"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 September 1938, Page 10

"SECOND TIME WEST"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

T. C. BRIDGES

(Author of “Watching Eyes,” “Seven Years’ Sentence,” etc.)

CHAPTER XIX. —(Continued). Yells of terror rose and echoed hideously along the vaulted roof. It is a strange thing that men who will risk death by bullet go all to pieces when caught by unknown peril. “Jim, what have you done?” gasped Nat in horror-stricken tone. “Started a slide,” Jim answered. “I knew the stuff was loose. That’s why I wouldn’t let you shoot.” The rattle rose to a roar drowning the cries of the victims. From their safe perch Jim and Nat could hear the stuff cascading into the depths of the pit, carrying with it the bodies of the killers. Before the sound had finished Jim was on his feet. “Now’s our chance. The men outside will be properly rattled. They won’t know what’s happened, and we’ll get them before they find out.” ( CHAPTER XX. Jim led the way along the shelf back toward the mouth of the cave and Nat followed. It was perilous work in the black dark, with nothing to guide them but the patch of dim light at the entrance. They stumbled over rocks and barked their shins, but the rumble of the shale still pouring into that bottomless pit drowned the lesser noises they made. The shelf ended so suddenly that Jim nearly took a fall. He saved himself just in time and swung down to the floor of the pit and he and Nat crept along as quickly as they dared, keeping close under the wall. Gray Boy was still where they had left him, badly frightened, but unhurt and, passing behind him, Jim paused and peered around the shoulder of rock. The last of the loosened shale had failed into the depths, and the silence was uncanny after the long-dawn thunder of sound. From just outside the mouth came a voice thin and sharp with fright. “What’s happened, Bolan? Sounded like the bottom of the cave fell out.’’ “Just about what did happen,” was the grim reply. “Reckon they’ve all been killed together.” Two men were plainly outlined against the starshine. Jim could not see any other. “Not all,” he said curtly. “Put your hands up. You’re covered.” The man called Bolan, trusting no doubt to the dim light and to the fact that his gun was actually in his hand, raised it swiftly and fired. A burning pain shot across Jim’s forehead and he dropped. Half consciously he heard Nat’s heavy pistol roar in his ear. Five shots followed one another with almost the speed of a machine gun. “Got ’em both,” he heard Nat say with fierce satisfaction. Then he was bending over Jim. “How bad it is, son?” he asked in a very different tone. Jim tried to answer, but his voice failed and he slipped away into' unconsciousness. He came to with the welcome coolness of water splashing on his face. His head ached vilely but he was able to open his eyes. A small fire of pinon cones was burning and the red light shone on Nat’s anxious face. Nat had his hat full of water and with, a handkerchief was wiping blood from Jim’s forehead. “He didn’t hit you,” Nat said, but you surely had a close call. The bullet struck the rock just level with your head and a splinter of stone or lead cut your across the forehead. You lost a lot of blood, but the wound ain’t anything to worry about.” “Give me a drink and I’ll be all right,” Jim. told him and, as the cold water flowed down his parched throat, he felt his strength come back. He looked round and saw two bodies flat on the ledge outside the cave. “Good shooting, Nat,” he said grave-

ly “Lucky I’d call it,” Nat replied. “Specially in this light. We’ve come out of this mighty well, Jim. There was three came into the cave an there’s the other two, so Fame’s short of five gunmen. All I hope is he didn t get any of the other boys.” “We’d better go and see,” Jim said as he sat up. Then his face fell. “I forgot. We’ve only one horse.” “You’re dreaming,” Nat retorted. "We got six. That is, if the noise ain’t scared them Kettle Drum broncs. You lie here and rest while I round me up a mount. He walked away up the pass but Jim could not keep still. He got up and looked at the dead men. He shivered —not from any feeling of remorse, for these men were human wolves, but because the sight brought back that day, years ago, when he had stood over the dead body of Wesley Garnett and realized that now he would have to fly for his life. So Nat found him when he returned leading a sturdy skewbald. “I took the saddles and bridles off the others and turned ’em loose,” he told Jim. “They’ll find their way home, but what are we going to do with these?”—pointing to the bodies. “Bad as they be, it don't seem right to leave ’em to the buzzards. “Carry them into the cave and pile rocks over them,” Jim suggested, and this they did. Nat took a flask out of his pocket. “Found this in one of the saddle bags,” he said. “Reckon a swallow won’t hurt us.” It was corn whisky, almost pure alcohol, the sort known as “forty-rod,” and one mouthful was enough for Jim. Yet it gave him just the stimulus he needed, and presently the two were in the saddle and had reached the crest of the pass. The trail widened and they were able to ride abreast. “What comes now?” Jim asked. “War,” was the grim answer. “That’s, started already. I’m asking what Fame will do when he finds he s lost five of his killers.” “Hire fifteen more, I reckon.” “Can he get them?” “Sure he can, so long as he s got

the money to pay them.” “And when he’s got them?” “He’ll use ’em.” “Attack us, you mean.” “Right away,” said Nat. Jim considered a little. “Then wouldn’t it be a good notion to get in first whack?” Nat turned in his saddle and looked at Jim. “It might,” he agreed slowly. “With our lot and Haskell’s we could make it hot for them. Reckon we better put it up to Dave.” They turned a corner and the great valley, deep, dark, and mysterious lay beneath them. “What’s that?” Jim’s voice was sharp as he pointed to a glare of blood-red light in the distance. Nat pulled up short. “It’s the ranch! Fame has got in the first whack.” He touched his horse with the spur and the beast sprang forward. Jim followed and the two rode hell for leather down the pass. Lucky for them that the trail was fairly good and that their mounts were surefooted as two goats. They were still together when they reached the level floor of the valley and neck and neck they raced over the wide grasslands towards the ever-mounting plume of flame. As they came nearer the faint pop pop of shots was heard and Nat checked a moment. “It ain’t the ranch. It's a rick,” he said to Jim in a tone of intense relief, “And Dave’s holding ’em off. See the flashes from the windows. Take a pull on your horse. No use running into it bull-headed.” The advice was good. Not one rick but three were burning, and the blaze lit up everything for hundreds of yards round. Fortunately these ricks stood on lower ground than the ranch house and its surrounding buildings; fortunately, too, there was no wind, so, though sparks rose to a great height, the buildings were in no particular danger. “Better leave our horses in the cottonwoods by the river,” Jim suggested. “Then we can slip up afoot and get round to the back of Fame’s crowd. They’re in behind the wdgon sheds.” Nat agreed, so they left their sweating horses in the trees, slackened the girths, then forded the stream and went round to the left, towards the horse corral. They had to crawl across a short space of open ground, then, reaching a belt of timber which shaded the western edge of the corral, were able to get to their feet again. Nat was for running, but Jim checked him. “They may have men this side,” he whispered. “If Lopez is in charge they’re almost sure to. He’s cunning as a fox.”

“You may be right at that,” Nat agreed and, guns in hand, the two slipped quietly from tree to tree. All the time firing went on—not continuously but in short bursts. It seemed to Jim that the attacking party were trying to creep up on the east side of the house under cover of the buildings. It was Jim who spotted the enemy. One of the stacks collapsed, a great uprush of flame made everything for a moment as light as day and revealed a man with a rifle sheltering behind a tree trunk. His back was to Jim and Nat, and he was watching the house. Jim caught Nat by the arm and pointed to the fellow.

“Wait! I’ll get him,” he whispered, and before Nat could reply was creeping forward. Intent on the house, the fellow never dreamed of danger from behind, and Jim was within a yard before the other heard him and turned. He opened his mouth to yell, but the yell was never uttered, for Jim’s heavy pistol swept downward, and the barrel cracked across the man’s skull. He crumpled and dropped without a sound. “That’s six,” said Nat as he set to work to tie and gag the fellow. “We are sure getting a tally.” They left him where he lay, and moving on cautiously, gained the rough rocky hillside behind the terrace on which the ranch house stood. Here they found plenty of cover, and moving in an easterly direction among the rocks and bushes reached a spot just above the outbuildings. They were in shadow, but were able to see the enemy or some of them sheltering behind the buildings and firing at the house. “Hell! there’s a dozen of ’em,” growled Nat disgustedly. “More, most likely, for we can’t see ’em all. We can’t run in on ’em for there’s too much light. And we’re too far off to make any sort of shooting with short guns. Looks like we’ve took all this trouble for nothing.” Jim looked round. “Where do you reckon they’re put their horses?” he asked. “Horses,” repeated Nat, then chuckled suddenly. “You’re the lad with the brains. You mean we find ’em and turn ’em loose.” “That’s the idea,” Jim agreed modestly. “I was cowboy long enough to know how it rattles a man to be set afoot.” Nat considered, then pointed to a clump of trees a couple of hundred yards away in an easterly direction. “That’s the likeliest spot.” “Then let’s try it. If we can stampede the lot Lopez’s men are bound to see or hear ’em. Some will go after them and then we get our chance.” “We’ll do that very thing,” Nat declared joyously, and off they went. There was nothing difficult in reaching the trees and, sure enough, there were the horses —fifteen in all so far as they could count. Nat frowned. “Dog-gone if he ain’t brought an army. Fame’s sure honing to make a job of it,” he said in Jim’s ear. “But you’re right, Jim. If we turn this cavvy adrift that’s going to rattle ’em bad.” “Go slow,” Jim advised. There may be a guard with them.” (To be Continued.)