Curly Part 42

"Why do you torture me?"

"Prefer a meat-ball?"

"Go on, sir."

"I might be induced to hide away these delicacies. Also this"--I kicked the dog's carca.s.s--"in fact to help you some. You could bury the past, and resign yo' post as cook."

"The news will come out, and I'll be murdered anyway. What's the good?"

"There being no ransom," says I, "the use for you here ain't much conspicuous. As a cook you're precarious, too. Suppose I get you turned loose?"

"I'll pay one hundred thousand dollars the day you set me free in the nearest town."

How could I tell the poor brute that he had not a dollar left in the whole world?

"Two hundred thousand," says he, "and that's my last word."

A man came to the door behind me, which opened on the yard. There hung a long iron crowbar, bent up in the form of a triangle. The man began to beat this with a horseshoe, and the sound would carry maybe a quarter-mile.

"Name your own terms," says Ryan. "Come, name your price!"

"You does me too much honour," says I, for how could I tell him the facts?

"What do I care for your honour?" Ryan had played like a sneaking coyote before, but now he talked out like a man. "I've bought better men than you with a hundred dollars, and now I'm going to insult you with hard cash. Your price, you thief!"

The sound of the gong must have been a gathering signal, for men were straying in from the corrals, and there was soon a tramping of feet and buff of talk from the messroom at my back.

"D'ye think," says Ryan, "that I'd be under any obligations to such as you? I ask no favours. I only try to make it worth your while to do what's right for once. Come, have you any manhood in you? I appeal to your manhood to save me. Oh, turn your back, you hound!"

I ran to my saddle in the yard, opened my warbags, grabbed out a pad of paper and fountain-pen, then pushed my way through the growing crowd about the messroom doors, until I won back to the kitchen.

"Ryan," says I, "set down on that meat block, and write down what I say in yo' own words."

"What new treachery is this?" he asked.

"If you want to live," I answered, "you'd best get a move on, and write."

The row in the messroom made it hard for him to hear, so I drew up close.

"Memorandum," says I, and he began to scribble; "date it 'Robbers'

Roost, Utah.'"

"But this is California!"

"Write what I say, 'October 13th, 1900.'"

Michael Ryan confessed on oath how he had aided and abetted George Ryan in a plot to destroy Balshannon. He confessed to perjury at the Ryan inquest, naming the witnesses and the amounts he paid to each. He released the Holy Cross estate from all claims on the ground of debt, restoring the same to Jim. He swore that Jim, Curly, and I were not among the brigands who captured him, and he believed all three of us to be innocent.

As to these facts, I had to convince him with a meat ball, but in the end he signed.

Then I got in a brace of independent robbers to sign as witnesses, so the thing looked mighty legal and satisfying. Meanwhile in the messroom I could hear McCalmont calling his wolves to order, and my witnesses went away to hear his talk.

"Ryan," says I, sitting down beside him, "you know the points of the compa.s.s?"

"I guess."

"I'm going to explain the trail to the nearest settlement; see here." So I began to scribble out a map showing the lie of the Canons, the route to where we had left the boats, the signs to guide him beyond. "When you see this big b.u.t.te towering high on the right----" I looked up, and found he was not listening, for he pointed his ears to the messroom where McCalmont talked.

"Yo're due to understand," the Captain was saying, "that this yere Ryan made a letter which he sent to his wife. He showed me the letter, and it was sure fine scholarship, telling her plain and clear how to scare up his ransom at once, how to deliver the same, and not make crooked plays to get us trapped. Mrs. Ryan she got the letter all right, but then some low-lived swab stole it away from her, and sold it to the N' York _Megaphone_."

Ryan let out a sudden cry.

"That's what's the matter," says McCalmont, "and all the private part of the letter got into print; whar Ryan confesses how he acted foul to pore young Jim du Chesnay. He confesses to perjury and bribing witnesses, an'

sech-like acts of rotten treachery, which the general public havin'

entrusted millions of money to this Ryan to hold and invest the same, ain't pleased when they larns his private manners and customs, or how his manhood proves itself up when tested. The public thinks it's been too trustful in confiding big wealth to a felon who is due to be gaoled for his sins and gathered into the penitentiary."

"Escape," says I to Ryan, "or you ain't got five minutes to live."

"Escape!" says he--"to penitentiary! Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen!" He covered his face with his hands, while McCalmont went on--

"So you see, boys, that the public closes down on this Ryan, and grabs theyr money, and jumps from under sudden, stampeding before the crash.

This pore swab we got in the kitchen, which he cayn't even cook, ain't a millionaire any mo', but a bankrupt, due to get five years' grief for his acts, which is plumb felonious."

It seemed as if all the robbers were stunned with the news, for they made no move or sound. Only poor Ryan groaned, and I felt sick, because I knew it was too late for him even to run.

"Boys," says McCalmont, "this news is bad medicine for we-all, 'cause we done attracted too much attention, we made ourselves plenty conspicuous, and the United States has awoke to a smell of robbers. The nation has got a move on at last, and it's coming up again on us on every side to put our fires out. Ten of our men has deserted, and likewise the Pieface animal, so there'll be plenty guides to lead the attack on this place. I reckon our trails are blocked, our water-holes are held, our time is pretty near expired in this world. I tharfore propose that we divide up what plunder we got in store--the same being considerable--and all share alike, and after that we scatter as best we can. Those of us who win out of this trap is due to live, and those who don't will get a sure good fight."

I heard a voice call out, "Who brung this news?"

"The man who risked his life to bring this news is my friend Chalkeye Davies."

At that I whirled right in through the crowd in the messroom and won to McCalmont's side.

"I got to speak," says I.

The Captain grabbed my hand. "Boys, will you hear him?" he called.

"Spit it out!" says Crazy Hoss. "Yo're a sure enough man, and we'll hear."

"Boys," says I, "if you hold it good to have this warning in time to save yo' lives, I has to say that Curly McCalmont done it. He acted faithful when ten men and a swab deserted you complete, and Curly is sh.o.r.ely braver than any man I ever seen in this world. I speaks for Curly and me, and for the Captain, when I says that it's a hull lot pitiful to see the way this Ryan person has acted straight to own up the wrong he done, and played his cyards honest in the matter of ransom. We asks you to spare the life of this yere Ryan."

Crazy Hoss reared up swift to open war against me.

"I'll spare him!" he shouted. "I'll spare him a gunload of lead! What's yo' game, stranger? Show down yo' hand, and let's see this hull crooked lay-out. I stood at the loophole thar to watch yo' play, I seen you workin over this yere prisoner until he's plumb subdued, and offering bribes. You catch him with a can full of wolf-bait pizen, preparin' the same for our supper; you feed his meat ball to his dawg, which dies on the floor between you; you threatens to stuff another down Ryan's throat; then you makes him good talk till he signs a paper, and now you arises here to recite his virtues, playin' to save his life. Show down yo' game!"

By this time I was facing a matter of twenty revolvers, all a-quiver to drive holes through my poor old hide. Some yelled that Ryan had bribed me, some that I was projecting the death of the whole gang by Ryan's poison.

I threw up my hand, showing the peace sign quick.