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Randall Parrish - The Strange Case of Cavendish

R >> Randall Parrish >> The Strange Case of Cavendish




"Hello yourself," he answered. "Is that you, Brennan?"

The marshal hoisted himself to the top of the rock, the revolver in his
hand clearly revealed in the bright sunlight.

"It's me all right, Lacy," he replied deliberately. "You ought ter
organise a sharpshooters' club among that gang o' yours; I was plumb
disgusted the way they handle fire-arms."

"Well, we've got yer now, Dan, so yer might as well quit yer crowin'.
We don't have ter do no more shootin'; we'll just naturally sit down
yere, an' starve yer out. Maybe yer ready to talk now?"

"Sure; what's the idea?"

"Well, yer an officer ov the law, ain't yer? Yer was chose marshal ter
keep the peace, an' take care o' them that raised hell in Haskell.
Ain't that yer job?"

"I reckon it is."

"And didn't I do more'n anybody else ter get yer appointed? Then what
are yer goin' back on me for, and the rest ov the boys, an' takin'
sides along with a murderer? We want Jim Westcott, an' you bet we're
a-goin' ter get him."

The little marshal spat into the water below, his face expressionless.
To all appearances he felt slight interest in the controversy.

"Nice of yer ter declare yer intentions, Lacy," he admitted soberly,
"only it sorter looks as if yer didn't consider me as bein' much in the
way. I reckon yer outlined my duty all right; that's exactly my way o'
looking at it--ter keep the peace, an' take care o' them that raised
hell in Haskell. I couldn't 'a' told it no better myself."

"Then what are yer fightin' fer Westcott fer?"

"'Cause he's my prisoner, an' is goin' ter get a fair trial. If he was
the orneriest Mexican that ever come 'cross the line I'd stay with
him--that's the law."

"An' yer won't give him up?"

"Not in a thousand years, an' yer might as well save yer breath, Bill,
an' get out. I've told you straight, and I reckon you and your gang
know me. Nobody never told you that Dan Brennan was a quitter, did
they?"

"But you blame fool," and Lacy's voice plainly indicated his anger.
"You can't fight this whole camp; we'll get yer, dead or alive."

"Yer welcome ter try; I ain't askin' no sorter favour; only yer better
be blame keerful about it, fer my trigger finger appears ter be
almighty nervous ter-day--drop that!"

His hand shot out like lightning, the blue steel of his revolver
flashing. Lacy flung up his arms, and backed down out of view, but
just beyond where he had stood, a gun barked from out the chaparral and
a bullet crashed against the rock scarcely a foot from Brennan's head.
The latter answered it so promptly the two reports sounded almost as
one, and then rolled back into shelter, laughing as though the whole
affair was a joke.

"One ov Mike's little tricks," he chuckled, peering back at the shore,
"I know the bark of that old girl. Hope I pricked him. That guy used
to be a good shot, too, afore he got to drinkin' so much. I reckon
we're in fer a siege, Jim."

Westcott extended his hand.

"It's mighty white of you, Dan, to stay by me," he said gravely. "It's
liable to cost you your job."

"Ter hell with the job. I kin earn more in the mines eny day. I'm not
doin' eny more for you than I would fer eny other galoot in bad. I
wouldn't let 'em lynch a hoss-thief without givin' 'em a fight first.
Don't be givin' any sympathy ter me."

"But we haven't any chance."

"Well, I don't know about that now," and the marshal looked up and down
the stream thoughtfully. "It might be worse. Look a here, Jim. I
said I'd 'a' stayed with yer no matter what yer was guilty of, so long
as yer was my prisoner, an' that's the gospel truth. There ain't a
goin' ter be no lynchin' in Haskell while I'm marshal, unless them rats
get me first. But this yere case ain't even that kind. It's a put-up
job frum the beginnin' an' Bill Lacy ain't a goin' ter get away with
it, as long as I kin either fight er bluff. This yere fuss ain't your
fault, an' yer never shot the man either."

"No. I didn't, Dan. I never fired a gun."

"I know it; that's why all hell can't pry me loose. I saw most ov the
row, an' I reckon I ain't so dumb that I can't catch onto the game what
Lacy is tryin' ter play. I didn't hear what you an' him was talkin'
about, so I don't know just the cause o' the rumpus, but the way he
played his hand didn't make no hit with me."

"You saw what happened?"

"Sure; it didn't look good ter me, his gittin' yer ter come ter his
place, specially when I knew he wasn't there alone; so, after ye'd gone
in through the saloon, I sasshayed down the alley an' took a peek in
through that rear window. The tarnation thing is barred up with sheet
iron, an' I couldn't see much, nor hear a blame word, but I caught on
that there was liable ter be a row a fore it was over with. Through
that peep-hole I got sight o' you, Lacy, an' that fat feller--what's
his name?"

"Enright, a New York lawyer."

"That's it; well I could make out the three of yer, but I never got
sight of the other buck--his name was Beaton, wasn't it?--till he came
out from behind the curtain and gripped yer. It was a put-up job all
right, an' maybe I ought to have hustled round to the door an' took a
hand. But I don't aim to mix up in no scrimmage as long as both sides
has got a fair show. Course thar was three ag'in' one, but arter you
kicked the wind out o' the lawyer, the odds wasn't so bad, an' I sorter
hated to lose out seeing how the scrap came out. Holy smoke! but you
sure put up some dandy fight, Jim. I ain't seen nuthin' better since I
struck this yere camp. You had them two guys licked to a frazzle, when
that Enright come back to life agin, an' crawled out on the floor an'
picked up your gun. The fust thing I knew he had it, an' the next
thing I knew he'd pulled the trigger. He meant it fer you, but Beaton
got it."

"It was Enright then who fired the shot?"

"Sure it was Enright; I saw him, but that didn't cut any ice after I
got inside. Do you see? The whole crowd was Lacy's gang; they'd do
whatever he said. It was your gun that had the discharged cartridge;
Bill was yellin' that you fired it, and Enright, o' course, would have
backed him up to save his own neck. You was in a fight with the feller
what was shot. See! It was a mighty ugly fix, an' nobody in that
outfit would 'a' listened to me. It struck me, son, that Lacy was
all-fired anxious to get rid of you--he saw a chance, and jumped for
it. What was the row about--your mine?"

"Partly, but mostly another affair. The best thing I can do is tell
you about it. What's going on up there?"

He pointed up the stream, and Brennan shaded his eyes to look, although
careful to keep well under cover, confident that any movement would be
observed from the shore. He gazed for some time before he seemed
entirely satisfied.

"A bunch of the boys crossin' the old ford," he said quietly. "Goin'
to picket the other bank, I reckon. There's likely to be some more
comin' down the opposite way from the bridge. That's Lacy's idea--to
starve us out."

"They seem quiet enough."

"There won't be any more fightin' unless we try to get away, I reckon.
They know we are armed and can shoot. You better keep down, though,
Jim, for they're sure a watchin' us all right, an' all Lacy cares about
is to put you out o' the way. He'd just as soon do it with a bullet as
a rope. Go on with your story."

Westcott told it simply, but in full detail, beginning with the
discovery of ore in his mine, and including his telegram to Fred
Cavendish; the discovery of what was supposed to be the dead body of
the latter in the Waldron Apartments, New York; the investigations into
the mystery of his death by Willis and Miss Donovan, and the
despatching of Miss Donovan to Haskell to intercept Enright's party;
the arrival of the latter and the events, so far as he understood them,
leading up to the forcible abduction of the girl.

The marshal listened quietly to the narrative, the quick action of his
jaws alone evidencing his interest, although he occasionally interposed
a question. Except for Westcott's voice there was no sound, beyond the
lapping of water against the rock, and no figures of men became visible
along either bank. The party above had crossed the stream, and
disappeared up a ravine, and nothing remained to indicate that these
two were fugitives, hiding for their lives, and facing a desperate
expedient in an effort to escape their pursuers. As the speaker
finally concluded the silence was almost oppressive.

"How do yer suppose Bill Lacy got into the affair?" asked Brennan, at
last thoughtfully. "I don't put no sorter deviltry beyond him, yer
understand, but I don't quite see how he ever come to get mixed up in
this yere New York mess. Seems like he had enough hell brewing here at
home."

"I'm just as much in the dark as you are, as to that," admitted
Westcott doubtfully. "I am convinced, however, that Cavendish is still
alive, and that another body strangely resembling his was found in the
New York apartments. According to Enright this was not part of their
scheme, but merely an accident of which they took advantage. How true
this is will never be known unless we discover Cavendish, and learn his
story. Now, if he is alive, where has he been concealed, and for what
purpose? Another thing begins to loom up. The mere hiding of the man
was all right so long as the conspirators were not suspected. But now
when they are aware that they are being followed, what is likely to
happen? Will they become desperate enough to kill their victim, hoping
thus to destroy absolutely the evidence of their crime? Will their
vengeance also include Miss Donovan?"

"Not unless they can get you out of the way first," decided the marshal
grimly. "That is Lacy's most important job--you are more dangerous to
them now than the girl. That meeting to-day was prearranged, and
Beaton was expected to land you. That was why he hid behind the
curtain, but something caused him to make a false move; they never
expected you to put up that sort o' fight, Jim, for nobody knew yer in
this camp fer a fightin' man. But what's yer theory 'bout Cavendish?
Let's leave the dead man in New York go, an' get down ter cases."

"I figure it out like this, Dan. I believe Fred got my telegram, and
decided to come out here at once without telling anybody what his plans
were. All he did was to make a will, so as to dispose of his property
in case anything happened. His employing Enright for that job
unfortunately put the whole thing in the hands of this crowd. They
were ready to act, and they acted. Beaton must have taken the same
train, and the two men got friendly; probably they never knew each
other in New York, but, being from the same place, it was easy enough
to strike up an acquaintance. What occurred on board is all guesswork,
but a sudden blow at night, on an observation platform, at some desert
station, is not impossible; or it might be sickness, and the two men
left behind to seek a physician. Here was where Lacy must have come
in. He goes East occasionally, doesn't he?"

"Sure; come to think of it he was in New York 'bout three months ago on
some cattle deal, an' I heard he had an agent there sellin' wildcat
minin' stock. There ain't no doubt in my mind but he knew some o'
these fellers. They wouldn't 'a' planned this unless they had some
cache fixed out yere in this country--that's plain as a wart on the
nose. But whar is it? I'll bet yer that if we ever find Cavendish,
we'll find the girl along with him; an' what's more, that spot ain't
liable ter be more'n fifty miles from Haskell."

"What makes you think that?"

"'Cause this is Lacy's bailiwick, an' thar ain't no man knows this
country better'n he does; he's rode it night and day for ten years, an'
most o' the hangers-on in this camp get money out o' him one way er
another--mostly another. Then, why should Enright an' his crowd come
yere, unless that was a fact? They must have come for something; that
lawyer ain't yere on no minin' deal; an' no more has Beaton been layin'
round town fer a month doin' nuthin' but drinkin' whisky. The whole
blame outfit is right here in Haskell, and they wouldn't be if this
wasn't headquarters. That's good common sense, ain't it?" He stopped
suddenly, patting his hand on the rock, and then lifting his head to
scan the line of shore. "They're there all right, Jim," he announced.
"I just got a glimpse o' two back in the brush yonder. What made yer
ask me 'bout Pasqual Mendez this mornin'? You don't hook the Mexican
up with this affair, do yer?"

"Sadie told me she heard Enright speak of him at breakfast; that was
all she heard, just the name."

"Sadie? Oh, the red-headed waitress at Timmons's, you mean? Big Tim's
girl?"

"Yes; she was the one who saw Miss Donovan forced into the wagon, and
driven off."

"And they took the old Shoshone trail; out past Hennessey's ranch?"

"So she described it. Does that mean anything?"

Brennan did not answer at once, sitting silent, his brows wrinkled,
staring through a crevasse of the rock up the stream. Finally he
grinned into the anxious face of the other.

"Danged if I know," he said drawlingly. "Maybe it does, and maybe
again it don't. I was sorter puttin' this an' that tergether. There's
a Mex who used to hang about here a couple of years ago they allers
said belonged to Mendez's gang. His name is Cateras, a young feller,
an' a hell ov a gambler. It just comes ter me that he was in the Red
Dog three er four nights ago playin' monte. I didn't see him myself,
but Joe Mapes said he was there, an' that makes it likely 'nough that
Mendez isn't so blame far away."

"And he and Lacy have interests in common?"

"That is the rumour. I never got hold ov any proof, but Lacy has
shipped a pile o' cattle out o' Villa Real, although why he should ever
drive his cows there across the desert instead o' shippin' them here in
Haskell or Taylorville, I never could understand. That's the principal
reason I've got for thinkin' he an' Mendez are in cahoots, an' if they
be, then the Mexican must have some kind o' a camp out there in the
sand whar he hides between raids; though, damn if I know whar it can
be." He paused reflectively. "It'll be like hunting a needle in the
haystack, Jim, but I reckon you an' I'll have to get out that way, an'
we might have luck enough to stumble onto the old devil."

Westcott changed his position, inadvertently bringing his head above
the protection of the rock. Instantly there was a sharp report, and a
speeding bullet grazed his hair, flattening out against the stone. The
rapidity with which he ducked caused the marshal to laugh.

"Not hurt, are you? No. That was a rifle; Mike isn't such a bad shot
with that weapon. He's over there behind that tree--see the smoke? If
the cuss pokes his head out, I'll try the virtue of this .45; it ought
to carry that far. Hah! there he is; I made the bark fly anyway."




CHAPTER XXIII: THE ESCAPE

The afternoon wore away slowly, the two men realising more and more
clearly the nature of the siege. Their only safety lay in the
protection of the rocks, as they were now entirely surrounded, and
fired upon from either bank the moment either raised a head. No
attempt was made, however, to assault their position, nor did they
often return the fire, desiring to preserve for future use their small
supply of ammunition. Brennan remained watchful, but silent, brooding
over his plans for the night, but Westcott became overpowered by
fatigue and slept quietly for several hours.

The sun was already sinking behind the range of mountains when he
finally aroused himself, and sat up. There was no apparent change in
the situation; the running water murmured musically against the rocks,
the distant banks, already in shadow, exhibited no sign of human
presence. Below in the distance was the deserted street of the town,
and farther away a few of the shacks were visible. The scene was
peaceable enough, and the awakened sleeper could scarcely comprehend
that he was in truth a fugitive being hunted for his life, that all
about him were men eager to kill, watchful of the slightest movement.
It was rather the sight of Brennan which restored his faculties, and
yielded clear memory. The latter greeted him with a good-humoured grin.

"Well, do you feel better, Jim?" he asked pleasantly. "Thought I'd let
you sleep as long as I could, for we've got some job ahead of us.
Sorry thar ain't no breakfast waitin', fer I wouldn't object ter a bit
o' ham bone myself. I reckon if Lacy coops me up yere much longer,
he's liable ter win his bet; I'm plumb near starved out already."

"I'm afraid they've got us, Dan."

"Oh, I don't know; leastwise I ain't put up no white flag yet. You're
game fer a try at gettin' out o' yere, ain't yer, old man? I've sorter
been reckonin' on yer."

"I'll take any chance there is," returned Westcott heartily, staring
into the other's face. "Have you some plan?"

"Maybe 'tain't that exactly, but I've been doin' a powerful lot o'
thinkin' since you was asleep, Jim, an' I reckon we might beat these
fellers with a fair show o' luck. This is how I figure it out. Thar
won't be no attack; that's a cinch. Lacy knows we can shoot, an' he
also knows we're marooned yere without food. The easiest thing is ter
starve us out."

"But there are good men in this camp, law abiding men," interrupted the
miner. "What about them? Won't they take a hand?"

"Maybe they might if I was free ter get 'em together; but I ain't.
Most o' 'em are out in the mines anyway; they don't know which party is
right in this rumpus, an' they ain't got no leader. Lacy runs the
town, an' he's got a big gang o' toughs behind him. There ain't nobody
wants to buck up against his game. Of course the boys might get mad
after a while, but I reckon we'd be starved plumb ter death long afore
that happened. An' that ain't the worst ov it, Jim--the sheriff is
Lacy's man. I wouldn't never dare turn you over ter him--not by a
jugful."

"Then we are blocked at every turn."

"We sure are, unless we can dig out ourselves," gravely. "My notion is
to get a fair start, drift out into Shoshone, whar we'll leave no
trail, an' then hit for over the line. Sam Watts is sheriff of
Coconino, an' he'd give us a square deal."

"On foot?"

"Hell, no! I ain't no such walker as all that. Come over yere; keep
yer head down; now look out between these two rocks. Do yer see them
cow-ponies hitched ter the rack alongside o' the Red Dog? Well,
they've been thar fer a matter o' three hours, I reckon, an' their
riders ain't liable ter leave as long as thar's any excitement in town.
They're XL men, and mostly drunk by this time. It's my aim ter get a
leg over one o' them animals. How does that notion strike you?"

Westcott shook his head doubtfully, his eyes still on those distant
specks. The prospect looked practically hopeless.

"You don't think it can be done? Well now listen. Here's my scheme,
an' I reckon it'll work. Naturally Lacy will think we'll try to get
away--make a break for it in the dark. He'll have both them banks
guarded, an' ther fellers will have orders ter shoot. He'd rather have
us dead than alive. But, to my notion, he won't expect us ter try any
getaway before midnight. Anyhow, that's how I'd figure if I was in his
place. But my idea is to pull one off on him, an' start the minute it
gets dark enough, so them lads can't see what's goin' on out yere."

"We'll fight our way through?"

"Not a fight, my son; we'll make it so softly that not a son-of-a-gun
will ever know how it happened. When they wake up we'll be twenty
miles out in the desert, an' still a goin'. Thar's a big log clinging
ter the upper end o' the rock. I saw it when I fust come over; an'
'bout an hour ago I crept back through that gully an' took a good look.
A shove will send it floatin'. An' with a good pair o' legs to steer
with, thar ain't nuthin' to stop it this side the curve, an' I don't
calculate any o' the rifle brigade will be down as fur as that--do you?"

"Not likely," and Westcott measured the distance with eyes that had
lost their despondency. "Your idea is that we drift past under cover
of the log?"

"Sure. We'll tie our guns an' cartridges on top, where they'll be out
o' water, an' keep down below ourselves. Them fellers may glimpse the
log an' blaze away, but 'tain't likely they'll have luck enough to hit
either one o' us, an' the flare will show 'em it's only a log, an'
they'll likely quit an' pass the word along. It sounds blame good ter
me, Jim; what d'ye say?"

Westcott's hand went out, and the fingers of the two men clasped
silently. There was no need for more speech; they understood each
other.

The night closed down swiftly, as it does in the West, the purple of
the hills becoming black as though by some magic. There was a heavy
cloud hanging in the Western sky, constantly sweeping higher in pledge
of a dark night. The banks of the stream became obscured, and finally
vanished altogether; while the water ceased to glimmer and turned to an
inky blackness. Lights twinkled in the distant shacks, and the front
of the Red Dog burst into illumination. The saloon was too far away
for the watchers to pick out the moving figures of men, but Brennan
chuckled, and pointed his finger at the glare.

"Lacy ain't fergettin' the profit in all this," he whispered hoarsely.
"The boys are goin' ter be dry, an' he'll sell 'em all they
want--wouldn't mind if I had some myself. Is it dark enough, mate?"

"The sooner the better!"

"That's my ticket. Come on then, but don't make a sound; them lads are
more liable to hear than they are to see us. Let me go first."

The log was at the other end of the little island, but there was a
considerable rift in the rock surface, not deep, but of sufficient
width to permit the passage of a body. The jagged stone made the way
rough in the dark, and Westcott found himself at the upper extremity,
gashed and bruised by the contact.

Brennan had already lowered himself into the water, assisted in the
downward climb by some low, tough bushes whose tendrils clung
tenaciously to the smooth rock. Westcott followed silently, and found
footing in about three feet of water, where it swirled around the base
of the island. From this low point, their eyes close to the surface of
the stream, the men could dimly discern the shore lines silhouetted
against the slightly lighter sky. They crouched there in deep shadow,
but discovered no evidence that their effort at escape had been
observed. A dog was barking somewhere not far away, and once there was
a rustle along the nearer bank, as though a man wormed his way
cautiously through the thick chaparral. But this sound also ceased
after a moment, and all was still. Brennan put his lips close to his
companion's ear.

"Got yer cartridges tied up? That's all right; hand 'em over. Now
give me your belt. No; pass the end under the log an' buckle it; not
too tight. You hang on to the outside, an' I'll push off. If yer have
ter paddle ter keep in the current don't let yer hands er feet come to
the surface--understand?"

"Certainly."

"All right then; are you all set? Holy smoke, this is going to be some
yacht ride."

The log did not even grate as it loosened its slight hold on the rock,
and began the voyage down-stream. The current was swift enough to bear
it and its burden free from the island, although it moved slowly and
noiselessly on its way. The two men deeply emerged on either side,
with heads held rigid against the wet bark, were indistinguishable.
Out from the deeper shadow of the rock they drifted into the wider
stream below, Brennan gently controlling the unwieldy affair, and
keeping it as nearly as possible to the centre, by the noiseless
movement of a hand under water. The men scarcely ventured to breathe
and it seemed as though they were ages slowly sidling along, barely
able to perceive that they really moved. They must have gone a hundred
yards or more before there was any alarm. Then a voice spoke from the
bank to the right, followed almost instantly by the flash of a gun and
a sharp report. The flare lit up the stream, and the bullet thudded
into the log, without damage.

"What was it, Jack?" the voice unmistakably Lacy's. "Did you see
something?"

"Nothin' but a floatin' log," was the disgusted reply, "but I made a
bull's-eye."

"That's better than you did any time before to-day. Where is it? Oh,
yes, I see the blame thing now. You don't need ter be any quail-hunter
ter hit that. It's goin' 'bout a mile an hour. However, there is no
harm done; the shot will show those fellows that we are awake out here."

Slowly the log floated on, vanishing in the darkness. No other alarm
greeted its progress, and at last, confident that they were already
safely below the extent of the guard lines, the two men, clinging to
its wet sides, ventured to kick out quietly, and thus hasten its
progress. It came ashore at the extreme end of the curve, and, after a
moment of intent listening, the voyagers crept up the sand, and in
whispers discussed the next effort of their escape. The belts were
unstrapped from about the log, reloaded with cartridges, and buckled
around dripping waists before they clambered cautiously up the low
bank. The road was just beyond, but between them and it arose the
almost shapeless form of a small house, a mere darker shadow in the
gloom of the night.

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