The Coming of the Law

Yuma screamed with pain and rage and got to his feet, holding his injured hand with the other. The pistol lay on the floor where Yuma had dropped it when Hollis’s boot had come in contact with his hand. For an instant Yuma stood gripping his hand, his face hideous with passion. Then with a snarl of rage and hate he drew a knife from the folds of his shirt and sprang toward Hollis.

Hollis tensed himself for the clash, rapidly measuring the distance, and when Yuma came close enough caught him squarely on the side of the jaw with a vicious right swing. But in some manner when Hollis stepped aside to avoid Yuma’s knife, his feet had become entangled with the legs of the table that Yuma had previously overturned. As he struck he slipped, the blow at Yuma’s jaw not having the force he intended it to have. He caught himself, slipped again and went down, turning completely over the table top and falling face downward to the floor. He saw Yuma throw himself forward and he tried to wriggle out of danger, but he failed. He felt the half-breed’s weight on his body, saw the knife flash in the dull light. He tried to roll over and grasp the knife in its descent, but could not, his left arm, now useless, being pinned to the floor by Yuma’s knee.

A revolver roared spitefully–once–twice. Yuma’s knife hissed past Hollis’s ear and struck the floor, its point sunk deep, its handle swaying idly back and forth. Yuma himself–inert, limp, rolled from Hollis’s back and lay flat on his own, his eyes wide open and staring, two huge bullet holes in his forehead. And in the open doorway of the cabin stood Ten Spot.

For an instant Hollis could not realize his escape. He looked at Yuma and then again at Ten Spot. Slowly and painfully he got to his feet, looking around at the wreck of the room. Staggering a little, he walked to where Ten Spot stood, gripping the latter’s hand silently, at a loss for words with which to thank him.

But apparently Ten Spot did not notice the omission, for he grinned broadly.

“I reckon there’s folks which would call that a right clever bit of shootin’,” he said, “seem’ a? there wasn’t time to pull off no fancy stuff!”

CHAPTER XXIII

TEN SPOT USES HIS EYES

The crash of Ten Spot’s pistols aroused Nellie Hazelton, and she sat up and stared stupidly about–at Hollis, who was just rising from the floor; at Ten Spot, who still stood in the doorway; and then at Yuma’s body, stretched out on the floor beside the overturned table. She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. The next instant Hollis was bending over her, helping her to her feet, leading her to the door and assuring her in a low, earnest voice that everything was all right, and that Yuma would never trouble her again, and that he wanted her to get on her pony and go to the Circle Bar. She allowed herself to be led out on the porch, but once there she looked at him with renewed spirit.

“It was you who came first,” she said; “I didn’t see you, but I heard Yuma curse, felt something strike him, and then–I must have fainted. You see, I felt it must be you–I had been expecting you.”

As she spoke she seized his hands and pressed them tightly, her eyes eloquent with thankfulness. “Oh, I am so glad!” she whispered. Then she saw Ten Spot standing in the doorway and she ran over and seized his hands also, shaking them hysterically. And Ten Spot stood, red of face, grinning bashfully at her–like a big, awkward, embarrassed schoolboy.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been thanked for shootin’ anybody!” he confided to Hollis, later. “An’ it cert’nly did feel some strange!”

In spite of Hollis’s remonstrances the girl insisted on returning to the interior of the cabin, to “bundle up her things.” Feeling the futility of further objection, Hollis finally allowed her to enter. But while she was busy in one of the rooms he and Ten Spot carried Yuma’s body outside, around to the rear of the cabin.

Then, when the girl had finally secured her “things” and they had been securely tied to her pony, and she had started down the trail toward the Circle Bar ranch, Hollis and Ten Spot returned to the rear of the cabin, took up Yuma’s body, carried it to a secluded spot at some little distance from the cabin and there buried it deep and quickly.

“I want to thank you again,” said Hollis as he and Ten Spot stood on the porch when Hollis was ready to depart; “it was a great stroke of luck that brought you here just when you were needed.”

Ten Spot grinned. “I don’t think it was just luck that brought me,” he said; “though mebbe it was luck that took me into the Fashion this morning. Whatever it was, I was in there, an’ I heard Dunlavey an’ Yuma cookin’ this here deal. I wasn’t feelin’ entirely ongrateful for the way you’d treated me after you’d got my gun that day in the Kicker office an’ I wasn’t intendin’ to let happen what Dunlavey wanted to happen. So I got out of the Fashion as soon as I could an’ trailed Yuma. I’ve been after him all day, but somehow or other I lost him an’ didn’t find out where he’d gone till a little while ago–when I heard a gun go off. Then I hit the breeze here–after Yuma. That’s all. That’s how I come to get here so lucky.” He stuck out a hand to Hollis. “Well, so-long,” he said; “I’m hittin’ the breeze out of the country.” He stepped forward to his pony, but hesitated when he heard Hollis speak.

“Then you’re not going back to the Circle Cross–to work for Dunlavey?” questioned the latter.

“Well, no,” grinned Ten Spot. “You see, it might not be so pleasant now as it’s been. I reckon when Dunlavey hears this he won’t be exactly tickled.”

Hollis contemplated him gravely. “So you’re going to leave the country?” he said slowly, his eyes twinkling. “I take it you are not afraid – ”

“Don’t!” said Ten Spot coldly and sharply. Then he grinned with feline cordiality. “I reckon I ain’t scared of anyone,” he said, “but I ain’t likin’ to go back to the Circle Cross after puttin’ Yuma out of business. I’ve done some mean things in my time, but I ain’t dealin’ double with no man, an’ I couldn’t go back to the Circle Cross an’ work for Dunlavey when I ain’t sympathizin’ with him none.”

“I’m shy of good cowhands,” offered Hollis quietly. “If forty a month would be – ”

Ten Spot’s right hand was suddenly gripping Hollis’s. “You’ve hired a man, boss!” he said, his eyes alight with pleasure. “Ever since you clawed me that day in the Kicker office I’ve had a hankerin’ to work for you. I was wonder in’ if you’d ast me. There ain’t no damn – ”

“Then it’s a bargain,” laughed Hollis, interrupting. “You can start right now.” He pointed to the ridge upon which he had been riding when he heard the shot that had brought him to the cabin. “Some of Ed Hazelton’s cattle are in the basin on the other side of that ridge,” he said. “You go over there and keep an eye on them until I can get a chance to send some one here to help you drive them back up the river toward the Circle Bar.” As he came to the edge of the porch to mount his pony his gaze fell on Yuma’s horse, still hitched to one of the columns. “What are we going to do with Yuma’s horse?” he questioned.

Ten Spot grinned. He walked over to the pony, unhitched it, and with a vicious slap on the flank sent it loping down the trail toward the river.

“That’ll be my message to Dunlavey that Yuma ain’t here any more,” he said grimly.

Hollis mounted and rode a short distance, but halted and turned in the saddle when he heard Ten Spot call to him.

“Boss,” he said with a grin, “I ain’t exactly blind, an’ mebbe you’ve got your eyes with you, too. But I saw that there Hazelton girl lookin’ at you sorta – ”

He saw a smile on Hollis’s face, but the rest of his speech was drowned in a clatter of hoofs as the “boss’s” pony tore down the Coyote trail. Then Ten Spot smiled, mounted his pony, and rode away toward the ridge.

CHAPTER XXIV

CAMPAIGN GUNS

Of course Yuma had been amply punished for his part in the attack on Nellie Hazelton, but there still remained Dunlavey–who had instigated it. Hollis was aware of the uselessness of bringing a charge against Dunlavey–he had not forgotten his experience with Bill Watkins when he had attempted to have Greasy brought to justice. He believed that he would not have brought such a charge had there been any probability of the sheriff taking action. He felt that in inciting Yuma to attack Nellie, Dunlavey had also contemplated a blow at him. The man’s devilish ingenuity appalled him, but it also aroused a fierce anger in his heart that, in the absence of a powerful will, would have moved him to immediate vengeance.

But he contemplated no immediate action. Besides the attack on Nellie Hazelton there was another score to settle with Dunlavey, and when the time came for a final accounting he told himself that he would settle both. He knew there would come such a time. From the beginning he had felt that he and the Circle Cross manager were marked by fate for a clash. He was eager for it, but content to wait until the appointed time. And he knew that the time was not far distant.

Therefore he remained silent regarding the incident, and except to Norton and his wife, Nellie Hazelton, Ten Spot, and himself, the disappearance of Yuma remained a mystery.

Dunlavey, perhaps, might have had his suspicions, but if so he communicated them to no one, and so as the days passed the mystery ceased to be discussed and Yuma was forgotten.

Hollis received a letter from Weary, dated “Chicago,” announcing the safe arrival of himself and Ed Hazelton. “Town” suited him to a “T,” he wrote. But Doctor Hammond would not operate at once–he wanted time to study the symptoms of Ed’s malady. That was all. Hollis turned this letter over to Nellie, with another from Ed, addressed to her–whose contents remained a mystery to him.

Ben Allen had returned from his visit to the small ranchers in the vicinity, had confided to Hollis that he had “mixed a little politics with business,” and then, after receiving a telegram from the Secretary of the Interior, had taken himself off to Santa Fe to confer with the governor.

After several days he returned. He entered the Kicker office to greet Hollis, his face wreathed in smiles.

“You’ve got ’em all stirred up, my boy!” he declared, placing his hand on Hollis’s shoulder with a resounding “smack”; “they’re goin’ to enforce the little law we’ve got and they’ve passed some new ones. Here’s a few! First and foremost, cattle stealing is to be considered felony! Penalty, from one to twenty years! Next–free water! Being as the rivers in this Territory ain’t never been sold with what land the government sharks has disposed of, any cattleman’s got the right to water wherever he wants to. The governor told me that if it’s necessary he’ll send Uncle Sam’s blue coats anywhere in the Territory to enforce that! Third: after a man’s registered his brand he can’t change it unless he applies to the district judge. Them that ain’t registered their brand ain’t entitled to no protection. I reckon there’s trouble ahead for any man which monkeys with another man’s brand!

“Say!” Allen eyed Hollis whimsically; “that new governor’s all het up over you! Had a copy of the Kicker in front of him on his desk when he was talkin’ to me. Says you’re a scrapper from the word go, an’ that he’d back you up long as there was a blue coat anywhere in the Territory!”

Allen’s speech was ungrammatical, but its message was one of good cheer and Hollis’s eyes brightened. The Law was coming at last! He could not help but wonder what Dunlavey’s feelings would be when he heard of it. For himself, he felt as any man must feel who, laboring at a seemingly impossible task, endless and thankless, sees in the distance the possible, the end, and the plaudits of his friends.

Yes, he could see the end, but the end was not yet. He looked gravely at Allen.

“Did you happen to hear when these laws become effective?” he inquired.

“On the first day of October!” returned Allen, triumphantly.

Hollis smiled. “And election day is the third of November,” he said. “That gives Dunlavey, Watkins and Company a month’s grace–in case you are elected sheriff.”

Allen grinned. “They can’t do a heap in a month,” he said.

“No,” returned Hollis, “but in most elections that have come under my observation, I have noticed that the winning candidate does not assume office for a considerable time after the election. What is the custom out here?”

Allen grinned grimly. “Usually it’s two weeks,” he said, “but if I’m elected it will be the next day–if I have to go down to the sheriff’s office and drag Bill Watkins out by the hair!”

“That belligerent spirit does you credit,” dryly observed Hollis. “It will afford me great pleasure to participate in the festivities. But there is another matter to be thought of–which we seem to have overlooked. Usually before an election there is a primary, or a convention, is there not?”

“There is,” grinned Allen. “It’s to-night, and I’m ready for it!” His grin expanded to a wide, whimsical smile. “I told you that I’d been mixing a little politics with business,” he said. “Well, I’ve done so.” He got up and approached the front window of the office, sweeping a hand toward the street. “If you’ll just get up and look out here,” he said, “you’ll see that I ain’t lying. There’s some good in being an ex-office-holder–you get experience enough to tell you how to run a campaign.” He bowed to Hollis. “Now, if you’ll look close at that gang which is mixing palaver in front of the Silver Dollar you’ll mebbe notice that Lemuel Train is in it, an’ Truxton, of the Diamond Dot, Holcomb, of the Star, Yeager, of the Three Diamond, Clark, of the Circle Y, Henningson, of the Three Bar, Toban, of the T Down, an’ some more which has come in for the racket tonight. Countin’ ’em all–the punchers which have come in with the fellows I have named–there’ll be about seventy-five.

“An’, say!” he added, suddenly confronting Hollis and grasping him by the shoulder and shaking him playfully and admiringly, “there wouldn’t a durn one of them have come over here on my account. They up an’ told me so when I asked them. Said they’d nothin’ ag’in me, but they wasn’t considerin’ votin’ at all. But since Hollis wanted me–well, they’d come over just to show you that they appreciated what you’d done for them!”

Hollis smiled. He did not tell Allen that since the appearance of the Kicker containing the announcement that he was to be its candidate he had written every small rancher in the vicinity, requesting as a personal favor that they appear in Dry Bottom on the day of the primary; that these letters had been delivered by Ace, and that when the poet returned he had presented Hollis with a list containing the name of every rancher who had promised to come, and that several days before Hollis had known approximately how many votes Allen would receive at the primary. He did not intend that Allen should know this–or that he had been going quietly from one Dry Bottom merchant to another, appealing to them for their support. And the earnestness with which many of them had promised had convinced him that the primary was to be the beginning of the end for Bill Watkins and Dunlavey.

When he had first come to Dry Bottom it had been universally conceded by the town’s citizens that his differences with Dunlavey and the Cattlemen’s Association were purely personal, and there had been a disposition on the part of the citizens to let them fight it out between themselves. But of late there had come a change in that sentiment. The change had been gradual, beginning with the day when he had told the author of the notice that had appeared on the door of the Kicker office not to hold the express on his account. But the change had come and it was evident that it was to be permanent. It had only been necessary to arouse the government to the situation in order to secure intervention. He had hoped to secure this intervention without being forced to a hostile clash with the opposition, but his first meeting with Dunlavey had spoiled that. Subsequent events had widened the breach.

He was satisfied. Let Bill Watkins be defeated for sheriff and Dunlavey was beaten. But there was much to be done before that desirable end could be achieved.

Following the custom the primary was to be held in the sheriff’s office. Watkins had issued a proclamation some weeks before; it had appeared on the door of the sheriff’s office–a written notice, tacked to the door–but it had been removed the same day. Obviously, it was the sheriff’s intention to conduct the primary as quietly as possible, hoping no doubt to disarm whatever opposition might develop. But Hollis had been apprised of the appearance of the proclamation and had quietly proceeded to plant the seed of opposition to Watkins in the minds of his friends.

He had been warned by Judge Graney that Watkins would try to “pack” the sheriff’s office with his friends on the night of the primary. This had been the usual method employed by Dunlavey when opposition to Watkins developed. Drunken, dissolute, dangerous men were usually on hand to overawe the opposition; the Judge told of instances in which gunplay had developed. But Hollis had determined that Watkins must be beaten.

Allen did not stay long in the Kicker office. Nor, for that matter, did Hollis. Once, during the morning, he went down to the court house to talk with Judge Graney. Then he returned to the Kicker office and worked until noon.

During the morning there had been a surprising influx of visitors. Bronzed punchers on dusty, drooping ponies rode down the town’s one street, dropped from their saddles, and sought the saloons. Groups of them swarmed the streets and the stores. As Hollis walked down to his office after leaving the court house, he was kept busy nodding to friends–many of whom had become such during the later days of the drought. Merchants grinned at him from their doorways; Dunlavey’s friends sneered as he passed or sent ribald jokes after him.

At noon he went to the Alhambra for lunch. Almost the first person he saw there was Dunlavey. The latter grinned at him mockingly.

“Friends of yours in town to-day,” he said with a sneer. “Well, you’ll need them!”

His voice had been loud enough for all in the restaurant to hear. Hollis did not answer, though he appreciated the significance of Dunlavey’s words; they told him that the Circle Cross manager was aware of the contemplated contest and was ready for it.

During the afternoon Dry Bottom presented a decidedly different appearance from the day when Hollis had first viewed it. Animation had succeeded desolation. Perhaps a hundred cowponies were hitched to the rails that paralleled the fronts of the saloons, the stores, and many of the private dwellings. It was apparent that many of the visitors had made the trip to town for the double purpose of voting and securing supplies, for mixed with the ponies were numerous wagons of various varieties, their owners loading them with boxes and crates. Men swarmed the sidewalks; the saloons buzzed.

Toward dusk the volume of noise in the saloons drowned all sound outside. Having made their purchases the ranchers who had driven in for supplies and had loaded their wagons preparatory to departure found time to join their friends and acquaintances over a convivial glass. By the time the kerosene lamps were lighted in the saloons revelry reigned. From one saloon issued the shrieking, discordant notes of a violin, accompanied by the scuffling of feet; from another came laughter and the clinking of glasses; from still another came harsh oaths and obscene shouts. In the latter place rose the laughter of women.

Seated at his desk near the front window of the Kicker office Hollis gravely watched the scene–listened to the sounds. In another chair sat Potter. There was no light in the office; neither man had thought of a light. As the revelry in the saloons increased the printer glanced furtively at his chief.

“There’ll be hell to-night!” he said.

“I expect there will be trouble,” agreed Hollis.

Potter shifted uneasily in his chair, eyeing his employer with a worried expression. He was silent for a moment. Then he cleared his throat nervously.

“Do you intend to go there–to the sheriff’s office–to-night?” he questioned.

Hollis looked quickly at him. “Of course!” he said with emphasis. “Why?” he interrogated.

“Nothing,” returned Potter; “only – ” he hesitated and then blurted out: “I wouldn’t go if I were you. They’ve been saying that if you do there’ll be trouble. You know what that means.”

“Who has been saying that?” inquired Hollis.

“I heard it at noon–in the Silver Dollar. Some of Dunlavey’s men sat near me and I heard them saying that Watkins was to win if they had to put two or three of his chief opponents out of business.”

“I have been expecting that,” returned Hollis. He said nothing more and Potter, having done his duty, felt that he had no business to interfere further.

Shortly after dark there was a clatter of hoofs outside the Kicker office and four men dismounted from their ponies and strode to the office door. They were Norton, Ace, Lanky, and Bud. Evidently Hollis had been awaiting their coming, for he met them at the door, greeting them with the words: “We’ll be going at once; it’s about time.”

Followed by Potter the five strode rapidly down the street. When they arrived at the sheriff’s office there were a number of men congregated about the door. Inside a kerosene lamp flickered on a table that sat in the center of the room. Another lamp stood on Watkins’s desk, and beside the desk sat Watkins himself.

Conversation died away as Hollis and his men approached the door and stood in the stream of light from the interior. A man stepped out of the shadow of the building and approached Hollis, drawing him and Norton aside. It was Allen. The latter had lost some of the sprightliness that had marked his manner during his conversation with Hollis in the Kicker office that morning–he was again the cool, deliberate, steady-eyed man he had been that day in Judge Graney’s office when Hollis had met him the first time.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he said; “we’re goin’ to have a scrumptuous time. Dunlavey’s planning to pack her.” He swept a hand toward the interior of the office. “But each candidate is to be allowed two witnesses. I’ve selected you two. Dunlavey and Greasy are doing the honors for Watkins. We might just as well go inside; we can’t do anything out here. There won’t be anything done by any of this gang until Dunlavey says the word.”

He turned and stepped into the sheriff’s office, Hollis and Norton following.

Watkins looked up and surveyed them with a bland smile as they entered and dropped quietly into the several chairs that had been provided.

“I reckon she’s goin’ to be some hot tonight?” significantly remarked Watkins, addressing himself to Allen.

“Maybe,” grinned Allen.

“We’re goin’ to take a hand in handlin’ the Law,” significantly remarked Norton.

Watkins’s face reddened. He stared offensively at Hollis.

“I reckon you’re a witness, too,” he said, sneering. “Well,” he went on as Hollis gravely nodded, “the law says that a witness to the count must be a resident of the county. An’ I reckon you ain’t. You ain’t been – ”

“He stays,” interrupted Allen, shortly. “That’s settled.”

Watkins’s face bloated with a sudden anger, but he wheeled without replying and gave his attention to some papers lying on the desk in front of him.

For a long time the four sat in silence. Outside arose voices of men–growing in volume. There was a jam around the door; looking out Hollis could see the bronzed, grim faces of the punchers as they crowded close, moved by a spirit of curiosity. Hollis could hear exclamations of impatience, though the majority of the men outside stood in silence, waiting.

Plainly, nothing was to be done until the arrival of Dunlavey. And presently he came.

He had not been drinking; he was undeniably sober and self-possessed. As he entered the door of the office there was a sudden surge on the part of the crowd–several of the men tried to force their way in behind Dunlavey. But he halted on the threshold, scowling back at them and uttering the one word: “Wait!” The crowd fell back at the command and watched.

Dunlavey stepped across the room, standing beside Watkins, his rapid glance noting the presence of the three members of the opposition. He ignored Hollis and Norton, speaking to Allen.