When I knew that Balshannon was due to be shot I set a trap, and all the desperadoes at Grave City walked right into it. I had the men picked out who would make a good loss, sent out the invitations to them in Ryan's name, and had a hand-bell clanged to call them in for the ceremonies. If Ryan only played fair there would be no killing, but if he acted foul there was going to be a sure enough massacre. Why, it was only right that on the death of a great chief like Balshannon servants should go with him to the other world. That was all known to my three masked men in ambush, and when Ryan acted foul he was sent with Louisiana, Beef Jones, and four others, all desperadoes, to wait upon Balshannon—beyond the flames and smoke of his funeral honours.
For a naturally cautious and timid man I took fool risks in exposing Curly to that danger; but honest range-raised fighters are more than a match for the drunken town swabs who had to be dispersed. Besides, my youngsters were not the kind to stay put in a place of safety. After the fight, if there was one, I knew that the fire-bell would call up the whole of the citizens, and the news would spread swifter than flames, of masked robbers attacking a saloon right in the middle of their peaceful town. They would be displeased, and rather apt to send in their little account to me, which made me blush to think of, because I lay myself out to be a modest man.
When I got through with shooting out all the lights my men quit firing to haul me through the window. Now all four of us were in the alley-way, between the saloon and the post office, barred off from the main street by a high gate, while our line of escape was open to the rear. Being shy of recognition, I tied on a mask, and reloaded my gun, planning the next move rapid in my head. Then I called off my men to the tail end of the house, posting one to kill anybody who tried to get out by my window. I was scheming a raid into the house to rescue Curly and Jim, but just for a moment my riders hung back scared.
"Come along, you tigers!" says I. There was no need to risk our lives, for through the black silence of the house came a sudden blaze of guns and rush of men. Curly and Jim had broken cover at last, so we had only to let them come, rolling out head over heels in no end of a hurry. As soon as they were clear we handed in lead to the crowd, stampeded them, and sprinkled their tails. They were surely discouraged.
The next thing was to mount our horses and reload guns while we rode off slow. Jim was shaking all over, Curly was sobbing aloud, Monte, one of my boys, was groaning because a bullet had burned his cheek, Ute breathing like a gone horse, and Custer making little yelps of joy—all of us scary as cats with our nerves on the jump, the same being natural after a red-hot fight. We pulled out by the south end of the city.
"Now," said I, "you, Curly, and you, Jim, light out ahead and keep a-flying for old Mexico."
Curly howled, "We ain't goin' to leave you!"
I had to make my meaning quick and plain before he knew I was earnest. As to Jim, I cut his words dead short—and so they quit me streaking off to the south.
"Now, you-all!" I turned to my tigers.
Custer let out his yelp, and Ute grinned ugly, and both of them thought all the world of me for getting them into trouble.