The Man From Bar-20 by Clarence E. Mulford (best books to read for young adults .txt) đ
- Author: Clarence E. Mulford
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It had been his intention the day before to watch that out-bound trail in hope of following the next raiding party and learning what Logan wanted to know; but now he was forced to change his plans.
âAll right,â he muttered as he finished putting the new camp to rights. âAs long as you know Iâm here, anâ are huntinâ me down, itâs time I showed my teeth. Iâm goinâ gunninâ: itâs a game two can play.â
Having had his supper and lashed a small pack of food and ammunition on his back, he led Pepper farther down the chasm between the two buttes and let her graze where she pleased, knowing that she would not stray far. Then he plunged into the tangled cover and headed toward the entrance canyon of the QE ranch.
IT WAS nearly dark when he came to the long slope JL leading to the plateau behind the QE ranchhouses and he went on with infinite caution, at last looking down upon the buildings, which showed no lights.
Had they gone on another raid and had he missed the opportunity of trailing them? He shook his headâ There would be no more raids until they were sure that!io one was watching them. Suddenly he grinned. The Circle S puncher, when last seen, was going straight toward the ranchhouses. It was simple now. Having been told all that the Circle S man knew, they knew that only one man was watching them and would plan accordingly.
âLayinâ low anâ settinâ traps for me,â he grunted. âBet thâ three canyons are guarded anâ that trail down thâ blind canyon farther along this wall. Thatâs thâ easiest for me, so Iâll slip up there anâ look around; but first Iâll take a look down in thâ main canyon.â
A short time later he peered over the rim of the chasm and chuckled, for a small fire, cunningly placed so as not to shine in the eyes of anyone in the houses, burned at the base of the great wall and made sufficient light to show a watching marksman every rock and hollow across that part of the canyon.
âThey can set in thâ house at a loophole anâ keep a good watch,â he muttered. âThere ainât a man livinâ could cross that patch of light. Anâ if theyâre guardinâ one end theyâre guardinâ thâ others anâ Iâll exchange compliments with one bunch.â
Squirming back from the edge he started north, and he stopped only when the plashing of water told him that he was near his objective.
âIf I was watchinâ that trail Iâd stay down below,â he thought. âIt would be near thâ narrowest part of the ledge anâ where nobody could shoot down on me. I know thâ place, too; glad I learned thâ lay of thâ land around this sink.â
He crept forward confidently, his rifle strapped across his back, for he decided to depend on his Colts. Reaching the head of the trail he dropped to all fours and crept onto it; instantly a flash split the darkness ten feet below him, the bullet ripping through his sombrero. He did not reply, but wriggled against the base of the wall, where an out-cropping stratum of rock gave him shelter. As he settled down he heard a sound above him and a pebble clicked at his side and bounced out into the chasm.
Here was a pleasant situation, he thought. They were guarding the top of the trail when they should have been guarding the bottom. There was an outlaw below him and another above him, and at the first streak of dawn he would find himself in a bad fix. Glancing up at the sky he saw that the ledge protected him from the man above; but it would take the man above only half an hour to run back along the canyon, round its upper end and appear, ready for business, on the farther side, in which case a certain member of the CL outfit would be neatly picked off at the first blush of daylight.
âI was hell-bent to get down here,â he soliloquized in great disgust; âan I now Iâm hell-bent to get back again. What business have they got to watch this end?â
He looked back up the trail and could see nothing. Then he held out his hand and could not see that âThat fool didnât see me; he heard me! Iâm glad I didnât shoot back. Heâll wait a while, doubt his ears anâ think mebby that heâs loco.â
But Ben Gates, firing on a guess, thought he saw what he fired at when the flash of his gun lit up the trail in front of him. True, the smoke interfered; but Gates was backing both his eyes and his ears.
Johnny waited half an hour, and then grew anxious. His enemies were not doing anything, but appeared to be copying the patience of the noble red men, and waiting for dawn.
âCuss thâ dawn!â mused Johnny fretfully. âIf thâ feller below still thinks he heard me, thâ feller up above may get dubious anâ reckon his friend pulled at nothinâ; anâ heâs thâ man I got to gamble with anâ thâ sooner thâ better.â
He wriggled backward an inch at a time until he had gained a few yards and then he softly turned around. Another pebble fell on the ledge close to the place he had just evacuated. The instant he heard it he moved a little more rapidly because he was now east of the man above. A soft shuffle came to his ears and he swore under his breath when the sounds stopped at the head of the trail. The man above was now east of him, and painfully alert.
Slowly arising, Johnny hugged the wall and felt it over carefully. There were knobs and slight footholds and small cracks in it, and he took the only way open to him, desperate as it was. He judged the rim to be thirty feet above him, and setting his jaws he started to climb it. The shuffling again was heard and it now passed to the west of him.
âCuss him!â gritted Johnny. âHe acts like he donât know what to do with hisself. Why thâ devil canât he stay where he belongs?â
Stepping back on the trail again Johnny stooped over and ran silently toward its upper end, thankful that he was wearing moccasins; and he had come within ten feet of it when the shuffling sound again passed him, eastward bound.
âThere!â grumbled Johnny. âI knowed it. He acts like a bobcat in a cage. All right, dân you! Iâll give you some music to shuffle to!â
Finding several pebbles, he threw them, one at a time, over the rim and about over the place where he had found shelter. A muttered expletive came from above and the shuffling went rapidly toward the sounds. Below him on the trail he heard a slight stir, but ignored it as he sprinted up the trail, silent as a ghost, and gained the shelter of a bowlder. Here he waited, grim and relentless, for the sentryâs return.
Shuffle Foot was peeved, and cared not a whit who knew it. Just because he was hitched to a fool was no reason why he should endure asinine practical joking; so he peered over the canyonâs rim and spoke softly:
âWhat thâ hâl do you think yoâre doinâ?â
The silence below was unbroken; but the astonished Mr. Gates longed passionately for the power of thought transmission. It was all right for Nat Harrison to go wandering around and braying like a jackass; he wasnât lying almost nose to nose with the most capable two-gun man that had ever cursed the Twin Buttes country.
ââSleep?â queried Harrison. âWhat did you shoot at; ânother ki-yote?â Receiving no answer he became exasperated. âIf it was anybody but you Iâd pay some attention to it. First you shoots a cougar out of a tree when weâre all holdinâ our breath to keep quiet. Then you let drive at a measly ki-yote, which you opined was a he-man. Next you plugs Long Pete, thinkinâ he was Nelson. Anâ now what do you think you see? If I poke my head out far enough, even though Iâm talkinâ to you, Iâll bet youâd let loose at it, thinkinâ thâ Lord only knows what. Why donât you say something? Do you think weâre playinâ some kidâs game, where thâ feller that keeps still longest gets thâ apple? Did you make that noise?â
Gates writhed in impotent rage; but he suffered ift silence, which only increased the pressure of his anger.
âMebby you done shot yoreself,â suggested Harâ rison hopefully. âDidnât see somethinâ down by yore feet, anâ shoot off yore toes, did you? Whatâs thâ matter with yore mouth? You can use it enough, thâ Lord knows when nobody wants to hear it. Say somethinâ, you locoed polecat.â
The pause was fruitless, and he continued, cheer, fully:
âMebby heâs clubbed you again,â he said. âClubbed yore stone head with thâ butt of his gun anâ gagged you with yore own handkerchief; yore very much-soiled handkerchief. But I hardly reckon he did, because any blow heavy enough to send a shock through that head of yourn wouldâve been heard at thâ houses, anâ I didnât hear nothinâ like that. Coinâ to say somethinâ?â
Harrison chuckled, and tried again: âWell, if you ainât talkinâ Iâll bet yoâre thinkinâ. Bet yoâre wishinâ Iâd find a million dollars, get elected president of thâ country anâ not have nothinâ to worry about all thâ rest of my life. Ainât you, Danâl Boone?
âYou must be scared âmost to death,â he continued after a pause. âAny time you canât find a chance to talk you shore are in a bad fix. Iâm beginninâ to lose my temper. You make me plumb disgusted, you do. What thâ devil do you think I was doinâ out here all night? Think anybody got past me to go down there for you to shoot at? If thereâs anybody down there he come up from below anâ crawled over you before you woke up.â
Suddenly he cocked his head on one side and listened as a low gurgle sounded in the canyon.
âCuss my fool hide!â he whispered. âMebby he did see something! Mebby somebody come up thâ trail, tryinâ to get out of thâ valley before daylight! Mebby it wasnât Ben at all that did thâ shootinâ I Hey, Ben; Ben! For heavenâs sake, say something, anything!â
Gates, stung into a blinding rage which swept aside every thought of caution, did say something. Nature seemed to shrink from the stream of throbbing profanity which came shouting up out of the black canyon, whose granite walls flung it back and forth until the chasm reverberated with it.
Harrison listened, entranced, his open mouth, refusing to shut, testifying to the great awe which held him spellbound. Never in all his sinful life had he heard such a masterpiece of invective, epithet, and profane invocation. The words seemed to be alive and writhing with venom; he almost could hear them
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