"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 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 XXVl.—(Continued). As Carson had said, it was a long way round. It was ten before they reached the ranch house, where Ward Haskell was waiting for them. “I’m sure glad to see you,” was all he said, but the look in his eyes and his powerful grip spoke more strongly (han words. He led Jim into the din-ing-room and set him down to steaks, friend eggs, hot bread, and coffee. “Don’t say a word till you’re eaten,” Ward ordered. “Then I want the whole story.” Jim made an enormous breakfast, and afterwards he and Ward talked. Jim described his adventures of the previous night, and Ward chuckled when Jim told of jumping off the roof on top of Shadley. Then he turned grave.

“Jim, you've had all the luck in the world. Not that you ain’t deserved it, because you have. All I hope is that it will hold for another 24 hours. If it does and we can bust the Kettle Drum outfit we’re on velvet. Now I reckon you better go and catch up on some sleep. It’s one sure thing you won’t get a lot tonight.” Jim slept till five and woke feeling quite fresh. Outside, the best horses in the corral had been caught and saddled, men were cleaning revolvers and rifles and filling cartridge belts. Everyone was quietly busy. Ward, Carson and Jim had supper together in the house and while they ate two more men rode up. They were Lance Capson and Dirk Major, owners of small outfits east of the S. Bar S. Like Haskell, they were threatened by Fame and had thrown in against him. "That makes thirteen,” said Ward cheerfully. ' It came to Jim that this was an unlucky number, but he was careful not to say so. At ten they started. The night was like the previous one, the sky clouded, a soggy feel in the air and sheet lightning flickering pink and white over the mountains. But there was no rain or even the faintest mutter of thunder. Orders were that no one was to smoke, that they were to keep together and ride quietly. These orders were strictly obeyed. It was just after half-past eleven when they reached the head of the pass where they were to meet the Painted Cross outfit. There was no one there, but that was not surprising, for Ward’s party were early. The Kettle Drum ranch house lay in a bowl-shaped valley into which Slaughter Creek broke through a cut in the hills. The road, a rough waggon track, ran beside the Creek with low cliffs on either side. The pass was a death trap if the enemy had been warned, for they could line the heights and shoot down on the invaders. Ward, however, had no idea of running blindly into danger and one of his men, Ben Cottle, who had formerly been in the Texas Rangers, and was a first-rate scout, had agreed to go forward and spy out the land.

He started at once while the rest picketed their horses among a cluster of rocks at a little distance from the head of the pass and each stood by his animal, ready to pinch its nose in case it started to whinny at the approach of the Painted Cross party. Jim was alongside Ward and the two talked in whispers. j “Ward, if anything happens to me in this show,” said Jim, "I’ve left a letter at ycur place, addressed to Bill Beverley. He has a power of attorney and I’ve asked (lim to take care that Joan is properly provided for. You’ll see he gets it.” “I’ll see to it,” Ward answered, “but don’t go getting fool ideas in your head, Jim. You got your luck with you and it’s Fame better be making his will.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Nearly 12,” he added. “Time Dave’s boys were coming.” The others were thinking the same. “Hope nothing ain’t gone wrong,” Jim heard Carson mutter uneasily. Minutes dragged by and still no sound or sign of the Painted Cross people. Ben Cottle came slipping'back, soundless as a ghost. He came up to Ward.

“All’s quiet at Fame’s place. No lights in the bunk-house or in the house itself. Looks like they was all asleep.” Carson stepped closer. “Let’s go, boss. The boys is raring to fight.” “No!” Ward's tone was firm. “There ain’t enough of us to clean up and we can’t afford to lose men. It's plain to me as Luiz ain’t got through with that message I give him.” “But Dave said he'd be here anyhow,” Jim put in. “Hanged if I can understand it.” “We’ll wait a while longer,” Ward said. “But if they don’t show up pretty soon we’ll go home.” Carson stiffened. “They’re a coming. I hear ’em.” An instant later they all heard them, then out of the night to westward horses came cantering, spaced out in a wide line. “They’re making a sight too much noise,” Ward grumbled and, as he spoke, the advancing line pulled up.. Next instant the darkness Was cut by flashes of flame, guns crashed and a gust of lead beat upon Ward and his men. CHAPTER XXVII. But for the rocks among which they had tied their horses and where the men were still standing, that volley would have pretty well finished the whole lot of Ward Haskell’s party. As it was three men went down and five horses. Jim and Ward both escaped though a bullet lifted Jim’s hat from his head. They and the other survivors flung themselves down in what shelter they could find and opened a return fire. It was chancy shooting in the dark and at men spaced out as widely as their attackers, but some damage was done for two horses raced past with empty saddles. The rest of Fame’s men started galloping, Indian fashion, in a circle round the stones, firing as they rode. “Trapped like jack rabbits,” Ward said bitterly. “They must have got the Mex boy, learned what we was doing, and fixed up this ambush. Don’t look like any of us’ll get out alive."

“It’s not that bad,” Jim answered. “We have some cover and they have to come’ pretty close to see us.” “The moon’ll be up in hour," Ward told him. “That’ll see our'finish.” “It will cut both ways,” Jim declared “It wont. They’re three to one. I know what I’m saying, son.” Jim could find no answer. Ward was right, they were trapped and it seemed certain that not one of them would live to see another sunrise. Fame had his chance and would make the most of it. Once he had wiped out Ward's lot, he could concentrate against the Painted Cross and destroy it. This means that Joan would fail again into Fame’s hands and this time he would

nevei’ let her go; nor would there be anyone left to help her. The thought made Jim wince. Round and round went the Kettle Drum killers, pelting bullets upon the men penned in he centre of the circle. There were few return shots for Ward had passed the word for all to lie flat and take what shelter they could find. So far as Jim knew, no more had been hit since the first volley, but by this time all the horses were down. The screams of one that had been wounded echoed terribly through the night until Carson crawled near enough to put a merciful bullet through its head. It was intolerable to lie there, waiting for death, and Jim racked his brain for any way out, but could not find one. By this time he had given up all hope of Dave Condon coming to the rescue, and certainly there was no one else who could do so. His thoughts kept going back to Joan, and he blamed himself bitterly for not having written full details to Bill Beverley. He knew Bill well enough to be sure that, if called on, he would move heaven and earth to save Joan from Fame. A bullet that spattered earth in his face brought him out of his black thoughts. He raised his rifle and took a snap shot at a dim shadow that whirled past. It struck him that it was darker than ever. Then all of a sudden, a great drop of warm rain splashed upon his cheek and next instant the very cisterns of Heaven were emptied upon them. Like a flash Jim turned to Ward. “Here's our chance. Pass the word to clear out.” . . . • “But our horses are dead. This rain won’t last long. Then they’ll ride us down.”

“Yes, if we take to the open. Make for the gorge. That’s the last place they’ll look for us.” “By gum, it’s a notion! But can we find it It’s dark as dirt.” “Ben Cottle can do it. Tell him. Don’t waste a minute. As you say, this is too heavy to last. And warn the boys not to shoot. One shot will give the whole show away.” Ward hesitated no longer. He passed the word and Ben Cottle crept up. “Yes, Reckon I can find it,” he said. “It’s a good notion, Ward. If we can fetch the ranch house afore they know what we’re up to we’ll be on top.”

He led and the rest followed. In single file they slipped away from the muster of rocks. Jim was walking last of all. His heart was thumping. If they got through Fame’s men, the battle was more than half won. But a single'shot would betray them and that would be the end. There was no wind the rain fell perfectly straight, drumming on the ground with a steady roar of sound. It was so dark that it was barely possible to see a hand lifted in front of one’s face and Jim had to follow almost on the heels of the man ahead in order not to lose him. There were no shots and Jim’s spirits began to rise. By the feel of the ground, they were going down hill, which means they were already in the gorge. What a triumph if they could reach the Kettle Drum buildings without Fame realizing that they had escaped! The odds were that the house would be deserted except for the cook, and once inside, Fame’s men would have a job to get them out. Full of these cheering thoughts, Jim realized of a sudden that he had lost guide. He paused a moment, straining his eyes through the wet darkness, then hearing something a little to the right started quickly in that direction. The ground gave way beneath him, he made a frantic effort to recover himself, but failed. Instantly he knew what had happened. He had walked over the edge of the creek bank. He expected to plunge into swift water; instead he crashed upon hard ground. His head struck rock, sparks flashed before his eyes, and after that he knew no more.

When Jim’s senses came back the rain had ceased, the moon was up and though he lay in shadow there was light to see his surroundings. As he had suspected, he had fallen over the creek bank. He lay on a mass of rocks and earth which made a little promontory at the bottom of the bank. His feet were in the water which swirled past, roaring sullenly. The creek was rising rapidly, swollen by the storm. Jim took some minutes to absorb these details for he was still in a very dazed condition and his senses were functioning sluggishly. It occurred to him that it was time he moved, for the water was coming up fast and would very soon cover the stone on which he lay. He tried to rise only to fall back which a groan. The stab of pain which shot through his head was sheer agony. He rested for a few moments, breathing deeply, then made a second attempt and this time struggled to his feet. He was so giddy he had to cling to a twisted root projecting from the bank.

The giddiness passed by degrees and Jim put a hand to the back of his head. His hair was matted with blood and his head so sore he could hardly bear to touch it. A man less fit than Jim Chernocke would have been unable to help himself, but Jim was tough as leather and presently felt equal to the task of climbing the bank. It was steep, but there were plenty of hand holds and in a short time he was safe on top. He looked round but there was no one in sight, nor could he hear anything except the river rushing past. He wondered greatly what had nappened to Ward and his men. If they had reached the Kettle Drum there ought' to be sounds of firing; if they had failed the odds were that everyone of them was dead.

For the life of him Jim could not decide what to do. It was no use dreaming of finding his way to the Painted Cross. The distance was at least 10 miles and in his present state he doubted if he could walk one. It would be equally impossible to return to Ward Haskell’s place. Opposite, in the face of the bluff, he saw the mouth of more than one cave. The sensible course seemed to be to take refuge in one of these and lie there until he felt stronger. Then when the next night came, he might be fit for the long tramp. He staggered across, found shelter and sat down, yet in less than 10 minutes he was on his feet again. Those few minutes had each seemed like an hour and the idea of spending the rest of the night and all tomorrow in this suspense was flatly out of the question. He must know what had happened to Ward and the rest. He made up his mind to go down the gorge and see if he could steal a horse from the Kettle Drum corrall The odds were all against finding a saddle, yet if he could get a mount of any sort that hardly mattered. He started down the slope.