The Bandit of Hell's Bend by Edgar Rice Burroughs (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📖

vacated the premises and turned them over to us. We shall not need your services any longer. We shall give you a month’s wages and escort you as far as town, where your weapons will be turned over to you; but I want to warn you that you are not to return to the Bar Y If you do I shall see that the law takes its full course with you.”

“Where’s Miss Henders?” demanded Texas Pete. “She has left the ranch,” replied Corson. “I do not know her exact plans, but I think she went directly to Aldea to take the train for the East.”

“I don’t know her exact plans neither,” said Texas Pete, “but I know you are a damn liar. You got the drop on me an’ Shorty, an’ we goes to town as you says, but if the rest that you have told us ain’t straight we’re comin’ back agin. An’ when we do it’s a-goin’ to be gosh-almighty onpleasant fer dudes in these parts. Sabe?”

“If you show your faces around here again you’ll be shot on sight,” said Corson. “We’ve got the men and the money to run this ranch as we see fit, and we mean business. The old, disgraceful, lawless days are about over in this country, and there won’t be any place for bad-men like you two.”

“No, Pete,” said Shorty, “we’re did fer, our time’s up, they ain’t no more place fer us ‘an a jackrabbit. We’re a-goin’ to hev a new brand o’ bad-men now-the kind they raise in Noo York that wears funny pants an’ robs orphants.”

“Take them to town, boys,” said Corson, addressing his own men, “and then come back here. You’ve all got jobs here on the Bar Y, and one of the first duties you have is to shoot bad-men on sight, if they show up around the ranch.”

Texas Pete and Shorty turned and walked out with their escort, and shortly after, still under guard, were loping away in the direction of Hendersville.

The stage came down the pass with a load of passengers that day and among them was a lawyer from Aldea imported by Corson and Wainright to draw up the papers that would make one-third the Bar Y property Wainright’s and place a hundred and twentyfive thousand dollars in the hands of Corson and Lillian Manill.

At the mine it stopped and took on the messenger with the bullion. Then to the crack of Bill Gatlin’s whip it lurched onward toward the gap, Bill was discoursing to a tenderfoot who had remarked on the dry appearance of the country that he had seen, stretching away as far as the eye could reach, from the summit to the pass.

“I should hate to be caught out there alone,” said the young man. “I’m afraid I’d starve to death.”

“Why that wouldn’t be nothin’,” observed Bill. “That wouldn’t be nothin’ at all. Why back in the seventies when I was ridin’ fer the Lazy H outfit in Montana I was chasin’ a critter one day when my pony stepped in a badger hole an’ after turnin’ three complete somersaults lights plumb on his feet an’ starts across country scared stiff, which would a’ben all right ef it hadn’t a’ben that the last somersault shuck me clean outen the saddle, an’ by cracky it was jest my durn luck that my foot caught in the stirrup an’ that ornery critter up an’ drags me. He was so sceart that he never much more’n slowed up fer three days. Yes-, sir, he drug me fer three days an’ nights, an’ all I hed to eat was when he drug me through a strawberry patch an’ all I hed to drink was when he drug me through a river. No, sir, after thet it wouldn’t seem bad at all to be left out nowheres in no country.”

The tenderfoot looked at Bill with deep and reverent awe, but he said nothing. The stage bumped over the uneven road, lurching drunkenly around curves. A masked man waited silently behind the boulders at the south end of the gap. He appeared nervous, turning often to glance back into the chapparal from which he had emerged a few moments before. “I wonder where in hell Gregorio is,” he muttered, half aloud, “he told me last night that he would be here before me.”

The stage drew nearer. Bill Gatlin reined his team to a walk at the first deep chuck-hole at the entrance to the gap. The horses moved slowly, picking their way and sometimes stumbling in the deep dust-filled cavities that made this short stretch of scarce fifty yards the most notorious piece of road within a hundred miles.

The lone highwayman could wait no longer for his accomplice—he must essay the thing alone. He stepped forward to intercept the slow-moving stage and as he did so a noise behind him attracted his attention, and a single backward glance revealed to him a masked man and the familiar habiliments of Gregorio. He breathed a quick sigh of relief, motioned to his accomplice to hurry, and moved forward with the second man now close at his heels.

Bill Gatlin and the messenger were not surprised when the two men stepped into the middle of the gap and held them up. They would have been surprised under ordinary circumstances, but today they had been forewarned that there would doubtless be an attempted holdup on account of the unusually valuable gold shipment, which was being used as a lure to trap The Black Coyote, and they had been warned to offer no resistance since Hal Colby had agreed to take the notorious robber if the matter was left entirely in his hands without any interference whatsoever. All of which pleased Bill Gatlin and the messenger immensely, since it relieved them both of most of the danger and all the responsibility. Not only did Bill Gatlin show no surprise at the appearance of the two masked figures, but, as a matter of fact, he was already stopping his team as they appeared, and had his hands in the air almost as soon as the command left the lips of the foremost of them. As usual the Mexican kept the driver and messenger covered while The Black Coyote approached the stage to obtain the gold, but this time the second robber followed his principal more closely than had formerly been his custom. The Coyote menaced the passengers with his weapons, seeing that they kept their hands elevated, and then with Gregorio on the watch behind him he slipped both his guns back into their holsters and reached up to take the bags of gold away from the messenger.

He had placed one foot on the hub of the front wheel to raise himself to a height that would enable him to reach the precious pouches when his confederate stepped quickly toward him, shoved the muzzles of his guns into The Black Coyote’s back, and ordered him to put up his hands.

“Step down and put ‘em up,” he said. “You’re through.”

“Durn my hide!” exclaimed Bill Gatlin. “Hays pretty cute. I thought he was Gregorio all the time. He’s got Bull to rights this time.”

The Black Coyote stepped back from the stage with a growl. “You dirty greaser, you,” he cried. “I’ll get you for this, Gregorio.”

The latter nodded to the messenger. “Get down and get his guns,” he said, and when the man had done so, “Now yank off his mask.”

The messenger jerked the black silk handkerchief from the face of The Black Coyote with a single quick movement, and then stepped back suddenly, his eyes wide with surprise. “Colby!” he ejaculated.

Bill Gatlin almost swallowed his quid of tobacco. “Well I’ll be hornswaggled!” he exclaimed, and then to the second robber, “an’ you was Gregorio all the time an’ I mistook you fer Colby. The joke sure is on me, an’ the drinks too.”

“They are,” agreed the second robber. He shoved one of his guns into his holster and removed his own mask. .

“Well now I will be hornswaggled,” murmured Bill Gatlin-“ef it ain’t Bull!”

“Keep him covered,” said Bull to the messenger, “:while I get our horses.”

Colby glared sullenly at Bull as the latter walked back up the road to get the horses, but he said nothing. He was still half-dazed from the surprise of seeing Bull disguised as Gregorio, for even to the latter’s guns Bull wore the entire outfit of the Mexican, and when Bull returned, riding Gregorio’s and leading Colby’s animal, The Black Coyote eyed him as though he still doubted his identity.

Bull drew rein beside him and nodded toward Colby’s horse. “Climb aboard,” he said. Colby mounted and Bull tossed the noose of his reata around his prisoner’s neck, drawing up the slack until the honda touched the collar of the man’s shirt.

“Pull yer freight, Colby,” said Bull, and the two started off down the road toward Hendersville. A moment later the stage passed them.

“Want me to stay along with you in case you need any help?” called Bill Gatlin.

“I won’t want no help,” said Bull.

As the stage grew away from them, concealing itself in its own dust, a swarthy rider galloped up to Bull and Colby, reining in a blazed-face chestnut beside them. It was Gregorio. Colby glared at the Mexican.

“You-you-” he shouted.

“Shut up, Colby,” Bull interrupted him. “You got what was comin’ to you. It’ll learn you not to ditch a pal.”

Gregorio had dismounted and was stripping his outer garments and Bull followed his example. As they exchanged clothing and horses they joked together over the days work, which they considered good. Gregorio swung himself into his saddle first.

“A Dios, Senor Bull!” he cried with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps in a few days Gregorio comes out of the hills, eh?”

“I’ll fix that up when I git through with this business, Gregorio,” replied the American. “In the meantime just lay low.”

“And I will work with you for the Bar Y Rancho?” inquired the Mexican.

“If I do, Gregorio. So-long!”

“A Dios, Senor!” and Gregorio wheeled his pony back toward the hills.

“Thet greaser’s whiter’n some white men,” said Bull.

When he trotted into Hendersville a few minutes behind the stage he found that already the news had spread and a crowd, gathered about the stage in front of The Donovan House, surrounded him and his prisoner.

“Durn his hide!” exclaimed one who had been fore most among the posse that had ridden forth to hang Bull only a short time before, “I knew right along ‘twarn’t Bull. I anus said they was something shady about thet there Colby feller.”

Bull had but just drawn rein when. Texas Pete and Shorty rode up, safely delivered in town by their escort and having reclaimed their guns which had been emptied of cartridges and dropped in the road at the edge, of town while the escort galloped quickly out of range toward the Bar I’.

Texas Pete had no time for questions. His quick eyes took in the scene at a glance and possibly he guessed the explanation, or caught it from the comments of the crowd, but another and more important matter occupied his thoughts as he forced his pony to Bull’s side.

“Have you saw anything of Miss Di?” he asked. “Is she here in town?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“She ain’t on the Bar Y Corson says she’s sold out an’ left fer Aldea,” replied Texas Pete.

“Corson’s a liar,” snapped Bull. He turned toward the veranda Of The Donovan House where he espied the proprietress. “Mrs. Donovan!” he called to her, “is Miss Henders in town?”

“She is not, Bull,” replied Mary Donovan.

Bull turned his eyes toward the crowd until they alighted upon a man he knew bore a decent reputation—one who