The "Wild West" Collection. William MacLeod Raine
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Excepting for the first line of breastworks, the only protection in the flat area of the camp was derived from the masses of stone that had fallen into it, and behind which one or two men could hide. At last it was decided that the prisoners, unarmed as they were, should lie down behind the wall out of danger's way, while the sheepmen should take their chances behind the rocks. Another reason for this was, that it would never do to have the prisoners behind the men who were doing the fighting, ready to attack from the rear at first chance.
Each man had fifty rounds of ammunition, and was a fairly good shot, not, of course, equaling the cowboys in this respect. The prisoners had hardly been placed when, from behind a neighboring hogback, rode a man waving a white handkerchief.
Welsh stepped out of the camp and drove him back before he could talk, realizing the fellow's clever idea of spying on the defenders' position.
The cowboy had little to say except to demand the immediate surrender of the cattle-owners and the delivery up to court martial of half the sheepmen. Jimmie laughed in the messenger's face, and told him to tell whoever was boss of that outfit to come and take anything he wanted, and to come well heeled.
Then he went back to the rocky camp and stood his men up in a row.
"We got to keep our guests another week yet, boys," he said. "Mr. Larkin won't be up the range till that time, and our job is to keep them cowboys occupied so as to hold the range open for the sheep. Now anybody what don't want to take chances with lead can go from here now and get hung by the punchers. If there's many of 'em I allow we won't see Montana ag'in till we're angels; if there ain't, they won't see the Bar T. Now that's the story. One other thing.
"Our guests are out in front. If yuh see any of 'em actin' funny or tryin' to get away, put a hole in 'em an' end that right off. Hear that, boys?" he yelled to the cowmen who were on the ground behind the defense.
"Yep," they shouted, and continued to chaff one another unmercifully in the greatest good-humor.
The old story states that the Spartans prepared for the battle of Thermopyl by oiling their bodies and brushing their hair, much to the surprise of the Persians, who were forever wailing to their gods. This story has come down to us to illustrate solid, supreme courage in the face of certain death.
No less inspiring, though in a different way, was the preparation of Jimmie Welsh and his nine sheepmen. They cracked jokes on the situation, reminded one another of certain private weaknesses under fire, recalled famous range yarns, and enumerated the several hundred things that were going to happen to the enemy during the next few hours.
In all this banter the cowmen joined with their own well-flavored wit.
These facts have been given to show the natures of these men who made the West; who carved, unasked, an empire for the profit of us who live now, and who, in a space of less than forty years, practically passed from the face of the earth. Trained by their environment, they finally conquered it and left it to a more-civilized if softer generation.
At four o'clock of that afternoon came the first attack.
Stelton and his men were under a great disadvantage. In front of the sheepmen's defense was a little plain some three hundred yards across which was bare of any protection. The canopy of rock that overshadowed the camp prevented attack from above or behind. There was nothing for it but an onslaught in the face of a deadly fire.
Suddenly from around the butte that faced the camp poured the charge of the cowboys. Instantly they scattered wide, adopting the circling Indian mode of attack. On they raced to a distance of a hundred, then fifty yards.
Then, as though by preconcerted word, the Winchesters of both parties spoke, and the cowboys, turning at a sharp angle, galloped off out of range with one riderless horse, and two men, clinging, desperately wounded, to their pommels.
Jack Norton, one of the sheepmen, who had exposed himself for a better shot, dropped dead where he stood.
Now there was no word spoken. The helpless cowmen huddled against the wall while the hail of bullets swept over them in both directions, cursed softly to themselves, and smoked cigarettes. The punchers, having learned the lay of the land, drew off for consultation. Half of them were dispatched around the butte that protected the defenders and the plan of attack was changed.
On signal, the parties from both sides charged along the face of the butte toward each other, this movement being calculated to bring them out close to the enclosure without the danger of an attack in front, and at the same time give them the chance to fire upon the sheepmen from a destructive angle at either side.
The maneuver resulted in concentrating the fire within a zone of twenty-five yards, and it was fire so murderous that, before the cowboys could get out of range, ten were dead or wounded, while two of the sheepmen were killed outright and a third was disabled and rolled out into the sun to writhe in agony until his pal ran from cover and dragged him back.
The result was now a foregone conclusion, for the cowboys had solved the difficult problem of attack. Mushrooming out on either side at a distance of three hundred yards, they formed again in the shelter on either side and charged once more.
The wounded man, hearing the drumming of hoofs, seized his revolver, rolled out into the sun, and sat up on the ground. And from this position he emptied his gun at the yelling cowboys until another shot put him out of his misery.
More cowboys fell, and now, in front of the stone breastworks, a dozen bodies lay, some twitching, and others still. The number of the defenders was reduced to five capable of holding and using a weapon, for such marksmen were the punchers that, if they did not kill outright, their bullets inflicted mortal wounds.
Jimmie Welsh was undisturbed and unhurt. He and Newt were sheltered behind one rock, while Tip and Lem defended another, and Chuck Durstine held a third by the side of his dead partner, Red. The fourth charge found them lying on the ground, contrary to their former practice of standing, and they escaped unhurt, although their ability to shoot the mounted punchers above the wall was not diminished. Again they wrought terrible havoc.
"I sure wish I could've cleaned up on that straight flush, Billy," remarked Jimmie Welsh to Speaker.
"So do I, Jimmie," returned the other; "yore bad luck was just breakin'. But, look here. Suppose you fellers quit this business now. I don't relish yore all bein' slaughtered this-a-way, and it's shore a comin' to yuh if yuh don't quit."
"Yuh talk like a Sunday-school class had stampeded on yuh, Billy. I'm surprised!" gibed Welsh. "Mebbe yuh don't like yore flowery bed of ease out there, what?"
"All horsin' aside, I mean it," insisted Speaker. "Yuh better quit now before they come ag'in."
"Yeah, an' get strung up to the nearest tree fer my pains, eh? Oh, no; I like this better; but, of course, if any o' the boys--"
"Naw! What the deuce are yuh talkin' about?" demanded an aggrieved voice, instantly joined by the other three.
"You're wrong, Jimmie; of course, I don't mean that. If yuh'll quit I'll see that yuh don't get strung up."
"You're shore some friendly, Billy," said Jimmie, shaking his head; "but I couldn't never look my boss in the face if I even thought o' quittin'. That ain't what he pays me fer."
"I'll give yuh a job as foreman on the Circle Arrow. I see one of you hellions got my foreman; he's layin' out there kickin' still. What d'ye say?"
"I'm plumb regretful, Billy," returned Welsh, without hesitation; "but I can't do it. Mebbe one o' the boys--"
"Naw!" said the boys in unified contempt.
"Well, yuh pig-headed sons o' misery, go on an' die, then!" cried Speaker, quite out of patience.
"Jest a minute an' we'll oblige yuh, Billy," rejoined Welsh, as the dreaded drumming of hoofs foretold the next charge.
There was a tense moment of waiting, and then the fusillade began again, pitifully weak from the sheepmen. When the horsemen had whirled out of sight Lem and Newt lay groaning on the ground, while Tip O'Niell lay strangling in a torrent of blood that