fella, we'll let you help him; that makes the odds two to one. How about it, marshal?'
'Suits me,' was the nonchalant answer.
But it did not suit the other two concerned. 'What's the matter with this burg?' Mullins cried contemptuously. 'Here's a confessed killer an' yo're tryin' to turn him loose.'
'That ain't so,' Rapper retorted. 'He'll be held till we hear from Pinetown.'
'Mebbe,' the other sneered. 'We'll deal with him now.' Nippert looked at the accused. 'Jim, yo're still marshal,' he said. 'I'm tellin' you to down any man who goes for a gun ' The harsh order stilled the clamour. Though the turbulent faction had a majority, the saloon-keeper was not alone, and that lounging figure at the bar had not given an exhibition of his prowess without effect.
So they stood sullenly back and allowed the captive to be conducted to the calaboose. Nippert stepped inside.
'I'll have to take yore hardware now, Jim,' he said. 'I'm hopin' things ain't as bad as they look.' Sudden handed over his belt. 'I've given yu the straight of it,' he replied. 'I took Dave's life, an' I'd 'a' cut a hand off sooner than hurt him. It's made me shy o' gun-play, as yu may have noticed. I could 'a' got away--Sloppy warned me --but I'm tired o' runnin' an' yu'll find me here when I'm wanted.'
'I'm takin' yore word,' Nippert said.
As he emerged on the street again, a rider dashed past, taking the westerly trail; it was Dutch. He pondered over this as he secured the door.
'So that's the game, huh?' he murmured. 'Well, there's an answer to that.' He turned into the marshal's quarters, where he found Sloppy slumped disconsolately in a chair.
'You wanta help?' he inquired.
'Betcha life,' the little man said eagerly. 'What can I do?'
'Fork a hoss an' ride hell-bent for the Bar O. Tell Owen what's happened an' say for him to fetch along as many of his boys as possible, on the run. Sabe?'
'Shore,' Sloppy replied. 'Sent to Pinetown yet?'
'That can wait; I've a notion Jake's plannin' to save us the trouble. Git agoin', an' leave kind o' casual-like, in the opposite direction.' This precaution taken, Nippert returned to the saloon, where a few of his intimates awaited him.
'If he's that notorious outlaw ' Morley began.
'He wouldn't be the first to have a wrong label pinned on him,' Nippert cut in. 'Anyways, I'm holdin' him till we know more. We must have a couple o' men on that door.'
'you think he'll try to get out?' the banker queried.
'No, but others may try to git in; Jake ain't finished yet --he's sent for Sark.' Their faces lengthened. 'That's bad,' Rapper admitted. 'The Dumb-bell would more than tip the balance.'
'Yeah, but Sloppy's on his way to bring the Bar O,' Nip-pert informed. 'Trouble is, they've further to come. Now, I want you to get hold o' the decent fellas an' convince 'em that our proper play is to hand over the marshal--if he's guilty--to Pinetown; we don't hanker for any messy business here.' Meanwhile, Mullins and his visitor were sitting in the kitchen at the back of his eating-house, discussing a bottle and the situation.
'We oughta rushed 'em,' Javert grumbled.
'Yeah, you an' me would've bin the first to stop rushin'; that marshal swine'd take care o' that,' Jake countered acridly. 'I've seen him shoot.'
'The liquor-peddler don't exactly undervalue hisself.'
'No, it's 'bout time his comb was cut, an' I've sent for the man who can do it. When Jesse Sark an' his riders git here we'll be able to talk down to Mister Nippert.' Javert's evil eyes gleamed. 'I hope we'll be able to do more than just talk,' he said viciously. 'Why not git busy afore he comes?'
'D'you figure I'm dumb?' Mullins asked. 'Come an' see for yoreself.' At the eastern end of the street they entered the Red Light's rival, if a low drinking and gambling den could be so termed.
Known as 'Dirty Dick's' after its shaggy-haired and bearded owner, it was frequented only by the tag-rag of the town. The place was full, and Jake chuckled as he elbowed a path through the throng.
'Nippert ain't so popular as he fancies--half o' the guys here are customers o' his,' he whispered.
A bleary-eyed member of the company, balanced precariously on a table, was endeavouring to make himself heard above the hubbub.
'I shay it's a blot on Welcome,' he bellowed thickly. 'Here we got a col'-blooded murd'rer--admits it, don' he?--an' we do nothin'. He's our meat, we catched him, an' oughta string him up.' A chorus of savage oaths, and cries of 'That's the ticket,' and 'You said it, boy,' greeted the suggestion. The speaker swung his hat and shouted, 'Let's go.' Jake grabbed the nearest stool and stood on it. 'Hold on,' he said harshly. The surge towards the door ceased. 'You all know I wouldn't willin'ly give that rat another minit to live, but I'm tellin' you to wait. I've sent for Sark an' his boys--they should be here soon. Nippert ain't a fool all the time, an' he'll give in when he's out- numbered three to one.' The man who had asked the question turned to the others. 'Jake's right; there's no sense in gittin' shot up unnecessary.'
Chapter VI
SLOPPY was cudgelling his brains for new words--expletives which would adequately describe the state of one reduced to desperation and despair. He had got away from Welcome unobserved, travelling west before swinging round to make for his real destination. For a time all went well and then Fortune played a scurvy trick. Descending the slippery side of a gorge his horse stumbled and went to its knees; when it rose he saw that the poor beast was too badly lamed to carry him. The Bar O was more than six long up and down miles distant, and as he realized what the accident might mean, the little man lifted up his voice and told the Fates just exactly what he thought of them, and it was plenty.
There being nothing else for it, he walked--and talked--leading his mount, and pausing on the top of every rise in the hope of seeing or being seen by a Bar O rider. As he did this for about the twentieth time, his anger broke out afresh.
'O' course, they's all workin' elsewhere--they would be,' he raged. 'If I was here to rustle cattle, I'd 'a' bin spotted right off.' He toiled on over the rough ground and the unwonted exertion soon began to tell. The vertical rays of the sun blazed down, sore and swollen feet made every step painful, and since--for such a short journey--he had neglected to bring a canteen, thirst was soon added to the other discomforts.
Doggedly lie stumbled on. His legs became lead, requiring an effort to drag one after the other, but he dared not stop, knowing that he would never start again. Staggering blindly forward he tripped over a rock his weary eyes failed to note, and went sprawling. He was struggling to stand up when a voice said :
'What th' devil ?' Sloppy looked round, his lips moved, but no sound came from them. John Owen--for he it was--slipped from his saddle, unslung his water-bottle, and held it to the sufferer's mouth. An eager swallow or two and Sloppy found his voice, hoarse but intelligible.
'Was a-comin' for you--my bronc went lame. We gotta hurry, it's life or death. Git yore outfit.' The Bar O owner was a man of action. Though he did not know what it was all about, he realized that the messenger had not endured the agonies of that long tramp without good reason. Stepping into his saddle, he said:
'Get up behind me--we can talk as we ride. Leave yore hoss, the boys will gather him in later.' The little man obeyed, and sighed with relief when his aching extremities were no longer on the ground. They had something less than two miles to travel and they did it at speed, but by the time they reached the ranch, Owen was in possession of the main facts.
'Ned's afeard that when them Dumb-bell outcasts show up there'll be a neck-tie party. It'll be my fault if we're too late,' Sloppy finished miserably.
'Skittles! you couldn't help yore hoss playin' out on you,' Owen consoled. 'Might happen to anybody.' As soon as they sighted the ranch, he drew out his rifle and fired three shots at equally-spaced intervals.
'That'll bring in most of 'em,' he said. 'They ain't far afield to-day.'
'Don't I know it,' was the feeling reply.
They found the place deserted, save for the Chinese cook --Owen was a bachelor. Sloppy hobbled to the bench by the door, sat down, and emptied the glass his host hastened to bring.
'Gosh ! I needed that one,' he said, but refused a second. 'I've bin fightin' shy o' liquor lately, but I reckon a fella who can't take one an' leave it at that ain't o' much account.'
'Shorely,' the rancher agreed, and then, 'You think a lot o' the marshal, don't you?'
