Curly Part 15

CHAPTER XII

THE CITY BOILING OVER

Once I remember seeing an old bear roped in the desert by cowboys, and dragged by the scruff of his neck into the fierce electric glare of a Western city. Some female tourists said he looked dreadful rough, a school ma'am squealed out he was dangerous, a preacher allowed he was savage, but n.o.body made excuses for that old bear. Now I reckon that I'm just like Mr. Bear, dragged sudden off the range into the indecent light of civilization. n.o.body is going to make allowances for me if I look dreadful rough, and savage, and dangerous. I own up I've no excuse. Bear and I were raised outside the p.r.i.c.kly fences of your laws, beyond the shelter of your respectable customs, exposed to all the heat and cold, the light and darkness, the good and the bad of life. Bear, he has teeth and claws, as I have horse and gun; but both of us fight or go dead, for that is our business. If you're shocked, quit reading; but if you want more, read on.

When I knew that Balshannon was due to be shot I set a trap, and all the desperadoes at Grave City walked right into it. I had the men picked out who would make a good loss, sent out the invitations to them in Ryan's name, and had a hand-bell clanged to call them in for the ceremonies. If Ryan only played fair there would be no killing, but if he acted foul there was going to be a sure enough ma.s.sacre. Why, it was only right that on the death of a great chief like Balshannon servants should go with him to the other world. That was all known to my three masked men in ambush, and when Ryan acted foul he was sent with Louisiana, Beef Jones, and four others, all desperadoes, to wait upon Balshannon--beyond the flames and smoke of his funeral honours.

For a naturally cautious and timid man I took fool risks in exposing Curly to that danger; but honest range-raised fighters are more than a match for the drunken town swabs who had to be dispersed. Besides, my youngsters were not the kind to stay put in a place of safety. After the fight, if there was one, I knew that the fire-bell would call up the whole of the citizens, and the news would spread swifter than flames, of masked robbers attacking a saloon right in the middle of their peaceful town. They would be displeased, and rather apt to send in their little account to me, which made me blush to think of, because I lay myself out to be a modest man.

When I got through with shooting out all the lights my men quit firing to haul me through the window. Now all four of us were in the alley-way, between the saloon and the post office, barred off from the main street by a high gate, while our line of escape was open to the rear. Being shy of recognition, I tied on a mask, and reloaded my gun, planning the next move rapid in my head. Then I called off my men to the tail end of the house, posting one to kill anybody who tried to get out by my window. I was scheming a raid into the house to rescue Curly and Jim, but just for a moment my riders hung back scared.

"Come along, you tigers!" says I. There was no need to risk our lives, for through the black silence of the house came a sudden blaze of guns and rush of men. Curly and Jim had broken cover at last, so we had only to let them come, rolling out head over heels in no end of a hurry. As soon as they were clear we handed in lead to the crowd, stampeded them, and sprinkled their tails. They were surely discouraged.

The next thing was to mount our horses and reload guns while we rode off slow. Jim was shaking all over, Curly was sobbing aloud, Monte, one of my boys, was groaning because a bullet had burned his cheek, Ute breathing like a gone horse, and Custer making little yelps of joy--all of us scary as cats with our nerves on the jump, the same being natural after a red-hot fight. We pulled out by the south end of the city.

"Now," said I, "you, Curly, and you, Jim, light out ahead and keep a-flying for old Mexico."

Curly howled, "We ain't goin' to leave you!"

I had to make my meaning quick and plain before he knew I was earnest.

As to Jim, I cut his words dead short--and so they quit me streaking off to the south.

"Now, you-all!" I turned to my tigers.

Custer let out his yelp, and Ute grinned ugly, and both of them thought all the world of me for getting them into trouble.

"Monte," says I, "go home and fix that wound."

He circled off.

"Well," says I, "if you other two play any more tiger to-night, I'll rip your lives out. You got to be plumb good citizens, 'cause them people in the 'Sepulchre' have seen about ten masked robbers, which they'll surely hunt. So off with them masks quick," and I threw mine in the road.

"Now," says I, "we'll see if the general public is going to help us to get them robbers and kill them."

So we three trotted grave and innocent up Main Street, where scores of citizens were saddling, mounting, and gathering, the swift men calling the laggards. In the lead rode Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, coming on rapid.

"h.e.l.lo," he called, "you, Chalkeye!"

I swung in beside him. "What's the delay?" says I.

"How many robbers?"

"Ten masked men, come on! They're McCalmont's gang."

Custer and Ute were calling the rest to hustle. "Ten masked robbers,"

they shouted, "heading down for Naco!"

"Thought you was in the 'Sepulchre'!" says Pedersen.

"I was till I'd shot out the lights," says I; "them crazy idiots there were handing out lead at me."

"Where did you see them robbers?"

"In the back street. They wounded my boy Monte, so I had to send him home. Say, look at that!"

Ahead on the white road, plain in the moonlight, lay something black, so I swung down my arm in pa.s.sing, and took a grab. "What d'ye make of this, eh, Pedersen?"

"A silk mask," says he. "Thanks, Chalkeye--you've got us on the right trail, anyways."

"But watch these tracks," say I; "look there--they're quitting the main road--swing out!"

Curly and Jim had struck straight south down the road, so I pointed the whole pursuit well off to the right, south-west for Naco, and made believe I saw another mask among the stones. If dangerous robbers were hard to see through the moonshine, that was no fault of mine. If the citizens wanted to go riding out by moonlight, I surely gave them heaps good exercise.

Meanwhile that Curly was herding Jim down towards the Mexican boundary; but both the lads were rattled, and their nerves had gone all to smash.

Jim had dumb yearnings to go back and eat up citizens, Curly was trying to cry with one lip while he laughed with the other. Then Jim told Curly not to be a coward, and Curly laughed with the tears rolling down his face.

"I wisht I was daid," he howled, "I wisht I was daid. I done murdered Beef Jones, and there's his ole hawss a-waiting to take him home. He loved that hawss."

"And you a robber!" says Jim, mighty scornful. Jim had only courage, a thing which is usual to all sorts of men and beasts, but Curly had something bigger--brains, judgment, the lion heart, the eagle sight, the woman gentleness, a child's own innocence, and heaven's unselfishness.

"I'm a sure coward," he sobbed.

"Brace up, youngster. I saw you kill both Beef and Louisiana, but now you're gone all rotten."

"Between the eyes, I got Pete between the eyes! I seen his eyes goin' up all white--the hole between--oh, how I wisht I was daid!"

"Poor little beggar! And one would think this was the first time you'd ever seen a gun-fight."

"I never seen one, never until now."

"And you McCalmont's son!"

"You needn't let on to him that y'u seen me--human. Wall," he braced himself up, "I'm only a range wolf, so what's the odds, Jim?"

"Well, what's wrong now?"

"Do you know you're outlawed too? Old Chalkeye masked his riders, he played robbers, I showed wolf, and you're done branded with the range wolves now."

Jim swung round in the saddle, looking back at Grave City, a bad sample surely among cities, but still ent.i.tled to wave Old Glory high, the flag of honest men, of civilisation.

He set his teeth and swung to his trail again.

"If honesty is _that_," says he determinedly, "I'll herd with thieves."

"I don't like the smell of this trail," says Curly, "none. The City Marshal is riding up from Bisley with his posse. Let's strike west, then circle the town, then north, to father's camp."