Trailin'! by Max Brand (books to read in your 20s female txt) 📖

tell you that Bard done all that work in self-defence."

"Did he?"

"The point is he killed a man and stole a hoss. No matter what comes of it, he's got to be arrested, don't he?"

"And shot down while 'resistin' arrest'? Steve, I'd hate to have you out for me like this."

"But you won't listen to Drew?"

"Not this one time. But, Lord, man, I hate to face him if he's on the warpath. Who'll you take with you?"

"Shorty, of course. He was Calamity Ben's pal. The rest will be—don't laugh—Butch Conklin and his gang."

"Butch!"

"Hold yourself together. That's what I mean—Butch Conklin."

"After you dropped him the other night?"

"Self-defence, and he knows it. I can find Butch, and I can make him go with me. Besides, he's out for Bard himself."

The deputy said with much meaning: "You can do a lot of queer things,
Nash."

"Forget it, Glendin."

"I will for a while. D'you really think I can let you take out Butch and his gunmen ag'in' Bard? Why, they're ten times worse'n the tenderfoot."

"Maybe, but there's nothin' proved ag'in' 'em—nothin' but a bit of cattle-liftin', maybe, and things like that. The point is, they're all hard men, and with 'em along I can't help but get Bard."

"Murder ain't proved on Butch and his men, but it will be before long."

"Wait till it's proved. In the meantime use em all."

"You've a long head, Nash."

"Glendin, I'm makin' the biggest play of my life. I'm off to find Butch.
You'll stand firm with Drew?"

"I won't hear a word he says."

"S'long! Be back in ten minutes. Wait for me."

He was as good as his word. Even before the ten minutes had elapsed he was back, and behind followed a crew of heavy thumping boots up the stairs of Glendin's house and into the room where he sat with Dr. Young and Shorty Kilrain. They rose, but not from respect, when Nash entered with Conklin and his four ill-famed followers behind.

The soiled bandage on the head of Butch was far too thick to allow his hat to sit in its normal position. It was perched high on top, and secured in place by a bit of string which passed from side to side under the chin. Behind him came Lovel, an almost albino type with straw-coloured hair and eyes bleached and passionless; the vacuous smile was never gone from his lips.

More feared and more hated than Conklin himself was Isaacs. The latter, always fastidious, wore a blue-striped vest, without a coat to obscure it, and about his throat was knotted a flaming vermilion necktie, fastened in place with a diamond stickpin—obviously the spoil of some recent robbery. Glendin, watching, ground his teeth.

McNamara followed. He had been a squatter, but his family had died of a fever, and McNamara's mind had been unsettled ever since; whisky had finished the work of sending him on the downward path with Conklin's little crew of desperadoes. Men shrank from facing those too-bright, wandering eyes, yet it was from pity almost as much as horror.

Finally came Ufert. He was merely a round-faced boy of nineteen, proud of the distinguished bad company he kept. He was that weak-minded type which is only strong when it becomes wholly evil. With a different leadership he would have become simply a tobacco-chewing hanger-on at cross-roads saloons and general merchandise stores. As it was, feeling dignified by the brotherhood of crime into which he had been admitted as a full member, and eager to prove his qualifications, he was as dangerous as any member of the crew.

The three men who were already in the room had been prepared by Glendin for this new arrival, but the fact was almost too much for their credence. Consequently they rose, and Dr. Young muttered at the ear of Glendin: "Is it possible, Deputy Glendin, that you're going to use these fellows?"

"A thief to catch a thief," whispered Glendin in reply.

He said aloud: "Butch, I've been looking for you for a long time, but I really never expected to see you quite as close as this."

"You've said it," grinned Butch, "I ain't been watchin' for you real close, but now that I see you, you look more or less like a man should look. H'ware ye, Glendin?"

He held out his hand, but the deputy, shifting his position, seemed to overlook the grimy proffered palm.

"You fellows know that you're wanted by the law," he said, frowning on them.

A grim meaning rose in the vacuous eye of Lovel; Isaacs caressed his diamond pin, smiling in a sickly fashion; McNamara's wandering stare fixed and grew unhumanly bright; Ufert openly dropped his hand on his gun-butt and stood sullenly defiant.

"You know that you're wanted, and you know why," went on Glendin, "but I've decided to give you a chance to prove that you're white men and useful citizens. Nash has already told you what we want. It's work for seven men against one, but that one man is apt to give you all plenty to do. If you are—successful"—he stammered a little over the right word—"what you have done in the past will be forgotten. Hold up your right hands and repeat after me."

And they repeated the oath after him in a broken, drawling chorus, stumbling over the formal, legal phraseology.

He ended, and then: "Nash, you're in charge of the gang. Do what you want to with them, and remember that you're to get Bard back in town unharmed—if possible."

Butch Conklin smiled, and the same smile spread grimly from face to face among the gang. Evidently this point had already been elucidated to them by Nash, who now mustered them out of the house and assembled them on their horses in the street below.

"Which way do we travel?" asked Shorty Kilrain, reining close beside the leader, as though he were anxious to disestablish any relationship with the rest of the party.

"Two ways," answered Nash. "Of course I don't know what way Bard headed, because he's got the girl with him, but I figure it this way: if a tenderfoot knows any part of the range at all, he'll go in that direction after he's in trouble. I've seen it work out before. So I think that Bard may have ridden straight for the old Drew place on the other side of the range. I know a short cut over the hills; we can reach there by morning. Kilrain, you'll go there with me.

"It may be that Bard will go near the old place, but not right to it. Chances may be good that he'll put up at some place near the old ranchhouse, but not right on the spot. Jerry Wood, he's got a house about four or five miles to the north of Drew's old ranch. Butch, you take your men and ride for Wood's place. Then switch south and ride for Partridge's store; if we miss him at Drew's old house we'll go on and join you at Partridge's store and then double back. He'll be somewhere inside that circle and Eldara, you can lay to that. Now, boys, are your hosses fresh?"

They were.

"Then ride, and don't spare the spurs. Hoss flesh is cheaper'n your own hides."

The cavalcade separated and galloped in two directions through the town of Eldara.

CHAPTER XXXIII NOTHING NEW

Glendin and Dr. Young struck out for the ranch of William Drew, but they held a moderate pace, and it was already grey dawn before they arrived; yet even at that hour several windows of the house were lighted. They were led directly to Drew's room.

The big man welcomed them at the door with a hand raised for silence. He seemed to have aged greatly during the night, but between the black shadows beneath and the shaggy brows above, his eyes gleamed more brightly than ever. About his mouth the lines of resolution were worn deep by his vigil.

"He seems to be sleeping rather well—though you hear his breathing?"

It was a soft, but ominously rattling sound.

"Through the lungs," said the doctor instantly.

The cowpuncher was completely covered, except for his head and feet. On the latter, oddly enough, were still his grimy boots, blackening the white sheets on which they rested.

"I tried to work them off—you see the laces are untied," explained Drew, "but the poor fellow recovered consciousness at once, and struggled to get his feet free. He said that he wants to die with his boots on."

"You tried his pulse and his temperature?" whispered the doctor.

"Yes. The temperature is not much above normal, the pulse is extremely rapid and very faint. Is that a bad sign?"

"Very bad."

Drew winced and caught his breath so sharply that the others stared at him. It might have been thought that he had just heard his own death sentence pronounced.

He explained: "Ben has been with me a number of years. It breaks me up to think of losing him like this."

The doctor took the pulse of Calamity with lightly touching fingers that did not waken the sleeper; then he felt with equal caution the forehead of Ben.

"Well?" asked Drew eagerly.

"The chances are about one out of ten."

It drew a groan from the rancher.

"But there is still some hope."

The doctor shook his head and carefully unwound the bandages. He examined the wound with care, and then made a dressing, and recovered the little purple spot, so small that a five-cent piece would have covered it.

"Tell me!" demanded Drew, as Young turned at length.

"The bullet passed right through the body, eh?"

"Yes."

"He ought to have been dead hours ago. I can't understand it. But since he's still alive we'll go on hoping."

"Hope?" whispered Drew.

It was as if he had received the promise of heaven, such brightness fell across his haggard face.

"There's no use attempting to explain," answered Young. "An ordinary man would have died almost instantly, but the lungs of some of these rangers seem to be lined with leather. I suppose they are fairly embalmed with excessive cigarette smoking. The constant work in the open air toughens them wonderfully. As I said, the chances are about one out of ten, but I'm only astonished that there is any chance at all."

"Doctor, I'll make you rich for this!"

"My dear sir, I've done nothing; it has been your instant care that saved him—as far as he is saved. I'll tell you what to continue doing for him; in half an hour I must leave."

Drew smiled faintly.

"Not till he's well or dead, doctor."

"I didn't quite catch that."

"You won't leave the room, Young, till this man is dead or on the way to recovery."

"Come, come, Mr. Drew, I have patients who—

"I tell you, there is no one else. Until a decision comes in this case your world is bounded by the four walls of this room. That's final."

"Is it possible that you would attempt—"

"Anything is possible with me. Make up your mind. You shall not leave this man till you've done all that's humanly possible for him."

"Mr. Drew, I appreciate your anxiety, but this is stepping too far. I have an officer of the law with me—"

"Better do what he wants, Doc," said Glendin uneasily.

"Don't mouth words," ordered Drew sternly.

"There lies your sick man. Get to work. In this I'm as unalterable as the rocks."

"The bill will be large," said Young sullenly, for he began to see that it was as futile to resist the grey giant as it would have been to attempt to stop the progress of a landslide.

"I'll pay you double what you wish to charge."

"Does this man's life mean so much to you?"

"A priceless thing. If you save him, you take the burden of murder off the soul of another."

"I'll do what I can."

"I know you will."

He laid the broad hand on Young's shoulder. "Doctor, you must do more than you can; you must accomplish the impossible; I tell you, it is impossible for this man to die; he must live!"

He turned to Glendin.

"I suppose you want the details of what happened here?"

"Right."

"Follow me. Doctor, I'll be gone only a moment."

He led the way into an adjoining room, and lighted a lamp. The sudden flare cast deep shadows on the face leaning above, and Glendin started. For the moment it seemed to