"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 22 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 XXVlll.—(Continued) The food was a pile of tortillas, fiat maize-meal pancakes, and a jug of water, but Jim was too hungry to be critical. He ate half the soggy cakes and left the rest till later. Then he set himself to examine his prison. Window and door were hopeless, and he turned to the floor. He found a board that had warped so that the nails were loose and managed to raise one end a little. If he had had a tool of any sort he might have levered it up, but it was lignum vitae, almost as hard as iron, and though he toiled till his finger tips bled and the sweat ran down him he could do nothing. He went to the window to.get what air there was, and saw a man riding down the gulch. The fellow flung himself off at the door and ran in. He must have news of some sort, and Jim longed to hear it. He remembered his floor board, and put his ear to the crack, but to his disgust could hear only a murmur of voices. All he could tell was tnat one voice was Fame’s, and that it was raised in anger. Presently the man rode off.again, carrying a sack which looked as if it held food.

The day dragged terribly for Jim, . and his prison under the roof was suf- • focatingly hot. Men came and went, but what was happening Jim could only guess. At last the sun dropped behind the western mountains, and Jim saw that horses were being saddled and guns cleaned. Fame was going to attack the Painted Cross, and Jim would have given anything to be able to warn Dave. Tortured by his fears he paced up and down until at last, long ’ after dark, he heard the whole force ride away into the night. Hours passed, hours of such anxiety as Jim had never known. Once he distinctly heard shots in the distance, and wondered what they could be. Certainly not at the Painted Cross, for a whole" range of hills lay between that ranch and the Kettle Drum. Worn out by anxiety Jim ‘lay down and tried to sleep. He had dropped off into a restless doze when he was roused by the pounding of hoofs. Fame’s force had returned, but it was far too dark to see anything outside. Yet he had not long to wait. Heavy steps rattled on the stairs, his door was flung open and by the light of a candle which he carried, Jim saw the heavy, brutal face of Buck Coulton. And, behind him, a man, with a pistol in his hand. “Come on out of that,” Coulton ordered harshly. Jim sat on the cot and pulled on his boots. He wondered vaguely what was going to happen. For all he knew that were going to murder him. Or perhaps they had Joan and were going to use him to force her into marriage with Farne. If he had to die all he hoped was that ne would end up decently. Yet the thought of Lopez made him shiver. CHAPTER XXIX. Joan Chandler sat in the great living room at the Painted Cross. She wore the same plain blue cotton frock in which she had ridden away from Loomis, and there was not a touch of powder or lip-stick on her face, yet old Dave, seated opposite, thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "I can’t understand it,” he was saying anxiously. “Jim told me definitely that Ward’s men- would join you tonight.” Dave shrugged. ■‘You’ve seen Ward’s note. He’s putting it off till tomorrow so as to bring a bigger force. Don’t worry, my dear. ’ They’ll be along, and Jim with them. “I —I hope you are right, but I’m uneasy.” She paused, then went on with a rush. “Mr Condon, I can’t stay here.” Dave looked at her. He was a wise old man. “On account of Jim?” he asked. She nodded. “I can tell you because I know you would never tell anyone else. That is it. I must not meet him again.” Dave looked troubled. “I’m right sorry, Joan for, if I’m not mistaken, he’s as fond of you as any man can be of a girl. And you two—what a match you’d make!” Joan bit her lip. “He is engaged. You know that. And Nita Vaughan is a lovely girl.” Dave sighed. “It’s a hell of a mix-up, but I see your trouble, Joan. You can go to my nephew, Mark Logan, at Piedra. He'll find you a job in his store. Anyways, you’ll be safe from Farne.” He rose. "Now I got to get busy. You don’t need to leave till tomorrow.” Joan went out and strolled by the river. Her thought were all of Jim and they were not happy thoughts. She was desperately anxious for his safety and would have given much to know that he had got away from Loomis. She thrilled at the thought he might be ' back at the Painted Cross next day, then her spirits sank to the depths as she realized that she would have left. “It isn’t far,” she said aloud. “Dave is right and Jim loves me as I love him. Oh, why could we not have met again a little sooner?” “Miss Joan —Miss Joan!" The shout roused her from her troubles and she saw Rash Weedon, one of the Painted Cross men, hurrying towards her. “Luiz, he’ve been bit by a ground rattler,” Rash told her. “Reckon you can do anything? He’s bad.” Joan ran like a hare to find Luiz lying in the bunk-house with a couple of men by him. They were dosing him with whisky. She sent one flying to the house for permanganate. Luiz had trodden on the snake in the thick grass and it had struck him in the calf of his left leg. Luckily he had been close to the ranch and hardly five minutes had elapsed since he had been struck., otherwise nothing could have saved him. . Joan ligatured the leg, then opened the wound with a clean razor blade and injected permanganate. Within half an hour the boy was out of danger. Joan told him so, but brownfaced Luiz lay silent, looking so wret- ■ ched Joan was puzzled. “What is it, Luiz?” she asked. You ! need not be afraid. You are going to • get well.” J „ “I ought to die. I deserve to die, : was the despairing answer. Joan was puzzled. „ . „ , r “Why do you say that, Luiz. You have done well. We are all grateful to you for carrying that message. It was fine work.” Luiz only groaned and Joan bent over him. „ “Something is troubling you, she said’ very gently and saw the boys face twist with agony. “I don’t know what to do. Il 1 tell, ; Farne will kill my mother and Inez. Joan’s lips tightened. She began to i suspect the truth. She looked round I but there was no one about. Then she j began to talk and presently she had the truth out of Luiz. He told hex that

two of Fame’s men had caught him and dragged him to the Kettle Drum. There Farne had read Ward’s note and had forged another asking Dave Condon to put off coming until the following night. “You’ll take that to Condon,” he had ordered, “and you won’t say a word. If you do, if Condon comes tonight, you will never see your mother or your sister again. I’ve sent two men to bring them in.” The boy paused then and went on with a jerk. “So I did it and now I reckon Ward and all of ’em is killed.” All the strength went out of Joan so that she could hardly stand. So Ward and his men —and Jim, too —had been surrounded and shot down. “You’d ought to have let me die,” said Luiz miserably but Joan refused to blame him. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “Lie still and get well.” Then she hurried awa5 r to Dave. He was terribly upset. The thought that Ward Haskell would believe ne had let him down hurt him desperately. “Ward would never believe that,’ Joan told him, “but what can we do?” Dave pulled himself together. “Question is what Farne will do,” he gaid grimly. “If he’s finished Ward he'll think we’re easy prey.” He stood frowning, thinking hard, then spoke again. “Ward’s no fool. Odds are, when he found we weren’t there, he cleared out.” “But Farne was expecting him. He would be laying for him,” Joan answered. “That’s true, but even so I’m not giving up hope. Ward would try and hole up somewhere —maybe in those caves in the gorge.” “Then he must go to his help.” Dave glanced at the sun which was still three hours high. He shook his grizzled head. “No use, Joan. We got to wait till dark. See here, Fame’s expecting us at midnight. He reckons to ambush us. We’ll get there an hour early and it’ll be Farne who’ll run into the trap.” Joan gazed at him. “But Jim —Jim,” she cried in a voice of agony and covered her face with her hands.

“Don’t cry, my dear,” Dave’s voice was very tender. “I’m sending Mart Dowling out to scout around. You’ll have news before dark.” Five minutes later the foreman, mounted on the best horse in the string, rode away. The sun had just set when he came back. Joan, running to meet him, saw that his horse was black with sweat. He pulled up. “Some of 'era’s safe,” he told her. “It’s what Dave said. They’ve holed up in Painted Butte.” “Painted Butte—in the cave” Joan asked quickly. ' “That’s it, Miss Joan. I didn’t see none of them, but some of Fame’s men are up on the ledge opposite the cave mouth. I saw three and I reckon there are more. That’s all to the good far as we’re concerned for it means Farne won’t have so many out against us.” “But Ward’s men—are they safe?” Joan questioned. “Safe so long as they stay inside. I reckon they’ll hold out until we can help ’em.” Joan sighed with relief. “That’s splendid. Ride on, Mart, and tell Mr Condon. He will be as glad as I am.” Joan followed Mart back to .the ranch. His news had given her fresh hope. There was a fair chance that Jim was safe. ' Supper was a quiet meal. Daves men knew the task before them, but they knew, too, that there" was no peace until Farne and his gunmen had been wiped out. At ten they rode away, taking extra horses for Wards men. Trant and Sam Loy were lefc with Joan at the ranch. Bud Condon, of course, was still laid up, and Nat s leg was not yet well enough to allow him to ride. , n “You go to bed and get a good sleep, Joan,” were Dave’s last words as he rode away, but Joan was far too anxious to sleep. The hours dragged by. When the old clock in the living room struck midnight, Joan could stand the house no longer. She went out, climbed the hill, and sat with her back against a rock. The night was clear and cool, and not a breath of wind stirred,. Joan strained her ears for sounds of horses hoofs, but all she heard was the murmur of the creek far below her lofty perch. Time passed, Joan grew so cold that she got up and had just reached the house when suddenly came the sound she had longed for. Horses thundering across the high pasture above the leyDave rode up to the door and beside him was Ward Haskell. With a glad cry she ran forward. “So you got them! You have saved them.” “We got Ward and eight of his men, ’ Dave answered slowly. “Jim! Don't say you have not got Jim?” The pain in Joan’s voice hurt Dave Condon like a stab. He slipped off his horse and put an arm round her.

“We haven’t got Jim, my dear,” he said gently. “But don’t be too scared. Far as Ward knows he ain’t dead. Come in and Ward will tell you about it.” In a sort of daze Joan listened to Ward’s story—the surprise, the sudden storm, Jim’s suggestion that they should attack the Kettle drum, their struggle down the gorge. “We were half way when we missed Jim." he went on. “We stopped and looked but couldn’t find him. The rain was clearing and we’d lost our chance to go down to the Kettle Drum. Ben Cottle pulled us out. He knew a way up over the cliff. Fame’s chaps spotted us, but they had to ride a long way round and we holed up in the cave at Painted Butte, and there we lay till Dave here came.” Joan said nothing. Her face was like carven stone. For a time there was silence, then Trant asked a question. “Looks like you licked Farne, Mr Condon?” Dave nodded. “We licked him all right. Caught him just like he caught Ward last night, and knocked out four of his killers with the first volley.„ Rest turned and rode for their lives.” “Did you get Farne?” Trant asked eagerly. Dave shook his head. “The devil looks after his own,” he said bitterly. “He got clear away. We’d have followed only we had -to go and find Ward’s chaps.” He turned to Jean. “Go to bed, girl. You’re all in. We'll find Jim for you tomorrow.” ‘•She’s hit bad,” said Dave to Ward, after Joan had gone. "Do you reckon there’s any chance he’s alive?”

“Mighty little,’" said Ward, sadly. “It’s my notion Jim fell over the creek bank in the dark of that storm. If he did there ain’t a hope.” All their triumph at the victory over Farne was quenched by sorrow for Jim’s fate, for already everyone had come to like him, and next morning the whole place was curiously quiet. Joan stayed in her room. Dave’s promise had failed to cheer her. She felt there was no hope and her heart was dead within her. Dave and Ward talked long over breakfast. They were anxious to follow up their victory, but wanted more men so as to make certain of finishing tne job. About eleven a rider was seen approaching the house. Someone recognized him as Jake Starr, one of Fame’s hands. He was alone and unarmed, (To be Continued.)