Langford of the Three Bars Part 29

The man answered nothing.

"Wing him with your rifle, Jim, before he gets to the barn," said Paul, quickly.

The shot went wild. Black wrenched the door open, sprang upon the already bridled horse, and made a bold dash for the farther woods-and not in the direction where determined men waited in ambush. What did it mean? As his horse cleared the stable, he turned and shot a vindictive challenge to meet his pursuers.

"You won't take me alive-and dead, I won't go alone!"

He plunged forward in a northerly direction. Dimly he could be seen through the underbrush; but plainly could be heard the crackling of branches and the snapping of twigs as his horse whipped through the low lying foliage. Was there, then, another way to the mainland-other than the one over which Johnson and Baker kept guard? How could it be? How Langford longed for his good rifle and its carrying power. But he knew how to use a pistol, too. Both men sent menacing shots after the fugitive. Langford could not account for the strange direction. The only solution was that Black was leading his pursuers a chase through the woods, hoping to decoy them so deeply into the interior that he might, turning suddenly and straightly, gain time for his desperate sprint across the exposed stretch of sand. If this were true, Baker and Johnson would take care of him there.

Black returned the fire vengefully. A bullet sc.r.a.ped his horse's flank.

His hat was shot from his head. He turned savagely in his saddle with a yell of defiance.

"You'll never take me alive!"

The fusillade was furious, but the trees and branches proved Black's friends. It was impossible to judge one's aim aright. His horse staggered. Another bullet sang and purred through the foliage, and the horse fell.

"My G.o.d, Jim!" cried Langford. "My cartridges are out! Give me your gun!"

For answer, Jim sent another bullet whistling forward. Black, rising from his fallen horse, fell back.

"I got him!" yelled Jim, exultantly. He spurred forward.

"Careful, Jim!" warned Langford. "He may be 'playing possum,' you know."

"You stay where you are," cried Jim. "You ain't got no gun. Stay back, you fool Boss!"

Langford laughed a little.

"You're the fool boy, Jim," he said. "I'll go without a gun if you won't give me yours."

They rode cautiously up to the prostrate figure. It was lying face downward, one arm outstretched on the body of the dead horse, the other crumpled under the man's breast. Blood oozed from under his shoulder.

"He's done for," said Jim, in a low voice. In the presence of death, all hatred had gone from him. The man apparently had paid all he could of his debts on earth. The body lying there so low was the body of a real man. Whatever his crimes, he had been a fine type of physical manhood.

He had never cringed. He had died like a man, fighting to the last.

Jim slowly and thoughtfully slipped his revolver into its holster and dismounted. Langford, too, sprang lightly from his saddle.

Black had been waiting for this. His trained ear had no sooner caught the soft rubbing sound of the pistol slipping into its leathern case than he leaped to his feet and stretched out the crumpled arm with its deadly weapon pointing straight at the heart of Langford of the Three Bars.

"Now, d.a.m.n you, we're quits!" he cried, hoa.r.s.ely.

There was not time for Jim to draw, but, agile as a cat, he threw himself against Black's arm and the bullet went wild. For a moment the advantage was his, and he wrested the weapon from Black's hand. It fell to the ground. The two men grappled. The struggle was short and fierce.

Each strove with all the strength of his concentrated hate to keep the other's hand from his belt.

When the feet of the wrestlers left the fallen weapon free, Langford, who had been waiting for this opportunity, sprang forward and seized it with a thrill of satisfaction. Command of the situation was once more his. But the revolver was empty, and he turned to throw himself into the struggle empty-handed. Jim would thus be given a chance to draw.

At that moment, Black twisted his arm free and his hand dropped like a flash to his belt, where there was a revolver that was loaded.

Jim hugged him closely, but it was of no use now. The bullet tore its cruel way through his side. His arms relaxed their hold-he slipped-slowly-down-down. Black shook himself free of him impatiently and wheeled to meet his great enemy.

"Quits at last!" he said, with an ugly smile.

Quits indeed! For Jim, raising himself slightly, was able to draw at last; and even as he spoke, the outlaw fell.

"Jim, my boy," said Langford, huskily. He was kneeling, Jim's head in his arms.

"Well, Boss," said Jim, trying to smile. His eyes were clear.

"It was my affair, Jim, you ought not to have done it," said Langford, brokenly.

"It's all right-Boss-don't you worry-I saw you-in the hall that night.

You are-the Boss. Tell Mary so. Tell her I was-glad-to go-so you could go to her-and it would be-all right. She-loves you-Boss-you needn't be afraid."

"Jim, I cannot bear it; I must go in your stead."

"To Mary-yes." His voice sank lower and lower. An added paleness stole over his face, but his eyes looked into Langford's serenely, almost happily.

"Go-to Mary in my stead-Boss," he whispered. "Tell her Jim gave his Boss-to her-when he had to go-tell her he was glad to go-I used to think it was 'Mouse-hair'-I am glad it is-Mary-tell her good-bye-tell her the Three Bars wouldn't be the same to Jim with a woman in it anyway-tell her-"

And with a sigh Jim died.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PARTY AT THE LAZY S

Mary stared thoughtfully into the mirror. It was a better one than the sliver into which she had looked more than a year before, when Paul Langford came riding over the plains to the Lazy S. A better house had risen from the ashes of the homestead laid waste by the cattle rustlers.

Affairs were well with George Williston now that the hand of no man was against him. He prospered.

Louise stepped to the door.

"I am in despair, Mary," she said, whimsically. "Mrs. White has ordered me out of the kitchen. What do you think of that?"

"Louise! Did you really have the hardihood to presume to encroach on Mother White's preserves-you-a mere bride of five months' standing? You should be grateful she didn't take the broom to you."

"She can cook," said Louise, laughing. "I admit that. I only offered to peel potatoes. When one stops to consider that the whole county is coming to the 'house-warming' of the Lazy S, one can't help being worried about potatoes and such minor things."

"Do you think the whole county is coming, Louise?" asked Mary.

"Of course," said Louise Gordon, positively, slipping away again. She was a welcome guest at the ranch, and her heart was in the success of to-night's party.

Mary had dressed early. As hostess, she had laid aside her short skirt, leather leggings, and other boyish "fixings" which she usually a.s.sumed for better ease in her life of riding. She was clad simply in a long black skirt and white shirt-waist. Her hair was coiled in thick braids about her well-shaped head, lending her a most becoming stateliness.

Would Paul Langford come? He had been bidden. Her father could not know that he would not care to come. Her father did not know that she had sent Langford away that long-ago night in December and that he had not come back-at least to her. Naturally, he had been bidden first to George Williston's 'house-warming.' The men of the Three Bars and of the Lazy S were tried friends-but he would not care to come.

Listen! Some one was coming. It was much too soon for guests. The early October twilight was only now creeping softly over the landscape. It was a still evening. She heard distinctly the rhythmical pound of hoof-beats on the hardened trail. Would the rider go on to Kemah, or would he turn in at the Lazy S?