The Sunset Trail Part 29

Once the invaders were housed, by twos and fives and tens, the disengaged inhabitants of Dodge began to a.s.semble in front of Gallon's.

Some came in a temper of curiosity. The band with Bear Creek Johnson, however, entertained a different feeling. Their taste was for the strenuous. They set forth this fact with imitations of the yelp of the coyote. Withal, they were constantly closing up about the refuge of the visitors, until they stood, a packed and howling mob, with which it was no more than a question of minutes before ugly action would begin.

Bear Creek Johnson was in the van, fostering and fomenting a sentiment for violence. The unworthy Bear Creek was not lacking in qualities of leaders.h.i.+p; he realised, as by an instinct, that a mob must have time to pen before it is put to work. Wherefore, Bear Creek, while cursing and threatening with the rest, delayed. He paused, as it were, with his thumb on the angry pulse of the mult.i.tude, waiting to seize the moment psychological.

Hemmed in by four hundred pus.h.i.+ng, threatening, cursing, human wolves, those agents of prohibition whitely sat and s.h.i.+vered. They knew their peril; also they felt that sense of utter helplessness which will only come to men when forced to face the brainless fury of a mob. What should be done? What could be done? In that moment of extremity the proprietor of the boarding-house, with the fear of death upon him, could think of nothing beyond sending for Mr. Wright.

To be courier in this hour of strain a girl of twelve was sent out by a rear door. There was craft in this selection of a messenger. No Western mob, however b.l.o.o.d.y of intention, would dream of interfering with a girl. Besides, Mr. Wright would never refuse a girl's request.

Mr. Wright might have been as pleased had he not been called upon. To oppose the insurrectionists was neither a work of pleasure nor of safety, and the opportunity to thus put himself in feud with a half regiment of men whose blood was up, and with whom when the smoke of battle blew aside he must still do business, could not be called a boon.

But the little girl's lips were blue with terror, and her frightened eyes showed round and big, as she besought Mr. Wright to save the life of her father-it was he to be proprietor of Gallon's-and the lives of those visiting gentlemen, representative of prohibition. Getting wearily up from the poker game in which he was employed, Mr. Wright made ready to go with the little girl.

"You had better come too, Bat," said Mr. Wright, addressing Mr.

Masterson. "I think you can do more with a Dodge mob than I can. They've seen more of your shooting."

"Of course I'll go, Bob," returned Mr. Masterson, laying down a reluctant hand in which dwelt a pair of aces-a highly hopeful pair before the draw!-"of course I'll go. But it seems hard that I must leave just when the hands are beginning to run my way. I wish Bear Creek had put off this uprising another hour. I'd have been a mile on velvet."

When Mr. Masterson and Mr. Wright arrived at the seat of war, the mob was more or less impressed and its howls lost half their volume. Mr.

Masterson and Mr. Wright walked through the close-set ranks, and went in by the front door. No back door for Mr. Masterson and Mr. Wright; especially under the eyes of ones whom they must presently outface.

"What is your desire, gentlemen?" asked Mr. Masterson, when he and Mr.

Wright found themselves with the beleaguered ones.

"There is a train in an hour and thirty minutes," replied the Attorney General. He showed the colour of a sheet, but his upper lip was stiffer than was that of his companion, which twitched visibly. "Can you put us aboard?"

"Now I don't see why not," returned Mr. Masterson.

"Don't see why not!" exclaimed the President of the Prohibition League; "don't see why not! You hear those murderers outside, and you don't see why not!" It should be mentioned in the gentleman's defence that his nerves were a-jangle. "Don't see why not!" he murmured, sinking back as a deeper roar came from without.

"Don't let the racket outside disturb you," said Mr. Masterson in a rea.s.suring tone. "We'll manage to get that outfit back in its corral."

"But do you guarantee our safety?" gasped the other.

"As to that," returned Mr. Masterson, "you gentlemen understand that I am not issuing life insurance. What I say is this: Whoever gets you will have to go over me to make the play."

Mr. Masterson and Mr. Wright conversed apart. There was no haste; the mob would confine itself to threats and curses while they remained in the house.

"Perhaps I'd better give 'em a talk, Bob," said Mr. Masterson, at the close of their confab. "There are two things to do. We must get rid of Bear Creek. And we must let it look like the rest of 'em had taken a trick. I think I'll suggest that we make our visitors give us those temperance speeches. They won't want to do it; and if we let the boys sort o' compel them to be eloquent, they'll most likely quit satisfied.

If we don't do something of the kind, it's my opinion they'll take a shot at us before ever we place these shuddering strangers on the train."

"Do what you reckon best," returned Mr. Wright. "I'll back your game."

Mr. Masterson opened the front door and, with Mr. Wright, stepped forth.

He considered the mob a moment with a quiet eye, and then raised his hand as if to invite attention.

"Gentlemen," said he, "if I talk to you, it's on your account. The people inside, in whose honour you've a.s.sembled, intend to board the first train for the East."

"Board nothin'! Let's swing 'em off!" cried a cowboy from south of the river. He was carrying his lariat in his hand; as he spoke he whirled the loop about his head, knocking off the sombreros of those nearest him. "Let's swing 'em off!" he shouted.

"I'll swing you off, if you don't give that rope a rest!" returned an irate one, unhatted, and with that he collared the child of cows, and threw him backward into the press. "Go on, Bat," said this auxiliary, having abated the cowboy and his rope; "give us the layout of your little game."

"My little game," continued Mr. Masterson calmly, "is this: I've pa.s.sed my word that no harm shall come to these people. And for this reason. If they were even a little injured, the prohibition papers would make b.l.o.o.d.y murder of it. Inside of hours, the soldiers from the Fort would be among us, and the town under martial law. They would be sending you prairie dogs to bed at nine o'clock, with a provost marshal to tuck you in; and none of you would like that. I wouldn't like it myself."

"Let the soldiers come!" shouted Bear Creek Johnson from the extreme wing of the mob. Bear Creek had drawn from the whiskey under his belt a more than normal courage. Moreover, he felt that it was inc.u.mbent upon him to make a stand. Considering those plans he had laid, and which included driving Mr. Masterson out of town should he have the impudence to stand in their way, Bear Creek knew that otherwise he would be disparaged in the estimation of his followers and suffer in his good repute. He resolved to put forward a bold face, and bully Mr. Masterson.

"Let the soldiers come!" Bear Creek repeated. "We won't ask Bat Masterson to give us any help."

"Is that you, Bear Creek?" observed Mr. Masterson, turning on that popular idol.

Mr. Masterson stepped off the porch and walked down upon the gra.s.s. This brought Bear Creek clear of the herd. No one, in case Bear Creek became a target, would be in line of Mr. Masterson's fire. Bear Creek noticed this as something sinister.

"I reckon now," continued Mr. Masterson, still edging in between Bear Creek and his reserves, "that in case of trouble, you would take command, and run the soldiers out." Then, solemnly, while Mr. Wright from the porch scanned those to the rear of Mr. Masterson for an earliest hostile sign: "Bear Creek, you've been holding forth that you're a heap bad, but I, for one, am unconvinced. I understand how you snuffed out the soldier at Fort Lyons; but I also understand how that soldier was dead drunk. I've likewise heard how you b.u.mped off the party on the Cimarron; at the same time that party was plumb tender and not heeled. Wherefore, I decline to regard those incidents as tests. You must give Dodge a more conclusive proof of gameness before you can dictate terms to the camp. You've got your irons! What do you wear 'em for?"

As though to point the question, Mr. Masterson's six-shooter jumped from its belt, and exploded in the direction of Bear Creek. The big bullet tore the ground two inches from his right foot. With a screech of dismay, Bear Creek soared into the air.

Even while Mr. Masterson was talking, Bear Creek Johnson's fort.i.tude had been sweating itself away. The catlike creeping in between him and his const.i.tuents had also served to unhinge him. Indeed he was in such frame that the sudden explosion of Mr. Masterson's pistol exploded with it his hysteria. Bear Creek could do nothing but make the shameful screeching leap described.

Away went his nerves like a second flock of frightened sheep when, just as he felt the gra.s.s again beneath him, there came a second flash, and a second bullet buried itself in the ground, grazing his left foot. Bear Creek made another skyward leap, and evolved another horror-bitten screech to which the first was as a whisper. When he came down, a third bullet ripped a furrow between his legs.

Bear Creek Johnson had so far recovered possession of himself that at the third shot he didn't leap. He ran. The ign.o.ble Bear Creek fled from the blazing Mr. Masterson with a speed that would have amazed the antelopes.

"It's as I thought!" remarked Mr. Masterson, regretfully; "quit like a dog, and never even reached for his gun!" Then, returning to the public, which had been vastly interested by those exercises in which Bear Creek had performed, Mr. Masterson resumed. "As I was saying, when Bear Creek interrupted me, I've given my word to the folks inside that they shall not meet with injury. But there's one matter upon which, if you'll back me up, I'd like to enter." At this, certain scowls which wrinkled the brows of the more defiant, began to abate by the fraction of a shadow.

"These men," went on Mr. Masterson, "made boasts before they came here that they would speak on temperance and prohibition. I understand, from what they now say, that they have given up this design. I don't like that. I don't want them running into the papers with a lie about the lawlessness of Dodge, and how we wouldn't permit free speech. If I were you, I'd have these Ciceros out, cost what it might, and they'd either make those speeches or give a reason why."

"You're dead right, Bat," cried one enthusiast. "Smoke 'em out! Make 'em talk! If they've got anything ag'inst whiskey, let 'em spit it out. I don't owe whiskey a splinter; an', you bet! these trantlers ain't goin'

back to Topeka, poisonin' the public mind, and putting it up that Dodge wasn't safe to talk in."

"Taking the gentleman's remarks," observed Mr. Masterson gravely, "as reflecting the common sentiment, I move you that Mr. Wright be instructed to go to our visitors and say that we're waiting with impatience to hear them on the dual topics of temperance in its moral aspects, and prohibition as a police regulation of the State. Those in favour say, Ay!"

There was a thunder-gust of Ays!

"The Ays have it," confirmed Mr. Masterson. "Bob, will you go inside and get the muzzles off the orators? When ready, parade 'em before this enlightened and sympathetic audience, and tell 'em they've never had such a chance to distinguish themselves since the Mexican War."

Mr. Wright withdrew in submission to instructions. While he was absent, Mr. Masterson indulged his audience with a few more words, lowering his voice as though what he said were confidential.

"Mr. Wright," remarked Mr. Masterson, "will shortly appear with our visitors. During the exercises, I trust that nothing trenching upon disturbance will be indulged in. I shall preside; and I need not call attention to the fact that there are still three cartridges in my gun.

Also, I might add that I don't always shoot at a party's moccasins and miss."

It was the only thing they could do. With Mr. Masterson and Mr. Wright to give them courage, and despair to lend them grace, those visiting ones spake upon whiskey as the Devil's broth and the hideous evils of intemperance. All things considered, they made excellent addresses. Not the best that was in them, perhaps; but what then? Patrick Henry would have fumbled for a word were he to feel that at any moment an auditor might step forward and edit a faulty sentence with his Colt's. It is to the glory of Dodge, that the orators were broken in upon by nothing more lethal than applause, while each was made prouder by a whirlwind of cheers when he closed.

It was evening in the Alhambra. Those prohibition folk were distant by one hundred safe and healthful miles, and Dodge had returned to the even tenor of its ways. Suddenly Mr. Wright delivered himself of this reproof.

"There's one fault I've got to find, Bat; there's one thing I won't get over soon. Why, I ask you, why, when you had him dead to rights, did you miss that Bear Creek?"

"I know how you feel, Bob," returned Mr. Masterson in a manner of self-reproach, "and I despair of framing up an apology that will square me with Dodge. Why didn't I down Bear Creek? It will sound childish"-here Mr. Masterson's eye took on a twinkle that was sly-"but, Bob, I'm no longer sheriff; and, between us, I'm afraid I don't shoot true in my private capacity."

CHAPTER XIII