"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 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 XXI. There was no guard and the horses were ground hitched —that is, they stood with the reins hanging over their heads. Western horses are trained to stand in that way. It was a matter of moments only to stip the bridle off each horse in turn. Then Nat gave one a sharp slap on the flank with his open hand and the beast threw up its head and galloped off, followed at once by the rest. All in a bunch, they went pounding down the slope, their hoofs beating the turf like a squadron of cavalry. As they swept out into the wide patch of light flung by the burning ricks, yells came from Fame s men. “Horses are loose. Get on after em, roared a stentorian voice. “That’s Buck Colton,” said Nat. “Let’s get out, Jim. This place ain’t going to be any health resort in the near future.” The two bolted up the hill again, but here their luck deserted them. Some of the Kettle Drum men running out from the buildings spotted them, firing crashed out, and Nat went down like a shot rabbit. “Get me in the leg,” Nat explained swiftly. “Leave me right here. I’ll lay still and they’ll think I’m a goner. You get back to the house and tell em what we done. Leave me here, I tell you,” he repeated, but Jim, stooping swiftly, swung him up on his back and ran for shelter. Bullets whizzed and hummed like wasps, but Jim gained a rock and dropped Nat behind it. As men came running towards them he and Nat opened fire.. In the red light of the dancing flames anything like accurate shooting was impossible. To make it still more difficult their attackers were spread out widely. “Get in above ’em,” shouted Buck Coulton. “They’re the ones as set our horses adrift. Shoot the stuffing out of ’em.” Jim saw two men swing to the left and dive in among the rocks and bushes on the slope. He sent a couple of swift shots but failed to stop them. His spirits sank for there was nothing to protect him and Nat from the rear. In spite of his wound Nat had his wits about him. . “Creep back a bit, Jim, and try and get ’em before they spot you. I’ll hold these fellers off in front.” .... It was good advice, and Jim took it. He had to crawl on his belly like a snake to reach a clump of bushes a dozen paces behind the rock, but he got there unseen, and lay waiting, watching keenly. Behind him the firing was, heavier. Three men at least were trying to get Nat, bullets pinge off the rock, and lead splattered through tne foliage just above his own head. But Nat’s steady shooting kept his opponents at a distance. Jim saw a bush move and plugged a quick shot into it. A yell told him that his bullet had got home Next instant his pistol was wrenched from his hand with a shock that numbed hiswhole arm. The second man, firing at the flash, had been lucky enough to hit Jim’s weapon.Now a ll that Jim could d 0 waS t 0 as flat as possible. He knew that it was only a matter of moments before the raider would realize what had happened, then the end was certain. Again there was a quivering in the wiry branches of a desert shrub. The fellow was creeping up. Nat was stil shooting, but his shots were less freqent. He must, Jim knew, b.e losing a lot of blood, and, plucky as he was, it was not likely he could hold out much longer. The bush shook again, and the red firelight showed the crown of a hat. Jim knew that the fellow was trying the old trick of raising his ha on a stick. Probably he believed that he had finished Jim, but wished to make sure. Behind Jim the firing ceased altogether Either Nat had collapsed or he had used his last cartridge-most likely the former. The idea came to Jim of making a dash back to^Nat and getting his gun. It was almost certain death, tut anything was better than lying where he was and watting I the shot that must surely end his life. Rush 'em! They're finished!" came Coulton's voice. Jim turned his head and saw three men running towards “e rock where Nat lay. At the same moment the Kettle Drum man in front of him raised his pistol. trifWr Before the latter could pull trigge a thundering report roared ou . Screams of agony came from the thr running men. Two toppled, the third swung and fired wildly. A square figure plunged out of the bush above. He flung a shotgun to his shoulder and fired again. The third man went down, then picked himself up and bolted foi his life. “I’ll learn you!” shouted the man with the gun, and Jim almost laughed as he recognized the familiar voice of Noah Trant. It is an odd fact that a man who will stand like a rock against pistol fire can’t stick a shotgun. The fellow opposite Jim got the wind up, sprang to his feet, and, bent double, raced away among the bush. Jim let him go. He was only too glad to see the last of him. “This way!” Jim shouted to Trant. “Nat’s hurt.” Nat, Jim found, had fainted, and, small wonder, for there was a regular pool of blood where he had been lying. “The dirty dogs!” growled Trant, as he started tying up Nat’s leg with his handkerchief. “Looks like they got you, too,” he added, as he noticed the blood-stained handkerchief round Jim’s head. “Nothing to signify,” Jim told him. “Can we get Nat back to the house” “There ain’t no one to stop us far as I know. Them as ain’t dead is running after their horses.” He looked up at Jim. “You did a good job when you turned them horses loose.” “And you did a better with your old scatter gun,” Jim told him. “There was a fellow drawing a bead on me

when you let loose.” “I can’t handle them pistols nohow,’ Trant told him. But I done a bit o’ rabbit shooting whin I were a nipper.” He looked up. “Here come some of the chaps. Now we’ll be all right.” Two of the Painted Cross boys came running. They picked up Nat and carried him in. Jim and Trant followed. Dave Condon met Jim at the door. “I’m mighty glad to see you alive,” were his first words. “I made sure them hounds had got you. Come right in.” He drew Jim into the big hallsitting room and poured him a badly needed drink. “Grub’s ready,” he added. “While you eat you can tell me what happened. Sam will look after Nat.” Jim found himself ravenous and, while he put away stewed beef and vegetables, gave Dave a full account of the whole business. “You got five of ’em up the Pass,” said Dave, “Gee, but that’s good news! And turning them horses loose just about saved us. Looks like we’ve given Fame a nasty knock.” Jim laughed. “I certainly gave him one with the toe of my boot when I fell out of the loft. Is that what started him on this raid” “I wouldn’t wonder. You see he made sure of getting you and Nat and he did get two of our boys. He had fellows laying for you on both roads, and Jack Brili and Tom Stanton rode right into the other lot.” Jim’s eyes went hard. “Killed them” he asked harshly Dave nodded. “Riddled them. Young Burney got away and brought the news. They followed him and, knowing we’d be short handed, I reckon they thought they’d rush the place afore we could stop them. Mistake they made was firing them ricks. That gave us a chance to get our guns. Still it’s odds they’d have had us if you and Nat hadn’t come along when you did. They was working up to fire the house.” Jim’s face was pinched. The death of Brill and Stanton had hit him hard. Dave realized what he was feeling, and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, son. The trouble was bound to come. And thanks to you we’ve won the first round. The loss of those five men is going to cripple Fame quite a bit. “He’s lost more than that,” Jim said. “Trant got two with his gun, I shot another and—l’d almost forgotten—there’s one lying out, tied, by the horse corral. We crept upon him and rapped- him over the head. I’ll go get him.” Dave push him back into his chair. “Stay right where you are and finish your grub. Mart will bring him in.’ He shouted for Mart and Mart who had been helping Sam to dress Nat’s leg, went out. In a few minutes he was back driving the prisoner before him. The man had thick lips, a broad nose and bilious yellowish eyes, with a livid blue scar running all across his left cheek did nothing to improve his appearance. Dave looked him over. “What’s your name,” he asked. “Go to Hades and find out,” retorted the fellow defiantly. “Good advice I’ve no doubt,” said Dave drily. ,7 The Devil knows the names of his servants. Lock him down in the potato cellar, Mart. We’ll keep him there till he’s ready to talk.” “You turn me loose if you know what’s good for you,” the fellow threatened. “Fame will have your scalps for this.” “Fame’s too busy saving his own to worry about you” Mart told him. “We got seven of your crowd already and you’ll be the eighth if you don’t mind your step. Get on!” He drove him out of the room, and presently they heard the trap of the cellar fall with a crash. Sam Loy came in. “Nat all light,” he remarked. “Now I see you head, Giant.” There and then he took off the handkerchief which Nat had tied over Jim’s head, and set to work 'to cleanse and dress the ragged cut on Jim’s forehead. He finished the job as neatly as any doctor, stood back and looked at him. “You all tiled out. You go light to bed.” “Sam’s right,” said Dave. “Turn in, Grant. We’ll fix things up in the morning.” _ Jl'’ “It’s morning, already,” Jim said as he glanced at the clock, the hands of which showed ten past three. He went out of the bunkhouse, got to bed at once, and, in spite of his anxieties, slept soundly. The sun was blazing in through the bunkhouse windows when he woke and everyone else was up and out. A bit stiff but otherwise fresh enough, Jim got up, sluiced himself with cold water, dressed and went across to the house. Everything was quiet and peaceful and, but the the black ashes of the three ricks and some bulletsmashed winows, there was no sign of the battle of the previous night. Sam met him. “You all light, Giant” “Fine,” said Jim. “How’s Nat?” “Him sleep like a coon in a log. Bleakfast leady.” “And I’m ready for breakfast,” Jim assured him. Dave came in just as Jim finished his meal, and told him that he had been down to the cellar to see the prisoner. “He’s plumb tame this morning. I reckon he’ll do most anything to earn his breakfast.” “Will he talk,” Jim asked. “He’ll talk right enough. Mart’s bringing him up.” A minute later Mart came in with the prisoner. A night in the dark chill of the cellar without food or tobacco had taken all the starch out of the fellow, and, as Dave had said, he was quite tame. He looked hungrily at the laden table and sniffed the rich scent of the fried bacon. (To be Continued.)