The Coyote Page 6

  “Can you feed five men, ma’am?” asked the sheriff in a softer tone.

  “Just sit down, and I’ll get you some breakfast,” said the girl.

  The two men in the little cellar could hear some of the men taking chairs and one or two going out to look after the horses. The girl’s light footsteps retreated into the kitchen.

  Rathburn smiled mysteriously at Lamy who was shivering with a case of nerves.

  “I can’t understand who that was with him––or following him,” came Brown’s voice. “Somebody must have seen him getting away and set out on the trail while it was hot.”

  “Either that or saw him beating it somewheres on the trail east of town an’ took after him on suspicion,” drawled the sheriff. “’Spect everybody around here has seen those reward notices you put out.”

  “That’s so,” said Brown. “I had the right hunch when I got the tip he’d left his Arizona hangout, sheriff. I figured he’d head this way. Then he had the nerve––well, you know what happened in my office.”

  The sheriff chuckled. Then he spoke angrily. “He can’t pull any of his stunts in my territory,” he said growlingly. “I’ll hunt him down if I have to put every man I’ve got on the trail an’ keep ’em there. I figure, though,” he added hopefully, “that we’ve got him cornered in or around this valley. We traced ’em here, and we got sight of ’em yesterday. We’ll have ’em before night!”

  “I hope so,” said Brown grimly.

  “I’ve given orders to shoot to kill and not to miss,” thundered the sheriff. “But I guess the rewards offered for him would kind of steady the aim of the man that got a crack at him.”

  Rathburn’s face went white, and his eyes shot fire as he listened to the sheriff’s cruel laugh in which the others in the room above now joined.

  Lamy signaled that he wished to whisper in his ear, and Rathburn bent his head, although he kept the gun handy.

  “I’m not goin’ to risk shootin’ anybody if we should be found or cornered,” Lamy whispered. “I thought you ought to know–––”

  “If we’re cornered you leave it to me,” Rathburn came back. “I have reasons for everything I’m doing. An’ don’t forget that I’d rather be grabbed for this simple trick of yours in Dry Lake than for one or two jobs over in Arizona. If things go wrong keep your mouth shut––don’t talk! If you start talking any time I’ll try to kill you!”

  Lamy drew back from the ferocity in Rathburn’s tone and manner. That menacing message was again in Rathburn’s eyes.

  “Who’s that boy out there?” the sheriff called sharply.

  “Go in and say how-do-you-do,” came the girl’s voice from the kitchen. “It’s my brother, Frankie.”

  “Come here, Frankie,” said the sheriff.

  The pair below heard light footsteps on the floor above.

  “That’s a fine crop of freckles you’ve got,” said the sheriff.

  Rathburn saw Lamy put a hand to his face and make a grimace.

  “Listen, Frankie, did you see anybody around here this morning?” asked the sheriff.

  “Who––who you looking for?” asked the boy.

  Rathburn started; his body suddenly tensed.

  “I’m looking for an outlaw they call The Coyote,” returned the sheriff. “Ever hear of him?”

  “Y-e-s. Ed brought home a notice about a reward for him.”

  “That’s the man we’re after. Rides a dun-colored horse; tall, light-complexioned. Seen anybody like that around here?”

  “He was here day before yesterday,” said the boy truthfully. “Sis gave him something to eat, an’ he went on into town. He didn’t seem like such a bad man to me. Told me never to lie.”

  “He was here? Ate here?” The sheriff’s voice was excited.

  Rathburn saw Lamy’s eyes widen.

  “Frankie,” the sheriff said soberly, “that Coyote went into town an’ robbed a place. He’s a bad, dangerous man no matter how he looks or what he says. Have you seen anybody that looked like him since?”

  The question was followed by a deep silence.

  Rathburn alert, his eyes gleaming, heard the sheriff rise.

  “Answer me, boy. I’m the sheriff of this county!”

  “’Tain’t that––’tain’t that,” said the boy in a tremulous voice. “Only––I’d rather not tell, Mr. Sheriff.”

  “You must answer me!” said the official sternly. “Have you seen any one around here––yesterday or this morning?”

  “Ye-e-s.”

  “When?” demanded the sheriff. “Don’t lie!”

  “This––this morning,” stammered the boy.

  “Where? Tell me about it, quick.”

  “Two men ran across from the timber to the house,” replied the boy. “He––he said not to lie for him––but–––”

  The sheriff stepped quickly to the kitchen door. “I thought you said no one had been around here, ma’am.”

  “Why––I didn’t see any one,” came the girl’s voice.

  “I saw ’em from the pasture,” the boy confessed.

  “Then they’re here!” cried the sheriff. “Search the house an’ the barn!”

  In the dim, narrow cellar Rathburn was holding his gun aimed at Lamy’s heart.

  “You remember what I said about keepin’ your mouth shut?” he asked in a low voice, his steel-blue gaze boring into the other’s eyes.

  Lamy gasped. Then he slowly nodded his head.

  “That’s your bond!” said Rathburn, as tramping feet sounded overhead.

  * * *

  CHAPTER X

  CAUGHT IN THE CELLAR

  Rathburn rose and crouched under the trapdoor, gun in hand. Lamy watched him, breathless, perplexed, uncertain. They heard men running; then there were no sounds from above and a deathly stillness settled down.

  Slowly and with infinite care Rathburn raised the trapdoor an inch or two and listened intently. Lamy scrambled to his knees on the pile of gunny sacks; but Rathburn swung quickly upon him. They stared at each other in the semidarkness.

  “He said two,” breathed Lamy, a curious look in his eyes.

  “Are you afraid?” mocked Rathburn. “It’s me they want––don’t worry. I may make a break for it, an’ if I do there’s likely to be powder burned. You can stay here an’ get out when they take after me, if I go,” said Rathburn, and the sneer in his voice caused Lamy to flush uncomfortably.

  Rathburn petted the gun in his hand. “But before I make a break I want to tell you something that I should have told you before this, when I had more time–––”

  He bit off his speech as there came a sudden recurrence of the sounds in the house. The trapdoor closed down.

  “Where’s the cellar?” came the sheriff’s authoritative voice.

  Many feet tramped upon the floor above them. Then they heard the rug stripped back. There was an exclamation from the sheriff and the sound of moving feet suddenly was stilled.

  “Is there any one in the cellar?” the sheriff called.

  Silence––with Lamy pressing Rathburn’s knee with a hand, and Rathburn smiling that queer, grim smile which conveyed so much, yet nothing which was tangible.

  “Get around here, you fellows,” they heard the sheriff order.

  The sound of boots and spurs attested to the quickness with which his order was obeyed.

  Rathburn leaned down suddenly and with lightning swiftness jerked Lamy’s gun from its holster near his side. He tossed the weapon to a corner of the dark cellar just as the sheriff’s voice was heard again.

  “Coyote, if you’re down there I’m not going to take a chance fumbling with that door. If you ain’t there, then there won’t be any harm in what I’m going to do. If I don’t hear anything when I finish talking I’m going to give the signal to my men to start shooting through the floor––and I mean it. If anybody’s down there it’d be good sense to flip up that door and crawl out hands first, an’ those hands empty.”

  “Sheriff,
you’re bluffing!” said Rathburn loudly.

  Then the sheriff spoke again in an exultant tone. “I figured it was the best hidin’ place you could find, Coyote. You’re right; I was sort of bluffing, but I might have changed my mind an’ gone on through with it. We’ve got you dead to rights, Coyote; you haven’t got a chance. There’s seven of us now an’ every man is ready to open up if you come out of there a-shooting.”

  Rathburn slipped his gun back into his holster. He raised the trapdoor slowly until it tipped back on the floor leaving the opening into the cellar clear.

  “Two of ’em!” he heard some one exclaim.

  He looked up to accustom his eyes to the light and saw a dozen guns covering him.

  “Gentlemen, the landscape fairly bristles with artillery,” he said amiably. “Who’s the sheriff? And––there’s Jud Brown. Who let you loose, Jud?”

  “I’m Sheriff Neal,” interposed that individual, a slight, dark man with a bristly mustache. “Come out of there––hands free.”

  “For the time being, eh, sheriff? I expect you figure on fixing those hands so they won’t be free, eh? Well, all I’ve got to say is that I hope you won’t spend the money foolishly, sheriff.”

  Rathburn leaped lightly out of the cellar.

  “Keep that other man down there covered, too,” snapped out Neal. “It’s principle more than reward money that invites me, Coyote. Hand over your gun belt an’ be careful how you unbuckle it.”

  “Sheriff, it would be against my code of ethics to hand over my gun. It can’t be done, sheriff; you’ll have to come and get it.”

  Neal hesitated, notwithstanding the fact that he had Rathburn covered and that several other guns were covering him. Then he stepped forward, never taking his eyes from Rathburn’s, and secured the other’s weapon.

  “That’s better, sheriff,” said Rathburn with a queer smile. “You can see how I have my pride an’ little superstitions. No man has ever took a gun from me but what I’ve got it back! Thanks, sheriff.”

  Lamy had come out of the cellar. Several of the men seemed to recognize him, but kept their silence with dubious looks in their eyes.

  “My guide, sheriff,” said Rathburn, pointing gayly at Lamy. “He was very kind. He showed me around the country––me not being very well acquainted around here. I had to take his gun away from him an’ sort of encourage him along with my own, but he did very nicely.”

  “Just what I thought, Neal,” said Brown. “This fellow took after him an’ he captured him and made him lead him. Isn’t that so?” he asked of Lamy.

  “Just a minute, Jud,” Rathburn interrupted with a frown. “I can’t let the importance of this momentous occasion be transferred to a subordinate. You must ask your questions of me, as I am the central figure in this affair.”

  The cry of a girl startled them. She came running from the kitchen where she had fled when the sheriff announced his intention to shoot through the floor.

  “Ed!” she cried, running to Lamy and throwing her arms about him. “Oh––Ed!”

  “Who is he, ma’am?” asked the sheriff. “Your husband?”

  “He’s my brother––Ed Lamy.”

  “I can recommend him if you need a guide who knows the country, sheriff,” said Rathburn genially. “I guess he had an idea of making trouble for me at first, but I had the drop on him an’ he soon saw reason. I had to knock him down last night when he got fresh, but he did very well. Of course I had an advantage on my side.” He nodded toward his gun which the official still held in his hand.

  “Did he make you guide him?” Neal asked Lamy, noting his empty holster.

  Rathburn turned so that he could look at his former captive.

  Lamy nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I didn’t know what minute I was goin’ to get shot in the back.”

  Rathburn’s eyes glowed with an amused light. “I didn’t have any idea of shootin’ him, sheriff; he was too valuable as my escort on the tour. I wonder if the lady could spare me a cup of coffee an’ a biscuit?”

  He glimpsed the boy in the kitchen doorway behind the sheriff. “Hello, sonny,” he called cheerfully. “Did you catch those freckles from your brother?”

  The boy gazed at him abashed. There were actually tears in the youngster’s eyes. Ed Lamy and his sister moved into the kitchen and took the boy with them. The girl had nodded to the sheriff.

  “She’ll get you something to eat,” said Neal. “What have you got on you?” He stepped to Rathburn’s side.

  “Ah––the frisk. I see you are a regulation officer, sheriff.” Rathburn’s tone fairly radiated politeness and good cheer. “The silver was rather heavy. It ain’t my usual style to pack much silver, sheriff. There’s more of the bills in my hip pockets. Don’t suppose there’s more’n a thousand in the whole bundle.”

  The sheriff put the bills and silver on the table. He investigated all of Rathburn’s pockets, returned him his tobacco, papers, and handkerchief, but kept a box of matches. Then he felt his prisoner’s clothing to make sure that he had no weapons concealed; he also felt his boot tops.

  He looked at Rathburn with a gloating expression when he had finished; there was also a glint of admiration in the gaze he directed at him.

  “You size right up to the descriptions of you, Coyote,” he reflected in a pleasant voice. “Too bad you couldn’t have been in a better business. I’m glad I caught you, but I ain’t any too––too––well, I might say any too proud of it. That may be pleasant for you to hear. But I ain’t discounting your well-known ability, an’ I want to warn you that I or any of my men will shoot you in your tracks if you start anything that looks suspiciouslike.”

  Rathburn yawned. “Sheriff, your courtesy is very greatly appreciated. I only hope we will arrive in jail or somewhere soon where I can get some sleep. I’m all in.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XI

  FREEDOM BEHIND BARS

  In the early afternoon the little cavalcade rode into Dry Lake. Rathburn was nodding in his saddle, nearly asleep.

  “We’ll keep him here to-night till I can get the facts straight,” he heard Sheriff Neal say to Brown.

  They dismounted at a small square stone building with bars on the windows. Then Rathburn was proudly led between a line of curious spectators into jail.

  Three rooms comprised Dry Lake’s jail. The front of the building, for a depth of a third of the distance from the front to the rear, was divided into two of these rooms; one, the larger, being the main office, and the other, much smaller, being the constable’s private office. The balance of the building was one large room, divided into two old-fashioned cages with iron and steel bars. The doors to these cages were on either side of the door into the front office and there was an aisle between the cages and the wall separating them from the offices.

  Rathburn was taken immediately to the cage on the left of the office door. Sheriff Neal hesitated as he stood in the cell with him, thought for a minute, then removed the handcuffs.

  “That’s right fine of you, sheriff,” said Rathburn sleepily, but cheerfully, nevertheless.

  “Oh, you’ll be watched well enough,” said Neal as he closed the barred door behind him and locked Rathburn in. “You’ll find somebody around if you try to tear the place down.”

  “That wasn’t just what I was getting at, sheriff,” said the prisoner with a glitter in his eyes. “I meant it was right fine of you to give me freedom behind the bars.”

  Rathburn’s taunting laugh rang in the official’s ears as the latter pushed the men with him into the outer office. Rathburn listened, yawning, to the sheriff giving instructions that the prisoner be watched constantly.

  He looked about the cage which was separated from the other cell by a wall of sheet iron. It contained nothing except a bench and a stool. He pushed the bench against the stone wall at the rear and reclined upon it, using his coat for a pillow. Then he turned his face toward the wall, shading his eyes from the light, which filtered through two windows h
igh in the wall beyond the bars on the left side by tipping his hat over his face.

  Immediately he fell asleep.

  The news that The Coyote had been captured, spread rapidly through the town and many came to the jail hoping they might be able to see the prisoner. All of these were denied admittance, but Sheriff Neal told the few who stated that they had been among the number the bandit had lined up at the point of his guns, that they would be called to identify The Coyote on the following day. He asked each if they were sure the bandit had two guns, and the reply in each case was in the affirmative.

  “That’s funny,” Neal muttered. “He only had one gun on him.”

  “More’n likely the other’s on his horse with his saddle,” Brown pointed out. “I believe he left his horse somewheres an’ made that fellow Lamy take him to the house thinking he could get something to eat there, and that they wouldn’t be so likely to be seen in the open on foot. You got to remember that man’s more or less clever.”

  This explanation satisfied Neal, and in the minds of the men who had been in the resort when it was held up, there was no question as to the identity of the robber. Even if they had suspected otherwise it is doubtful if they would have acknowledged it because they considered it less of an ignominy to be held up by the notorious Coyote than by a bandit of lesser reputation.

  Thus did the bonds of evidence tighten about Rathburn while he slept through the late afternoon and the twilight.

  When he awoke a faint yellow light dimly illuminated his surroundings. He lay thinking for several minutes. He knew night had fallen and surmised that he had slept a full eight hours. He could tell this because he was fully awake and alert. He turned noiselessly on his bench and saw that the light came from a lamp burning near the door to the outer office.

  Rathburn could hear the hum of voices, and by listening intently, ascertained that two men were talking, one of whom was the sheriff. He could not recognize the voice of the other speaker as a voice he had ever heard before, and he could not hear what they were saying.