He thought of the sheriff at the far end of the chaparral and of the repeater he carried, and an inexplicable impulse of generosity surged over him. The sheriff would be pleased to do the rest himself, he thought, and the thought was father to the act. He picked up the Winchester he had brought with him and fired at the bowlder, only wishing to let the Apaches know his position so that they would think the way clear to the northwest, and so innocently give the sheriff a shot at them as they retreated. Dropping the Winchester he took up his Sharps, his pet rifle, with which he had done wonderful shooting, and arose to one knee, supporting his left elbow on the other; between the fingers of his left hand he held a cartridge in order that no time should be lost in reloading. The range was now five hundred yards, and when The Orphan knew the exact range he swore with rage if he missed.
His shot had the effect he hoped it would have, for suddenly there was movement behind the bowlder. A pony’s hip showed for an instant and then leaped from sight as the outlaw reloaded. A cloud of dust arose to the northwest of and behind the bowlder, and a series of close reports sounded from the direction of the sheriff. The Orphan leaped to his feet and dashed out on the plain to where his sight would not be obstructed and saw an Apache, who hung down on the far side of his horse, sweep northward and gallop along the northern trail. He fired, but the range was too great, and the warrior soon dropped from sight over the range of hills. As The Orphan made his way toward the bowlder the sheriff emerged from his shelter and pointed to the west. A pony lay on its side and not far away was the huddled body of its rider.
As they neared each other the outlaw noticed something peculiar about the sheriff’s ear, and his look of inquiry was rewarded. “Stung,” remarked Shields, grinning apologetically. “Just as I shot,” he added in explanation of the Apache’s escape. “Wonder what my wife’ll say?” he mused, nursing the swelling.
The Orphan’s eyes opened a trifle at the sheriff’s last words, and he thought of the war party he had sent north. His decision was immediate: no married man had any business to run risks, and he was glad that he refrained from shooting on sight.
“Sheriff, you vamoose. Clear out now, while you have the chance. Ride west for an hour, and then strike north for Ford’s Station. That buck that got away is due to run into twenty-seven of his friends and relatives that I sent north to meet you. And they won’t waste any time in getting back, neither.”
Shields felt of his ear and laughed softly. He had a sudden, strong liking for his humorous, clever enemy, for he recognized qualities which he had always held in high esteem. While he had waited in the chaparral for the Apaches to break cover he had wondered if the Indians which The Orphan had sent north had been sent for the purpose of meeting him, and now he had the answer. Instead of embittering him against his companion, it increased his respect for that individual’s strategy, and he felt only admiration.
“I saw your reception committee in time to duck,” the sheriff said, laughing. “If they kept on going as they were when I saw them they must have crossed my trail about three hours later. When they hit that it is a safe bet that at least some of them took it up. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll leave both the north and the west alone and take another route home. I have shot up all the war-whoops I care about, so I am well satisfied.”
He suddenly reached down toward his belt, and then looked squarely into The Orphan’s gun, which rested easily on that person’s hip. His hand kept on, however, but more slowly and with but two fingers extended, and disappeared into his chap’s pocket, from which it slowly and gingerly brought forth a package of tobacco and some rice paper. The Orphan looked embarrassed for a second and then laughed softly.
“You’re a square man, Sheriff, but I wasn’t sure,” he said in apology. “So long.”
“That’s all right,” cried the sheriff heartily. “I was a big fool to make a play like that!”