INJUN TO THE RESCUE
When Injun dropped to the ground from the barred window, he made off in the darkness toward the corral, dodging behind such objects as seemed likely to offer any concealment, although he figured that pursuit was unlikely, as the men at the ranch-house had their hands full with Whitey. He kept his eyes open for such of the outfit as might be without the house, for he knew that capture would mean, not only his own death, but would destroy the last chance of bringing aid to his pal. Once he had arrived at the high bank of the river, he felt that his chances to escape observation had materially increased, and he set out on a dog-trot to cover the miles that lay between himself and the Bar O ranch.
Meanwhile, the two searching parties, one on either side of the river, were sweeping toward the Cross and Circle ranch, leaving little of the ground unobserved as they proceeded. Acting under Bill Jordan's orders, the parties maintained silence as they drew nearer the Cross and Circle. When they were not more than half a mile distant from it, the party on the left bank of the river suddenly drew up their horses in response to a call that sounded close by, and Injun scrambled over the edge of the bank and ran to them. In a few words Injun told what had happened, and Bill Jordan swung the boy up behind him, called the men to cross from the opposite bank, and the whole party, some fifteen or sixteen strong, was soon headed for the Cross and Circle at a gallop.
Arrived at the ranch-yard, under the guidance of Injun, Jordan located six men at the mouth of the tunnel in case an attempt should be made to escape that way; and with the balance of the party he rode straight for the house. Injun, once he had pointed out the tunnel, slipped away unnoticed and made for the window through which he had escaped.
Inside the house the situation was grave for Whitey. Crowley faced the enraged Ross who was backed up by the more desperate members of the gang. His cool nerve had a disconcerting effect upon the Boss, and it is probable that had he dealt with him alone, he would have been able to prevent him from carrying out his avowed purpose. But it is a difficult thing to keep an eye on several men at once, and by a stealthy and almost imperceptible movement "One-Card" Tucker drew his revolver slowly from its holster.
He stood with his side to the window, at which Injun had posted himself, and there was no doubt as to what Tucker intended to do. But before he had a chance to raise his gun an arrow from Injun's bow pierced the muscles of the man's arm, pinning it to his side!
Tucker dropped to the floor with a howl of agony, and it was a second or two before the other men realized what had happened, for there had been no sound; and until they saw the arrow, which had gone entirely through Tucker's biceps and was imbedded deep in the muscles of his back, they were ignorant of the presence of an unknown enemy.
For a second the men stood dazed—as is always the case when something of a more or less mysteriously disconcerting nature happens—and as they turned hastily toward the windows to ascertain the source of the attack, they saw the Winchesters of the Bar O boys glisten between the bars, and heard the voice of Bill Jordan shout, "Hands up—an' keep 'em up!"
It was the work of but a few moments to complete the capture of the gang. The seven outlaws were faced to the wall, and while they were in this position, and under cover of the Winchesters, Injun squirmed through the bars of the window, relieved the ranchers of their weapons, loosed Whitey's bonds, and then unbarred the heavy door and admitted the Bar O men.
To tie the hands of the outlaws securely behind their backs was the work of a few moments, and then they were faced about.
"A fine gang of high-binders!" commented Bill Jordan, as he looked them over. "I had your number, all right, Yancy, though sence yo' growed them wriskers yo' bin castin' asparagus on the good name o' 'Ross!' I reckon, mebbe, the folks down to Albuquerque 'll be right tickled t' see thet there ugly mug o' your'n—'speci'ly the Sher'ff. An' here's my ol' friend, 'One-Card' Tucker, all ornamented up 'ith arrers an' such! I reckon yo' done drawed yo'r last card, ain't yo', Tucker?"
"That's the meanest scoundrel in the whole outfit!" exclaimed Whitey. "If he'd had his way, I wouldn't be here now! He got that hand by swinging a punch at me when I lay on the floor with my hands tied! It must have been Injun who made a pin-cushion out of him with that arrow!"
"'Pin-cushion' is right!" said Jordan, looking at Tucker's arm; "but I want to tell you, Son, the' ain't no such thing as 'the meanest skunk' in thet bunch—the's all the same kind o' pizen. One's 'bout like t' other."
"No," said Whitey, "you're mistaken about that; there's one man here, Crowley, the foreman, who saved my life twice—once when Tucker wanted to shoot me, and once when Ross tried it. He wouldn't have it, and he stood off the whole gang."
"Which is him?" asked Bill, in an incredulous tone.
"Here he is," said Whitey, pointing to the foreman.
"Step out here, yo' Crowley person, an' lemme have a slant at yo'."
Crowley looked at Bill sullenly, but did not move. "I ain't askin' no favors," he said. "I reckon I kin take my medicine with the rest."
"Seems like yo' was some squeamish in this here matter," said Bill, eyeing Crowley keenly. "I'm s'prised at yo'! Was yo' 'fraid?"
"I reckon I wasn't 'fraid none. I done 'bout ever'thing in my time, but I draw the line at murderin' kids an' wimmen. Thet ain't in my line o' business!" Then adding, indifferently, "Go on with the proceedin's! Don't let me hender yo' none!"
Bill stepped closer to the man and looked intently into his face. "No," he said after a moment, "I guess you wasn't 'fraid!" Then he asked, "Was you ever in Juarez, Mister—er—Crowley?"
"Yes," answered Crowley, "but not recent, I wasn't."
"When?"
"Several times," said Crowley. "Th' las' time was when the' was a right smart o' trouble into Silver-Dollar Joe's place—consider'ble shootin' and such. Havin' the luck to git out with mostly a hull skin, 'cept in a few places, I never felt no call to go back."
"I thought so," said Bill. "Name wasn't 'Crowley' then, was it?" Crowley smiled and shook his head.
Bill walked over to Crowley and turned the man around, and taking out his knife, he cut the rope that bound his hands. Turning to Mr. Sherwood and the rest of the Bar O outfit, he said, "Gents, what I'm doin' is on my own responsibility. Ef the's any objections to it, I'm agreeable to givin' my reasons." He looked about him, and no one seemed to offer any objection.
"Go as fur 's yo' like, Bill," said one or two of the men; and Sherwood nodded.
Bill turned again to Crowley. "Yo' don't b'long to no such outfit as this here!" he said. "Yo' pick out yo'r gun an' Winchester out'n thet pile, an' get onto yo'r pinto an' see how fur yo' kin ride away from these vicinities 'fore sun-up."
Then turning to Mr. Sherwood, Bill said, "Boss, jes' lemme have forty dollars an' charge the same to me, ef you'll be so kind." Mr. Sherwood handed the money to Jordan, who passed it over to Crowley without a word. "Thanks," said the latter, "that's right, as I figger." "Yes," said Jordan, "that's the way I figger it too. Good-by an' good luck."
Crowley turned to go and then hesitated; he looked keenly at Bill, and then he said, "I ain't s'posed to give no state's ev'dence, er nuthin' like thet, be I? 'Cause ef I am, I reckon I'll stay an' play out the string."
"I didn't mention no conditions, did I?" said Bill, a little heatedly.
Crowley turned, picked out his weapons from the pile and then turned to Jordan. "Ef you value the lives o' them hombreys you got lined up there," he said, "I'd advise you to tie up thet boy, too. He's liable to be too rough with 'em."
Then he turned and strode out of the room; and in a few moments the men heard the hoof-beats of his horse as he galloped away.
Bill offered no explanation of his leniency and none was asked; but such was the confidence in Jordan's squareness, that it is improbable that any one felt that an injustice had been done. Certainly Whitey was glad and relieved to know that the man who had twice saved his life had, in a measure, been repaid in his own coin. He also knew that there was a story behind it all—a story of some previous relations that Bill had had with the man—and he resolved to get it out of Jordan at the first favorable opportunity.
"I guess I may as well take my gun, too," said Whitey as he picked up the pearl-handled .22 from the pile that had been taken from the Ross gang, and thus was the gift of little Bobby restored to its rightful owner.
"I was wonderin' how thet puttey-blower come to be in thet outfit?" said Bill, smiling. "You want to look out, Son! Ef yo' should happen t' shoot a man with thet there thing an' he finds it out, he might be vexed!" Whitey grinned, but pocketed the little gun, which turned out to be better than it looked, long afterwards.
The arrival of the Sheriff and a posse simplified matters as far as the disposition of the outlaws was concerned. Jordan had taken the matter in hand immediately after Ross's visit to the Bar O, and had dispatched a messenger for the Sheriff, feeling that he had enough evidence against the Cross and Circle outfit to warrant that proceeding.
After the whole party had explored the place under the guidance of the two boys, and the stolen cattle had been identified, they all came back to the living-room of the ranch. The Sheriff took Jordan and Sherwood aside and said,
"There is another matter that mebbe this here Mr. Ross, as he calls himself, can throw a little light onto, an' that is, how he cum to git possession o' this here ranch. It's a cinch he didn't buy it off'n the former owner, Bradley; and nobody seems to be able to locate where this here Bradley's went to. I was calc'latin' to make some inquiries 'bout it, it havin' bin called to my attention, when yo'r messenger cum. The's some o' Bradley's folks 'd like to know 'bout the transaction."
"Well," said Bill, "I dunno, but 't seems like ef I was Sher'ff an' I got my hooks onto a bird like this here Yancy-Ross person, I dunno 's it'd be necessary to ask the cuss to do any great 'mount of explainin'. The's a powerful lot o' nice trees on the way to the Bar O!"
"So the' is," said the Sheriff, "now 't I cum to think of it! They ain't bore no 'fruit' fer a consider'ble spell, neither, hev they?"
"Not sence them other rustlers was discouraged 'bout three or four years back. Some o' my boys 'd be plumb tickled to death t' escort them hombreys t' jail—er some place."
"Hmm," said the Sheriff, meditatively. "I'll think it over."
At this moment Whitey and Injun came up to Bill, all excitement.
"Pedro isn't here!" said Whitey. "He was here just before you came, but he's not among the prisoners."
"Him Pedro gone!" said Injun laconically.
Jordan was all attention in a second: "Here, Walker, Bob, an' the lot o' yo'—the boys says thet our ol' friend Pedro was here jes' before we cum! Take a gang an' go over this dump with a fine-tooth comb! I'll give fifty dollars to the man thet brings him in, an' I ain't pertic'lar what kind o' condition he's in, neither!"
"Yes, an' I'll add another fifty to it!" put in the Sheriff. "An' the deader he is, the better I'll like it!" he added, heartily. "Thet coyote has cost the county 'bout enough as 't is!"
A thorough search of the house, cellar, and the vicinity failed to reveal any trace of Pedro, much to the chagrin of Bill Jordan, not to mention that of those who were desirous of earning a hundred dollars.
Injun shook his head. "Him Pedro gone!" he said, ruefully. It was a matter of some consequence to Injun—as events turned out.