"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 17 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 XXlV—(Continued) Educated! So, too, was Lopez, Jim thought, and that was what made him so dangerous. He fingered his pistol and knew that the best thing he could possibly do was to put a bullet through Lopez’s head. Were their positions reversed Lopez would have had no hesitation whatever in shooting down Jim, but Jim unfortunately could not bring himself to that sort of cold-decking. Lopez and his companion had stopped in the mouth of the alley way and Lopez spoke again. “I have a hunch the fellow isn’t far from here. He has too much sense to go running around and exhausting himself. The odds are he’s hiding somewhere. He might even be in Signal's house.” “Gosh, he wouldn’t go there,” returned shadley. ‘But I tell you where he might be. That’s up on a roof somewhere.” “That’s a notion,” said Lopez. ‘Quite a notion.” He lowered his voice. “He might even be on this roof. There’s a stable behind. He could have gone over the roof into that. Give me a leg up, Shadley.” “You be careful,” said Shadley. “He’s a shooting son-of-a-gun.” Jim flattened himself against the roof and lay listening. All he hoped was that Lopez’s head would appear within arm’s length of him. The men moved ' a few steps and Jim, though he could not see, could hear. He crawled in the same direction and lay crouched 1 arid waiting. “This’ll do,” came Shadley’s voice. “Step on my shoulders. Up you go!” There was just light enough for Jim to see a pair of hands hooked over the gutter, then the head of Lopez rose in to view. For an instant Lopez’s eyes stared into those of Jim,' and Jim saw; the look of amazement in them. At the same moment Lopez’s lips parted, but whatever sound he was going to make was never uttered, for down swept Jim’s right hand grasping his heavy pistol. Lopez qrumpled like, a wet rag, his limp hands relaxed their grip and he dropped on top of Shadley. “What’s the matter” came Shadley’s half smothered voice. “Did you slip —?” Then he seemed to realize that this was no accident and scrambled up, pulling his gun as he came. Before he reached his feet Jim jumped. He landed right on top of Shadley, smashing him down into the mud with pile-driv-ing force. Jim caught the man by the throat and lifted his fist to silence him. There was no need. Shadley was as completely out as Lopez. Jim got to his feet and stood a mo- . ment, glancing warily around. There was no one near. He did not waste a moment, but, rolling Shadley over, disarmed him, flinging his pistols to a distance. Lopez’s guns, too, he took and threw away. Shadley was wearing a yellow slicker. Jim peeled this off him and put it on. He took Shadley’s hat and flung his own up on to the roof. Then he turned swiftly down the alley. So far his luck had held. He was going to strain it a bit further. CHAPTER XXV. Lopez was out of it. He would not be able to organize pursuit for some hours to come. Fame, so far as Jim knew, was not in town, and as for Signal, he hardly counted as a fighting man. Jim was tired of ducking and ■ dodging. Reckoning on the fact that he now had some sort of a disguise and : that no one but Farne was likely to ' recognize him, he decided to look for < Shadley’s horse —or somebody else’s — and go straight out to the S. Bar S. , When he came into the main street he found it almost deserted. The Kettle Drum punchers were scattered in all directions no doubt still searching for him. Jim smiled grimly at the thought of their dismay when they discovered Lopez—then he saw something which abruptly switched his thoughts in another direction —Carson’s waggon was still tied outside Signal’s store. No one stood near it and Jim felt sure that he could drive it off without interference. But that meant abandoning Ross Carson and his companion and Jim did not relish the idea of having to tell Ward that his foreman was in prison, and that he had left him there. He began to wonder if a rescue was possible. The idea was not as crazy as it might seem. The gaol was simply four cells at the back of the Sheriff’s office. The building stood at the far end of the street, well away from the lights of the saloon and the stores, and the odds were long that Garnett was not in the office. More likely to be in bed. There would be a guard of some sort but not more than one man and the last thing he would expect would be any attempt at rescue. “Darned if I don’t try it!” said Jim to himself and set off up the street, keeping as much as possible out of the light. A man came out of a side alley, a hard-faced person who looked like one of Fame’s gunmen. Jim stumbled artistically and came staggering onwards, giving a realistic imitation of a tipsy man. The others pulled up. “Where you going, fellow?” “Thatsh Signal’s businesh, not yours,” Jim retorted with drunken dignity. The man laughed harshly. “Bignal’s whisky, more like.” he said ; and went on his way. ■ Jim reached the prison without fur- ' ther adventure. The office door was closed but through the open window , he saw a stout man reclining, in the ; Sheriff’s chair with his feet on the desk and a corn-cob pipe between his blubbery lips. Jim recognized him as Fatty Skaggs, a supporter of the Shefiff, who had been rewarded with the job of gaoler. No trouble with him. The only diffi- : culty was that the man knew and , might possibly recognize him so, before going in, Jim quickly took the silk handkerchief from round his

throat and tied it over the lower part of his face. Then, pistol in hand, he kicked the door open and walked in. ,“Put up your hands!” he ordered, “and don’t say a word if you want to live.”

Skagg’s fat face went the colour of sour paste. He hands shot up in such a hurry that he lost his balance and his chair went over backwards. Jim caught it and eased it down. He did not want any noise. Kneeling on Skaggs, he took a couple of buckskin thongs from his pocket and tied him. Then he gagged him with is own neckcloth. He helped himself to the keys of the cells, went through and called softly to Carson. “Here. We’re in here,” Carson answered. Then as Jim unlocked the door Carson’s eyes popped. “Doggone if you ain’t the chap that knocked out Garnett. Say, son, I never reckoned to see you alive again.” “I’m Grant Andrews —working for Dave Condon. Come on put. Skaggs is tied and most of Fame’s men are out in the country, looking for me. Where are your guns?” “In the office, I reckon,” Carson answered. “Come, Ab.” He hurried out, followed by the younger man. They found their pistols in a corner of the office and both strapped them on. “That feels better,” Carson went on as he settled his cartridge belt round his waist. “What do we do now, Andrews?” ' “Get along back to the waggon and drive out,” Jim told him. “Reckon they’ll let us go?” “Not if they see us, and not if we go all together. I’d better go first; you two come on quietly after me and keep on the dark side of the street. I’m wearing Shadley’s slicker and hat so if they do see me loosing the horses, they’ll probably think I’m acting on orders from Lopez.” “But Lopez —where’s he?” “Asleep, down an alley,” said Jim. “Asleep?” “Yes, and not likely to wake up for a while. I rocked him with a gun barrel.” “Dog-gone! You got him as well as Garnett?” “I got him, but if we stop chinning any longer, it’s likely he’ll get us. “You’re right, Andrews. Push on. We’ll follow.” The sky had clouded again and outside the lamplit patches it was very dark. Jit met on one on his way down the street, he unhitched the horses and as he climbed into the waggon Ross Carson and Ab caught up and got in. “Too derned easy,” growled Carson. ■ “Not kicking, are you?” Jim said. “I ain’t anyhow,” agreed Ab speaking for the first time since Jim had met him. Carson took the reins and the horses, anxious to get home, settled into their collars and went off at a trot. Jim sat quite still, but his eyes roved anxiously from side to side. This was, as Carson • had said, too easy. (To be Continued.)