The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition. Max Brand
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the first of the assault had been launched.
“Drop your gun!” commanded Ronicky, noting from the corner of his eye that the wounded man made no effort to interfere—perhaps he was swooning, as a matter of fact.
Si Treat obeyed without a word, tossing the gun into the shadows.
“Crawl past me,” whispered Ronicky to his captive, “and mind that you go slow so’s nobody can see you from the forest. With the first shot that’s fired, I sink a chunk of lead into your heart, Si! Now move!”
Without answer Silas Treat began obediently to work his way around Ronicky, past the corner of the shack, and down its side until at Ronicky’s order he turned into the interior of the little house.
“Now get back against that wall,” commanded Ronicky, “and keep your hands over your head. That’s right. Hugh, get that rope and tie him, and tie him hard. I ought to stick a knife into the skunk, and I will if he don’t talk out!”
Hugh Dawn, muttering in his astonishment, obeyed and bound their formidable captive tightly. Si Treat, in the meantime, retained an immobile expression, as they could see by the last glimmer of the burning waste.
“Now,” said Ronicky, “talk fast and talk straight. Part of what I’m going to ask you I already know. If I catch you in a lie, it’s the last word you speak. Understand?”
Treat nodded.
“First: Where’s the rest of ‘em?”
“Gone blind,” said the big man savagely, “or else you’d be dead sure, Doone! But they’re gone blind. Most like they’ve sneaked back in the trees to tie up some little cut places where they got nicked. They ain’t got the nerve of Baldy McNair. He kept coming after he was drilled for fair.”
“That’s Baldy lying behind the house?”
“That’s him.”
“Are any of ‘em in the shack next to us here?”
“Nope. Not a soul, unless they sneaked there, and I didn’t see ‘em. But they won’t come that close. They’re licked! The yaller dogs! They’re licked, or they’d of follered me, and then we’d of had you!”
“Maybe,” said Ronicky, stumbling in his haste to get at the desired information, “but Where’s Jack Moon? Did he go down?”
“Moon? I dunno where he is. Maybe he’s deserted. I left him in that little clearing up the hill with the girl. Maybe he’s run off with her. He ain’t showed up since we started the party.”
Ronicky Doone groaned.
“Gone off with Jerry?”
Hugh Dawn inhaled audibly. “It’s a lie!” he cried.
“Look here,” said Silas Treat, in the same singular calm. “I ain’t got any call for lying or playing in with the rest of them swine outside. I done my part. They didn’t do theirs. I’m through with ‘em. All the good ones are done for, anyway, and Moon’s band is busted up. Kent and Bush are dead. Corrigan’s dead. Craig is dead and others along with him, and Baldy McNair is lying on his back nearer death than living. Moon’s band is busted up, and Moon himself has beat it off with a piece of calico. I’ll never trust or foller another man so long’s I live!”
“Gag him!” commanded Ronicky. “Gag him so’s he can’t yell. Hugh, we got to make our break, and we got to make it now. First: Where’s the hosses?”
“Over in the woods behind the third shack.”
“Any of ‘em saddled?”
“Three or four, I guess.”
“That’s all!”
XXVI. ESCAPE
At the word Dawn clapped the gag, which he had meantime improvised, between the teeth of the captive and secured it firmly.
“Now,” said Ronicky, “run for it!”
And he darted through the door, followed at his heels by the older man. Half the distance to the trees they had covered with flying haste when there was a yell behind them—a yell from Silas Treat, who had so quickly worked out the gag that silenced him. Then—he must have burst the cords that held him by an exertion of his tremendous strength and scooped up a fallen revolver—a storm of bullets was driven after the fugitives.
But the distance was great, and Ronicky set the example of dodging from side to side as he ran. In a moment, though, the bullets still whistling and crashing through the boughs around them, Ronicky had reached the safety of the forest and turned panting to Dawn.
“Safe?” he asked.
“Thank Heaven! And you, Ronicky?”
“Make for the hosses. Get two and come back. I’ll keep ‘em dancing to our music while you get ‘em!”
Dawn disappeared, and Ronicky faced the enemy. There was a new confusion of shouts. The enormous voice of Silas Treat was giving directions. The rest of Moon’s shattered crew was coming to the firing line, and a scattering of shots was pumped toward the place where Ronicky had disappeared. He must give them the opinion that he and Dawn were preparing to make at least a short stand in this direction. Accordingly, he began to run from tree to tree, firing two shots in quick succession and then two more from another place, so as to give the effect of a pair of fighters working along the edge of the forest. He was aiming at the flashes on the far side of the clearing, but he had no hope of striking a target, and he was not surprised when no cries of pain greeted his attack. In a moment they would send a couple of men sifting around the edge of the clearing to make a flank attack, but now came Hugh Dawn leading one horse and riding another. One bound carried Ronicky into the saddle, and he and Dawn spurred recklessly into the heart of the woods.
Behind them rose fresh yells of dismay, and the firing ceased. Of course they would pursue, but unless Ronicky were hugely mistaken, they would not pursue far through the darkness of the woods. Dawn was indeed beginning in the east, but the pines were thick enough to shut out the scattered rays of light and leave deep night beneath the lower branches.
And to follow an armed enemy who had proved the sharpness of his teeth through such a thicket as this would probably overtask the worn nerves of the outlaws. Besides, he shrewdly guessed that they had had enough of fighting to last them for many days.
Another interest was larger in the mind of Ronicky. He plunged with Hugh Dawn straight up the slope until he came to the clearing where Treat had said Jack Moon had last gone with the girl.
It was quite empty, as he broke into the open space with his revolver poised. Drawing up his horse with a groan, he cried to Dawn: “Treat was right. The devil has taken Jerry.”
“Ay,” said the despairing father, “devil he is and doubly a devil, but well never get him tonight, Ronicky. He’s taken the grays. I seen that they weren’t among the rest of the hosses, though I looked for ‘em. On the grays he’ll shake his heels in our faces, lad, or the faces of any hosses in these parts. They’ve got the foot. We can’t catch ‘em!”
For answer Ronicky looked a moment in silence at his companion and then whistled a peculiarly high and piercing note, long held. Then he sat with his head canted a little to one side, listening intently.
“How come?” growled Hugh Dawn uneasily. “Calling up Moon’s gang of cutthroats?”
But far away, faint as a small echo, the answer came in the form of a neigh. Ronicky smiled and shook his head at his companion.
“You hear?”
“It’s Lou,” said the other, a little awed. “She’s like a man for sense, Ronicky.”
“Better’n