The Nightrider's Feud Part 13

The words had hardly pa.s.sed from his lips when there sang over their heads the "zing" of a rifle bullet.

"Thar ye air," shouted Peter. "We mout a-looked for that sh.o.r.e. Git ready, now, an' when ye see a black spot down ther road let 'em have it good an' straight."

"_Bling_!" Another bullet pa.s.sed harmlessly near. "_Bling!_" one was sent back.

"Move up a little, Jack," said Peter, tapping his horse. "I'm not a-feered,--don't want ye ter think that,--but they be too many fer us to stop an' argify with."--"_Bling!_" "_Blang!_"--"Give 'em thunder, boy.

Thar they air!"--"_Bling!_"--"Git to t'other side o' ther road, Jack"--"Blang!"--"we air too close together, so's they cain't hit us so easy."--"_Blang!_" "_Blang!_"--"Keep it a-goin', boy, ye'll git used ter ther ways o' the mountain yet"--"_Blang!_"--"Ther durn fool!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Peter, grunting loudly.

"What's the matter?" asked Wade.

"The tip end o' one o' my fingers is gone clear as a whistle, that's what ther matter is, boy. Give it to 'em, now,--thar they air, but they hain't a-coming so fast. Think we must hit somebody that time. What air they now? I don't see 'em anymore."

"Neither do I. They have given up, Peter, as sure as you live; they've quit the fight. Somebody got a bullet."

"Don't be too sh.o.r.e, boy; they must be foolin' us and' goin' 'round to head us off. I've been through mor'n a dozen sich fights as this,--got two bullet holes in one leg at ther same sc.r.a.p,--but they hain't got old Peter yet. I guess it's all over for this time, Wade. Follow me now, quick. I'm goin' ter give 'em the slip. We'll go clean 'round that hill yonder, an' they won't know whatever become of us, ef they do try to out-trick us."

After skirting the hill in silence, old Peter began again: "That was one good short fight, boy, an' I declare ye air a putty good stayer. Ye kin pull ther trigger 'bout as fast as any Kentuckian as ever fit with me, lessen hit was Rube Willers. I remember one time years ago when I was on t'other side o' ther mountain, when Bill Tulliver's outfit was agin me an' Rube Willers. 'Course we had friends, an' so did they, but Rube could outshoot any feller what ever come into the mountains, an' I seed him put 'bout five holes through Bill Tulliver afore he hit ther ground.

But Bill come near a-gittin' him, sh.o.r.e; he put a hole in Rube's shoulder, an' ef hit'd 'a' been one inch t'other way Rube'd never 'a'

had time ter git anybody after that, he'd never 'a' had time to a-told what struck him. These old mountaineers know how to use ther shootin'-irons, that's sh.o.r.e. But I forgot to ax ye ef ye got hit, did ye?"

"No, I'm safe this time."

"Ye talk like ye mout git a ball some other time, an' ye had better look sharp all the time now. Al Thompson is a lion, but we made him git ter-night, I believe. Don't ye think we've slipped them?"

Jack did.

The gray streaks of dawn were appearing in the eastern horizon and there would likely be no more fighting. Judson and Wade were not far from home now. Being tired and sore, they rode on in silence. Jack Wade was no coward, a coward would never have undertaken the heavy task which he had, but he also was not fond of fighting. Had he lived in the mountains all his life he would have enjoyed the sport, but he had not, there was not so much sport in it for him as there was for old Peter Judson, who knew nothing else.

The trouble between the Judson and Thompson factions could be dated back to the early days, when one Alex Judson, a very young man, shot to death one Bill Allen, a kinsman of the Thompsons, on the streets of the little village. Alex Judson flew to the mountains, and there arose two factions out of the killing. From time to time a Thompson or a Judson was picked off his saddle as he rode over the mountain in the dead of night, but after the death of Alex Judson the trouble had been patched up, and for years had lain still, but only sleeping, not dead. The history began before the present generation came into being, and old Peter's act in clipping Al Thompson's trigger finger off had opened the wound anew, the old sore bled, and the end of the trouble was not yet.

All this and more Peter told Wade as they rode on toward home, finally pulling up at Wade's cabin.

"An' now, Wade," said Peter, "ye air a Judson, an' ye can't expect anything but death. Somebody's a-goin' ter git killed afore this thing is over. Hit may be me, hit may be you, hit may be Jim Thompson or his son Al, an' hit may be Tom. n.o.body knows who it will be till he's done fer."

"I shall be satisfied," replied Wade.

Jack watched the old man out of sorrowful eyes as he rode up the hill leading Tom's horse behind him.

"The old fellow has had much trouble," he thought, "but he seems to enjoy the sport of a feudal fight." Wade attended to his own stock and then lay down for a few hours of rest. The strenuous night had been too much for his nerves, but there was much other trouble before him of which he little dreamed as he lay across his bed to rest. He was not long in falling fast asleep, and it was near noon by the sun when he was awakened by the low whine of Rover standing at the door. Wade rose and shook himself much after the fashion of a dog coming out of the water.

His head felt heavy, his brain dull. The events of the night before were trying to fix themselves in his memory, but he could not shape them. He had faint recollection of all he had gone through from the time of hearing the dog-horn, the two successive rifle shots, his hasty rush through the fields to Judson's, and then, ah, then, of his acceptance of the invitation to go out into the darkness of the night to watch the fun of flogging a farmer. It all pa.s.sed hazily through his sleep-clogged brain. He could now see it all just as it happened, the firing of rifles, his own hasty retreat, the running conversation of old Peter Judson, as he encouraged him to keep up a continuous fire on the dark spots in the road behind them; then Peter's exclamation that the end of his finger had been shot away by the murderous marksmen, the escape, and finally the return to his own cabin.

He could not keep these events out of his memory, they were there as dark spots and would remain so forever. Reaching for his coat, he made the discovery that he had narrowly escaped death, for there, a half-inch from the second b.u.t.ton from the top, was the tell-tale hole made by a Winchester bullet. He could remember now just when the bullet which had nearly taken his life flew by him. He had heard the "zing!" and the "swish!" but had not suspected that it came so close to boring a hole through his heart. A cold shudder ran over him as he thought of the close proximity to death. Ah, well, that was life in the mountains, that was the fulfillment of the "call of the wilds," and he must not now complain. Wade seemed stupefied. All the while he dreamed the good old brown dog looked longingly up into his careworn face, as if to say, "What's the matter, master?" But there was no reply.

Rover whisked about him from one side to the other, in a vain effort to attract him, but the result was the same, the mystic stupefaction was on him, and he cared not for the dog just then. Of a sudden Rover ran out of the door, baying furiously. Wade looked out and discovered the reason for Rover's action. From toward the city came three men on horseback, riding leisurely. Wade watched them closely as they came on. They were strangers so far as he could tell from the distance that separated them.

When they were just opposite the cabin they halted, Wade still watching them. Their actions now seemed a little strange, for one rode around the other two and stood near the gate. Rover was tearing up the earth in his anxiety to get at them. The man near the gate cried out loudly, and Wade, unconscious of lurking danger, went out in answer to the call, unarmed. He had not seen the necessity of arming himself to meet three strangers in bright noonday. The other two lined up near the fence, and when Wade approached, commanding Rover to be quiet, the three men covered him with revolvers. "Hands straight up," said one.

Wade obeyed the command. "What outrage is this?" he asked warmly.

"No outrage at all, friend," said the captain. "It means that we have come to arrest you, and if you make any fuss about it you might be seriously hurt."

"I don't understand," said Wade.

"You will soon enough. You are under arrest in connection with the death of one Lem Franklin, who pa.s.sed in his checks last night with his boots on."

"What proof have you that I know anything of the death of this Franklin?" asked Wade.

"Sufficient to convict you of murder, sir," was the reply.

"I don't know this Franklin at all."

"Likely enough you don't, but the proof of your guilt is sufficient to warrant the arrest."

It was beginning to dawn upon Wade's bewildered mind that he and Judson had dropped one of the enemy during the running fight of the night before. He could see it plainly now, but he knew it would not do to submit willingly and meekly to an arrest which would deprive him of his liberty for a long time.

"I am not armed at all, as you can see," he said, "and I believe it will look better if you gentlemen will lower your revolvers. I will feel more free then to talk with you. You have a serious advantage."

"And we intend to hold it, too," said the captain. "A fellow must get an advantage and keep it in this country. Make ready now, and come on."

Wade looked fire. "I shall not submit," he said hotly.

"Then if you will not, we must force you, and I warn you that one move contrary on your part will cause your immediate death."

"You are a bluffer," said Wade, "and a coward." Jack had now recognized this man.

The latter raised his revolver until it pointed directly at Wade's head.

"You think it a bluff, do you, and that I won't shoot?"

"You won't do any thing fair, that's certain," exclaimed Wade.

The a.s.sistant officers kept very quiet, not offering any way out of the difficulty. The captain got off his horse and stepped toward Wade. "I'll blow your brains out," he said, angrily, "if you don't come out at once."

"You did blow one man's life out recently," said Wade sneeringly, "and I do not doubt but that you would blow my life out, if you were in the dark where two other gentlemen could not look upon the deed."

The peculiar manner in which Wade remarked this caused the two to look one at the other, and the captain turned pale, staggered toward his horse, and replied more cautiously: "I don't understand you, but there is no use to argue the case. You must submit to an arrest, and that as quickly as possible."

Wade knew that his remarks had made a telling blow, and that he now had an equal advantage.

"I will not submit," he replied coolly, "and if you do not leave without further request I shall have this entire country on to you in less time than an hour--even before you could get three miles down the road."

Turning to Rover, Wade said, "Go home, quick, and give the alarm." The good old, well-trained dog, seeming to understand, galloped off in the direction indicated by Wade's pointing finger, while the officers looked after him anxiously. The mark had been struck, however, and the officers, thinking it a good time to depart, said, "We'll get you a little later, old boy." With this they galloped off toward Guthrie.

The man whom Wade had defied was no other than the a.s.sistant officer who accompanied the warehouse man out that fateful night when Fred Conover was so wantonly murdered. Wade had recognized him, and used the knowledge to his own good, and to save himself from the jail at that time.

Thoughtfully Wade made his way slowly up the road toward Judson's home, where he told of what had just happened.

"That," said Peter, "is the work of Al Thompson, sh.o.r.e. He's to the back of it. Seein' as how he couldn't fetch us fair and square with a bullet, he's made up his mind ter git us any way he kin. Apt's not, ef ther truth was known, he shot Franklin in ther back hisself, so's ter say we done it. Hit looks kinder like he was after you specially, Wade, cause he hain't got no right ter know that ye were out last night unless he seed ye or heerd ye a-talkin', or seed Tom's hoss, one t'other. Ef he didn't, he's a-playin' a sneakin' game, that's what. Well, I see I cain't git 'bout, fer awhile, on account o' this hyar finger bein' a little sore, an' Tom, he's walkin' 'bout a little now, an' you an'

him'll hafter kinder keep things a-goin'--keep 'em warm till I git so I kin shoot agin. Ye needn't be afeerd o' them officers a-comin' back agin. They won't do that. Only 'cause ye air putty nigh a stranger hyar that they ever tackled ye 'tall. Thay won't tackle a feller what knows, that's sh.o.r.e. They're skeered o' their shadders, that's what they air."

Old Peter quit talking long enough to put out a plug of tobacco as large as his fist to be replaced with another equally as large, and continued: