The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 44

"You sure, Len?"

"Pretty darned sure."

"Well, we can find out. You set down over there in the window and be reading a paper. I'll go out and follow him. If he comes back this way, you take a good look at him and give me the high sign if it's one of 'em. And if it is, he'll be connectin' up with the other one, sooner or later. I'll jest keep my eye on him, anyway. You say he had on a dark suit and is dark-complexioned and young?"

"Yes--that one. The other was bigger and taller and had light hair and gray eyes. Both of 'em were in their range clothes on number three."

"All right." And the plain-clothes man hastened out and up the street until he had "spotted" Pete, just entering the doorway of the express office.

Pete came out presently, glanced about casually, and started back for the room. Half a block behind him followed the plain-clothes man, who glanced in as he pa.s.sed the hotel. The conductor nodded. The plain-clothes man hastened on down the street. He saw Pete turn a corner several blocks south. When the detective arrived at the corner Pete was just entering the door of the little clothing-store next to the restaurant. Presently Pete came out and crossed to the saloon.

The detective sauntered down the opposite walk and entering the restaurant telephoned to headquarters. Then he called for coffee and sat watching the saloon across the way.

Brevoort, who had been sitting on the bed gazing down at the street, saw Pete turn the corner and enter the store. He also saw the plain-clothes man enter the restaurant and thought nothing of it until presently he saw another man enter the place. These two were talking together at the table near the front window. Brevoort grew suspicious.

The latest arrival had not ordered anything to eat, nor had he greeted the other as men do when they meet. And they did not seem quite the type of men to dine in such a place. Pete, cording his belongings in the new sogun, heard Brevoort muttering something, and turned his head.

"I'm watchin' a couple of fellas acrost the street," explained Brevoort. "Keep back out of sight a minute."

Pete, on his knees, watched Brevoort's face. "Anything wrong, Ed?" he queried presently.

"I dunno. Jest step round behind me. Kin you see that eatin'-place?"

"Yes."

"Did you see either of them guys when you was out on the street?"

"Why, no. Hold on a minute! That one with the gray clothes was standin' on the corner by the express office when I come out. I recollec' now. He was smokin' a cigar."

"Yes. And he thrun it away when he went in there. I seen him at the telephone there on the desk--and pretty soon along comes his friend.

Looks kind of queer that he was up at the Square when you was, and then trails down here where we be."

"You think mebby--"

"I dunno. If it is we better drift out at the back afore any of 'em gits round there."

"And leave our stuff, eh?"

"Yes. We got to move quick. They 're sizin' up this buildin' right now. Don't show yourself. Wait! One of 'em is comin' out and he's headed over here."

Brevoort drew back, and stepping to the door opened it and strode swiftly down the dim hall to a window at its farther end. Below the window was a shed, and beyond the farther edge of the shed-roof was an alley. He hastened back to the room and closed and locked the door.

"You loco?" he growled. Pete had drawn a chair to the window and was sitting there, looking out as casually as though there was no danger whatever.

"I thought you made your get-away," said Pete, turning. "I was jest keepin' that hombre interested in watchin' me. Thought if he seen somebody here he wouldn't make no quick move to follow you."

"So you figured I quit you, eh? And you go and set in that winda so they'd think we was in the room here? And you done it to give me a chanct? Well, you got me wrong. I stick."

"Then I reckon somebody's goin' to git hurt," said Pete, "for I'm goin'

to stick too."

Brevoort shook his head. "The first guy most like come over to ask the boss who's up here in this room. The boss tells him about us. Now, them coyotes sure would like it a heap better to git us out on the street--from behind--than to run up against us holed up here, for they figure somebody'll git hurt. Now you slip down that hall, easy, and drop onto the shed under the winda and fan it down the alley back there. You got a chanct. I sized up the layout."

"Nothin' doin'. Why don't you try it yourself?"

"'Cause they'll git one of us, anyhow, and it'll be the fella that stays."

"Then I'll flip a dollar to see which stays," said Pete.

Before Brevoort could speak, Pete drew a dollar from his pocket and flipped it toward his companion. It fell between them. "I say heads,"

said Pete. And he glanced at the coin, which showed tails. "The dollar says you go, Ed. You want to git a-movin'!"

Brevoort hesitated; Pete rose and urged him toward the door. "So-long, Ed. If you'd 'a' stayed we'd both got shot up. I'll set in the winda so they'll think we 're both here."

"I'll try her," said Brevoort. "But I'd 'a' stayed--only I knowed you wouldn't go. So-long, pardner." He pulled his gun and softly unlocked the door. There was no one in the hall--and no one on the narrow stairway to the right. He tiptoed to the window, climbed out, and let himself down to the shed-roof. From the roof he dropped to the alley, glanced round, and then ran.

Pete locked the door and went back to his chair in front of the window.

He watched the man in the restaurant, who had risen and waved his hand, evidently acknowledging a signal from some one. It was the man Pete had seen near the express office--there was no doubt about that. Pete noticed that he was broad of shoulder, stocky, and wore a heavy gold watch-chain. He disappeared within the doorway below. Presently Pete heard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway--some one who walked with the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A brief interval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some one else ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Some one rapped on the door.

"I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he been apprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not have made a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth this way--trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and no slightest chance to get away . . . He surmised that these men knew that the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidently they did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them that Brevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keep silent?

He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" he called.

"We want to talk to your partner," said a voice.

"He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night."

"Well, we'll talk with you then."

"Go ahead. I'm listenin'."

"Suppose you open the door."

"And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly if he's woke up sudden."

Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then, "All right. We'll come back later."

"Who'll I say wants to see him?" asked Pete.

"He'll know when he sees us. Old friends of his."

Meanwhile Pete had risen and moved softly toward the door. Standing to one side he listened. He heard footsteps along the hall--and the sound of some one descending the stairs. "One of 'em has gone down. The other is in the hall waitin'," he thought. "And both of 'em scared to bust in that door."

He tiptoed back to the window and glanced down. The heavy-shouldered man had crossed the street and was again in the restaurant. Pete saw him step to the telephone. Surmising that the other was telephoning for reinforcements, Pete knew that he would have to act quickly, or surrender. He was not afraid to risk being killed in a running fight.

He was willing to take that chance. But the thought of imprisonment appalled him. To be shut from the sun and the s.p.a.ce of the range--perhaps for life--or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless to make any kind of a fight, without friends or money . . . He thought of The Spider, of Boca, of Montoya, and of Pop Annersley; of Andy White and Bailey. He wondered if Ed Brevoort had got clear of El Paso. He knew that there was some one in the hall, waiting. To make a break for liberty in that direction meant a killing, especially as Brevoort was supposed to be in the room. "I'll keep 'em guessin'," he told himself, and went back to his chair by the window. And if there was supposed to be another man in the room, why not carry on the play--for the benefit of the watcher across the street? Every minute would count for or against Brevoort's escape.

Thrusting aside all thought of his own precarious situation, Pete began a brisk conversation with his supposed companion. "How does your head feel?" he queried, leaning forward and addressing the empty bed. He nodded as if concurring in the answer.

Then, "Uh-huh! Well, you look it, all right!"

"You don't want no breakfast? Well, I done had mine."