"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 15 September 1938, Page 12

"SECOND TIME WEST"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

T. C. BRIDGES

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

CHAPTER XXll.—(Continued). All worked according to plan and a little after dark Jim and Luiz were riding together across the flats. Luiz was to ride the first few miles, then turn his beast loose and go on foot. Usually it is cool after sunset in these high valleys. Tonight the air was sultry and long streaks of filmy cloud dulled the stars. Luiz said rain was coming and Jim was glad. The darker the night the better for his purpose. Luiz led out of the valley up through the trees. The trail, no wider than a goat path, grew steeper and still more steep. It was like a rock ladder up the hill face. Luiz pulled up and got off. “Here I send horse back,” he told Jim. “You lead yours, Senor.” Western horses are sure footed and the brown gelding climbed like a mountain sheep. But his coat was black with sweat before the top was reached, and Jim, too, was dripping. Luiz pointed to a glow of light far below. “That Loomis,” he said. “Here I leave you. Vaya con Dios, Senor.” He turned and was gone like a ghost. Jim smiled rather grimly as he started down the long, steep slope. “Go with God,” the boy J had said. It seemed to -him that he would need all the help Providence could give him, for Fame was certainly the Devil. It was hard going yet very much worth while for he reached the outskirts of Loomis without encountering a soul. He couldn’t ride into the town so the first thing was to fund a hiding place for his horse, and in the darkness this was difficult. Then a flicker of sheet lightning showed a thick clump of mesquite and here he left his mount ground-hitched. At that moment a drop of warm rain struck his cheek so he unstrapped his slicker from the back of the saddle and put it on. The slicker was black and, with the collar turned up around his chin, Jim did not think he would be easily recognized. He walked away in the direction of the town.

By the time he reached it the rain was falling heavily, turning the red dust into mud. Jim’s spirits rose, for this downpour would drive everyone to cover. It would also keep Joan within doors though, after what Clancy had said, he strongly suspected that, even it is was fine, Bignal would not allow her to take her usual evening ride Signal’s house was behind the store. Jim could see lights in the windows. There was a fenced yard at the back of the house, but the gate was not locked, and Jim went straight through. With the rain pounding down there was no danger of being heard and not much of being seen. The only risk was from the occasional flashes of lightning. Jim had to chance these and presently reached the back wall of the house. It was an ordinary square frame-built house with the back door in the middle and two windows on each side. The two windows to the right were dark, but from those on the left light streamed out. Jim gained the nearest and found it open., Peeping cautiously over the sill, he looked into a fair-sized kitchen lit by an oil lamp which stood on a central table. To one side was an oil stove over which a girl stood, wearing a blue overall. She was stirring something in a small saucepan. Although her back was turned to him Jim knew instantly that she was Joan Chandler. For a moment he stood watching her firm, graceful figure. Again he felt that choking sensation which had assailed him when he saw her behind the counter in the store. It was no use trying to deceive himself. Joan was the girl he loved. For him no other woman existed. “Joan!” he called softly. The drum of the rain drowned his voice. He spoke a little louder and Joan turned. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with the heat of the stove, but her eyes were troubled as she looked round. Suddenly she saw him and saucepan in hand came swiftly across. “Oh, Jim. You’re safe. I have been so anxious.” Jim’s heart thumped. This was a glimpse of the real Joan. He could see at once that she had been anxious, and realized at that moment that her feeling for him was more than friendship. He longed to spring in through the window and take her in his arms. But this was no time for sentiment. “I’m perfectly safe, Joan. It’s yourself you have to worry about. Is anyone likely to come into the kitchen?” “No, Mr Bignal is still in the store. He is busy, and asked for supper at nine. But you, Jim! Why did you come back here after getting safe

away?” “I had to, Joan. Listen!” In a few quick sentences he told her of the ambush on the Pass and the attack by Farne’s men upon the Painted Cross of the capture of Clancy and what the prisoner had said. Then he went on to speak of the oil. “You see now why Fame intends to marry you tomorrow, Joan. Once you are his wife, all he has to do is to pay up the back taxes on the Circle O, and he is in control. The State law allows him to do that, and there will be no auction.”

“But I won’t marry him,” Joan said sharply. “I have told you that time and again. No man can force a woman to marry him.” Jim leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly. “Joan, supposing Fame came in here tonight and carried you off to the Kettle Drum. You might have to marry him.” “I’d kill myself first,” replied Joan with a shudder of disgust. “There is no need for anything so desperate. I have a horse for you outside. I can put you on a secret path over the hills. You will go to the Painted Cross where Dave Condor? will look after you.”

“How long would that last? Fame would very soon find out where I was. Then he would bring an army. He can raise fifty men at least and Dave and all of you would be wiped out.” “No,” Jim answered. “Tomorrow night our crowd and Ward Haskell’s men are going for Fame. We shall attack the Kettle Drum and finish the business before Fame can get reinforcements.” “Which same is right interesting news,” came a voice from the rainswept darkness close beside Jim and, turning swiftly, he looked right into the muzzle of a revolver held by a man whose skin was so dark he might have been a negro. “Right interesting,” repeated this man with a malicious chuckle, “and Fame will be pleased to hear it. No, don’t move, stranger. If you do it’s likely to be fatal.” CHAPTER XXIII. The man’s voice and his face made Jim realize that the threat was perfectly genuine. He stood still as a rock. He was furious for allowing himself to me trapped in this fashion and every sense was alert for a chance to even up. He knew that, if word reached Fame of this attempted attack on the part of Dave and Ward Haskell, it was fatal. Fame would have time to collect his forces, and the invaders of the Kettle Drum would be ambushed and wiped out. At that moment Jim would willingly have given his own life in exchange for that of his dark-faced adversary. Yet if he went for his own gun the other’s bullet would smash through his body before he had time to draw.

Help came from the last quarter from which he had expected it. Joan’s arm moved swiftly and the dark-faced man screamed as the almost boiling contents of the saucepan swept his face. He dropped his pistol and clapped both hands to his burning eyes. It was no time for mercy. Jim swiftly pulled his own gun and the heavy barrel thudded on the other’s head and dropped him in a limp heap on the muddy ground.

“Thanks, Joan,” Jim said. “You’ve saved everything. Now come at once. Someone may have heard him yell and there isn’t a moment to waste.” “But like this?” exclaimed Joan. “Can’t I get a hat and a coat?” “Not a thing. You can have my slicker.”

Joan did not. remonstrate. She sprang on the sill and Jim lifted hei down. For an instant she was in his arms, and he thrilled as he held her. Then he ripped off his slicker and wrapped here in it. She was quite calm and pointed to the man on the ground. ‘What will you do with him. He is Oram—Black Oram, one of Fame’s men. He may come round.” “Not for a while,” Jim said. “Come, Joan. ,1 can’t do anything until you are safe out of the way.” The rain was slackening but still thick enough to hide them as Jim led the way to the clump of mesquite. His horse stood with drooped head, streaming with water. Jim lifted Joan on to the wet saddle and led the horse to the bottom of■ the pass. There he stopped. “Keep straight up, Joan. The brown horse knows the way. When you reach the rocks get off and lead him. From the top you’ll see the lights of The Cross, but you can let the horse find his own way.” “But you, Jim. What about you? I can’t leave you here, afoot.” “I must go back and attend to Black Oram. I have to put him in some place where he can’t talk. When I’ve done that I shall walk out to the S Bar S. It’s not so far by half as the Painted Cross and Ward will look after me.” “Let me wait for you here,” Joan begged. “No, it’s not safe. Go ahead. I shall be all right.” Joan put out a hand. “You’re a pal, Jim,” she said softly. “Prosperity hasn’t spoiled you as it does most folk. Take care of yourself. I should never be happy if anything happened to you.” “I shall be all right,” Jim repeated firmly: He gave her hand one squeeze and turned quickly away. His head was in a whirl and he dared not stay with Joan a moment longer. It was still raining when he arrived back at Bignal’s house and he was relieved to see that Oram lay where he had fallen. The big question was what to do with the man. It was no use tying and gagging him for someone was sure to find him. Somehow he had to hide him where Fame would not find him, and how he was to do that he had not the faintest notion. Oram lay very still and Jim stooped very quickly and laid his hand over the man’s heart. “He’s dead!” he muttered. For an instant he felt sick. He had never before killed a man in this way. He felt Oram’s head where the blow had fallen, but the bone was not damaged. “Heart failure,” he whispered. He knelt there in the rain, and as the shock passed his brain began to work again. After all this was the best thing that could have happened, for Oram’s mouth was now sealed for ever.

The next thing was to get rid of the body. Where it lay it could be plainly seen by anyone who happened to look out of the window. With an effort he hoisted the dead man on to his back and carried him back through the gate. He reached the nearest patch of mesquite and dropped his gruesome burden among them. It was the best he could do. From the house came a man’s voice. “Joan, Joan, where are you?” So Bignal was back. Another minute and Bignal would make certain that Joan was not in the house. Then the hunt would be up and dozens of men searching in every direction. It was

no use dreaming of getting away afoot. Jim knew that he must have a horse and have one quickly. Wet as the night was there would be horses tied to the hitch rail outside the saloon. He must take the first one handy and risk getting away on it. There was a lane between Bignal’s yard fence and a warehouse. It led into the main street. Keeping close under the wall of Bignal’s house Jim hurried onwards. In the lane it was dark enough but the light from the store window and from the saloo'n made the main street bright. Too bright, Jim thought for his purpose. He reached the corner and, standing in the deep shadow, peered round. (To be Continued.)