"Shore; in a strong sack, like you said," replied the storekeeper. "I put in a few more cans of tomatoes, seein' as they're handy when there ain't no drinkin' water near."
"Yo're usin' yore head," commended Johnny, and turned to Dave. "I'm goin' to th SV to let Cimarron's boys know that there's trouble comin', shore. You don't know when I'll be back or where I'm goin'; but I reckon mebby th' whole town will hear me, when I do come back. Somethin's goin' to bust loose tomorrow. I ain't no blind fool. Good night."
CHAPTER XXII
THE ULTIMATUM
There was movement on the Gunsight trail at an early morning hour. Five men rode to within half a mile of the town and then halted for a final consultation, which was soon over. Three rode westward at a walk, another went on, bearing slightly to the east, while the fifth, dismounting, led his horse from the trail, picketed it in a steep-walled ravine and went north on foot.
The eastern sky paled, grew silvery, and then became tinted with red and gold. A man crouched behind the hotel shed, swearing softly because he heard no sounds of a horse within it. He snuggled close to a knothole, peering at the hotel wall not far from him, and the rifle in his hand was full cocked. Behind the saloon shed another man had thrust his rifle through a crack and as the light increased, he cuddled his cheek against the stock and peered along the sights into an open window in the rear wall of the hotel. Lying in a clump of weeds north of the saloon and near the trail was another rifleman, who could see Dave's north wall and the front of the saloon as well. A fourth had settled down in the end of a shallow gully across the trail from Dailey's store, his Winchester needing but to move over a short arc to cover the door of the saloon. It was point-blank range for him, and in this matter he was no better off than his three friends. The fifth, the angry and determined foreman of the Bar H, not finding cover as close as he would have liked, was forced to ensconce himself over two hundred yards from the front of the hotel, and a little to the right of Jerry's shop, where he kept turning problems over in his mind. Desperate ailments called for desperate cures, and if Gunsight objected as to methods, then it would have to object in the persons of the three easy-going inhabitants who were likely to be offended. The actions of the Double X were far more serious, but had to be risked if life were to be worth living for the outfit of the Bar H. With the coming of dawn Big Tom pondered less and looked more, his rifle at his shoulder, ready for instant use.
Back on the trail there was silent movement as an indistinct and bootless figure crossed it and paused, waiting for light. The darkness thinned and the figure moved forward again, bent over close to the boot marks on the ground, which it followed with slow sureness. The stockinged feet made no sound, avoiding twigs and dead leaves, and not an out-thrust branch whipped or scraped as the man worked forward. He carried a heavy Sharp's, the heel of his hand over the cocked hammer, his fingers covering the trigger guard as an extra precaution against accidental discharge.
The few buildings in Gunsight appeared as though a curtain were slowly rising and finally stood revealed in their entirety. The sun rose and threw soft, delicate shadows from the bases of all standing objects, too weak to mark their patterns far, melting into oblivion. A door slammed, sounding irreverent and out of place, and from the hotel chimney curled a timid wisp of smoke, this way and that, finally climbing straight up and losing its identity against the gray-blue of the sky, while its supporting column twisted and turned and danced as it hurried to self-effacement. Dailey's chimney sent up a skirmishing film, which died out; and then, as if in stalwart support of the fainting advance, there came a darker, thicker column, telling all who cared to read that Dailey put his trust in kerosene. The hotel door opened, causing a quick movement of Big Tom's rifle, and George, sleepy and unpleasant in looks and disposition, glanced idly around and went back again. From far off in the west the quavering, long-drawn wail of a coyote, mercifully tempered by distance, arose to greet the rising sun. Birds sang with delirious abandon and the soft noises in grass and sand and brush told of a waking world. In the vague grayness of the hotel, framed by the open door, something moved, steadily growing plainer and soon took the form of a towel in the hands of George, who drove winged pests before him and, with a final, frenzied waving, took hold of the door and slammed it shut. As it closed Big Tom relaxed, eased his hold on the rifle and reached back to remove a stone which was beginning to assert its presence under him to his growing discomfort. Turning his head, he looked back, and froze, his groping fingers rigid. Ten feet behind him and to his right was the black muzzle of a heavy rifle, and behind that a pair of gray-blue eyes regarded him malevolently through narrow slits in the bronzed face. For a tense, appreciable interval eyes looked into eyes, and then the foreman squirmed.