darkness. The thought of Shorty and the others being in danger but made the lanky puncher the more cool. He waited impatiently until the two riders were out of sight, then moved on at a swifter gait.

The lighted windows of the cabin showed ahead. Tad crept forward with the stealth of an Indian. A few moments and he was at one of the windows, peering inside the cabin.

Shorty, Pete, and Kipp sat side by side, propped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. Kipp’s head sagged forward on his chest for he was still unconscious.

In spite of the bruised and blood-caked condition of his face, it was visibly apparent that Shorty’s left cheek bulged with a huge wad of tobacco. Even as Tad looked, a brown stream shot forth from the bruised lips of the little puncher.

“Missed him, Pete,” he grinned. “Gotta raise my sights. The range is plumb long and that spider’s crawlin’ kinda zig-zag like he was dodgin’. Bet another nickel on the next shot.”

“Better put in the next few minutes sayin’ yore prayers, _hombre_,” said Black Jack, crossing to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. “A man as near the end uh the trail as you gents are, had orter be lookin’ fer a shallow crossin’.”

“Injun,” said Shorty in his soft drawl, “when I’m cravin’ ary advice, I’ll ask fer it.”

Another brown stream that barely missed the breed’s boot.

“Owe yuh another nickel, Pete. That danged spider got plumb outa range. If yo’re honin’ tuh be of any he’p around here, Whiskers, herd that insect back this way.”

Pete Basset, marveling at the little cow puncher’s superb nerve, thrust aside his worries and smiled faintly. Even the guard at the door eyed Shorty with approval.

Slim, of the broken arm, groaned less loudly as he watched Shorty scan the dirt floor for another spider.

A queer lump rose in Tad’s throat as he looked at Shorty’s battered features and saw the split lips twist in a grin.

“The —— li’l’ ol’ game rooster,” mused the big puncher, racking his brain for a plan of attack.

Kipp groaned feebly and opened his eyes. Black Jack, a cup of coffee in his left hand, leered into the sheriff’s pain-shot eyes.

“Mebbe so that rap between the horns brung yuh around to some sense,” he said, fixing Kipp with narrowed gaze. “Had ary change uh mind while yuh was asleep?”

“No.”

“Yo’re forcin’ my hand, mind. I’ve gone too far tuh do any back-trailin’ in this game and you know it. I’m killin’ off these two gents because they know too much. They come a-huntin’ trouble and they got it, a hull bellyful. I sent word tuh Fox that you’d be killed. That was a lie. I’m keepin’ yuh here till that Basset deal is closed and I sell out tuh Fox. Then I’ll turn yuh loose, and me’n these boys is driftin’ to fresh range. I’m leavin’ yuh to settle with Fox if yuh got the guts tuh go through with it. I’ll be a long ways gone so yuh can’t do me no harm, but you kin make it hot fer Luther.”

Black Jack chuckled at the cleverness of his plan. He drained his coffee at a gulp.

“Want tuh be hung er shot, you two?” he asked the other two.

“Yonder comes another spider, Pete,” said Shorty, ignoring Black Jack. “What’s the odds I don’t hit ’im?”

But a moment before, while Black Jack was talking to Kipp, Shorty had looked up at the window and square into the eyes of his partner. Yet he had given no sign that he had seen Tad, save that his left eyelid had dropped in a covert wink. He did not glance again at the window lest he betray Tad’s presence. He guessed that Tad was alone and was waiting for the right moment to open the attack. Shorty felt sure that Black Jack would put up a fight, even if Tad’s gun covered him. He had seen men of Black Jack’s breed before.

Death, to the breed, would be preferable to capture. Slim could still use a gun and the guard would fight. The light would be shot out and Tad would not shoot into the darkened room lest he hit a friend. It was a situation that would require generalship.

“——, Black Jack,” put in the guard. “Hangin’s a lot uh bother. Let’s knock ’em on the head and throw ’em in the river. If their carcasses wash ashore, there’s no bullet holes in ’em and nobody tuh blame. They was drownded crossin’ the river, savvy?”

“Mebbe yo’re right. We’ll pack ’em to the river like they are. Time enough tuh cut the ropes off ’em when we’ve got ’em knocked out. Slim, keep a eye on the sheriff while we’re gone. I’ll pack the little ’un.”