CHAPTER VI. AT THE “SILVER STAR.”
“Hands up!”
The command rang simultaneously from three directions. After a startled interval, during which many arms made unconscious gestures toward many hips, every hand was raised. These men that lined the counter, and crowded the sloppy tables of the “Silver Star,” were rough creatures all of them—men that had ridden weary miles, borne bitter hardships, and faced death in countless forms, in every State west of the Mississippi! But this was different. They were awed. More than one strong face paled. The silence became intense.
From every window at least two bright rings of metal—remorseless eyes of the grim forty-four—were turned upon them. And behind each weapon was the motionless, black figure of one of the dreaded night-riders!
The costume of the visitors consisted of a long, effuse garment which fell almost to the feet, and was topped by a cape, so arranged as to cover the back and breast while leaving the arms free. It was surmounted by a round helmet-like hood. A flap, which fell like the chain-mail of the knights of the Middle Ages from under the hood, and in which oblong horizontal apertures were cut for the eyes, effectively concealed the entire head and face. The sinister blackness of the habit was relieved by just one thing—the even more sinister red “J” on the right breast of each rider!
One of the visitors, distinguished by his height, his powerful shoulders, and the slightly larger “J” on his arm, advanced into the saloon. The men gave way before him, and he stood alone before the bar.
“Keep quiet,” he said in a clear, emotionless voice, “and there will be no trouble.”
Nevertheless, from the back of the crowd, a voice spoke. “I know you,” it snarled. “Tryin’ to work the Ku Klux Klan again, eh? Well, that old game won’t go in this town!”
Very quietly half a dozen revolvers focused themselves on the unprepossessing face of “Wasp” Williams, rising above the heads of his companions. He did not speak again.
The black-robed figure in the center eyed the silent assembly keenly for a moment, then beckoned toward the door. Another figure entered, carrying several articles. It climbed nimbly upon the bar, straddled the space between it and the wide shelf where the array of bottled liquor stood, and, with leisurely attention to symmetry and design, pasted two posters upon the mirror behind. Then it coming down again. It stood for a moment beside the other, and seemed to be dwarfed by comparison. Its eyes could be seen traveling slowly over the speechless crowd. Finally, with a gesture plainly expressive of contempt and disappointment, it turned and passed out as silently as it had come.
The posters were printed in large, black letters, and at the bottom of each was the now familiar red “J.”
The tall man before the bar again addressed the crowd. His voice was quiet; but there was a quality in it which conveyed a stern warning.
“Just a word or two before we leave. This organization has been formed in the interests of decency and justice. It will exist just as long as it is necessary—and no longer. No man who is decent and straight has anything to fear from us.
“One of these posters announces an election three days from now. It is time this town had a mayor, a sheriff, and tome sort of governing body and authority. We propose to give it a chance to select those. The notice explains all that is necessary. Every man is welcome to vote, and vote as he pleases. Nobody will be molested, no matter how he votes, provided he is peaceable. But you are warned against attempting lawlessness of any kind. It will be put down without mercy!”
He turned, crossed the room, and went out. There was the sound of men getting to horse. A little later all but the four figures at the doors withdrew; and, a moment later still, four others on horseback appeared at the windows, and the ones at the doors also backed out. After a short delay, during which the noise of pawing hoofs and the jingle of trappings entered the silent room, the black figures at the windows suddenly vanished.
A dead instant followed, every one in the saloon standing with hands still up-raised. Then, with an oath, a burly miner, who towered above his fellows, rushed to the door, jerking out his two revolvers as he ran. Fifty yards along the road, a large body of black figures was just getting under way. He fired into the very center of the group.
A little muffled cry came back on the wind, and a figure, strangely smaller and slighter than the others, reeled for a second in the saddle. Instantly, the tall rider who had addressed the crowd, wheeled his horse, glanced at the smaller figure, saw that it was again sitting its horse easily, and galloped back toward the door.
Spurring straight into the stream of bullets that poured from the two revolvers before him, he swiftly closed up the interval. His arm darted from under his cape, and a flash of light stabbed the darkness. The huge man in the doorway clutched once at the jamb for support, then toppled backward. A clean hole in his forehead told that he would never cause trouble again.
Others in the saloon had also hurried toward the windows. But the sight of this sudden retribution stopped them in their tracks.
The avenger waited a moment, facing them unmovingly, then rode back to his comrades. After a deliberate delay, the black band, unmolested, trotted quietly away.
Back in the saloon, the pause held but a moment, broke, and left the crowd in uproar. One or two ran out into the road and sent a belated, scattered, and harmless volley after the riders. Others examined the fallen miner; but it was evident that he was past assistance, and scant attention was given him. It was the way of the youthful West to pay ready homage to any one who could amuse, interest, or terrorize it; but, once a leader went down, it turned readily and quickly to any one else who could take his place. There were not a few who openly murmured that Simpson had got what he deserved. The majority ignored him completely and surged around the posters.
As the leader of the visitors had said, one was simply an announcement of an election, giving the time, place, and details, and suggesting the names of various men as likely candidates.
The other was a column of seventeen names. Beneath was a curt order giving their bearers forty-eight hours to leave town. The name of “Wasp” Williams headed the list.