Prairie Flowers Part 16

"We've got 'em both. Jest hold on about five minutes an' we'll fix you out."

"An' then string me up," the words came with difficulty and the man in front laughed shortly.

"Well, mebbe not. I'm guessin' young feller, mebbe you've lit luckier'n what you think."

They turned abruptly into a side coulee, and a few moments later the spokesman ordered Purdy to dismount. He staggered weakly, and the man supported him while the other took the horse and disappeared. After a few steps Purdy braced up, and relieving him of his gun the man bade him follow. They seemed to be in a cave. Purdy glanced upward and could see no stars. The darkness was intense, and he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. They turned a sharp corner and another and found themselves in a blaze of light. Three men lounged about an open fire, and the light from two coal-oil lamps lighted the interior of what seemed to be a large room. Cooking utensils were ranged neatly along the wall near the fire, and beyond, Purdy could see rolls of bedding. The man who conducted him in tendered him a tin cup of water and Purdy gulped it greedily to the last drop and extended the cup for more.

"Better wait a bit an' let that soak in," advised the man, "they's plenty an' you kin have all you want." The other three men looked on in silence, and when Purdy had drained two more cupfuls of water, one of them motioned him to be seated. Another handed him tobacco and papers, and as he rolled a cigarette, Purdy glanced about with a distinct air of relief. This was no posse. There was an air of permanency about the camp, and as he glanced into the faces of the men he recognized none of them.

When he had returned the tobacco and lighted his cigarette, one of the men addressed him directly. Purdy noticed that he was a squat man, and that the legs of his leather chaps bowed prodigiously. He was thick and wide of chest, a tuft of hair protruded grotesquely from a hole in the crown of his soft-brimmed hat, and a stubby beard masked his features except for a pair of beady, deep-set eyes that stared at Purdy across the glowing brands of the dying fire. He tossed his cigarette into the coals and spoke abruptly:

"What you doin' down here? Where you headin'?"

Purdy glanced into the eyes that seemed to flash menacingly as a brand flared feebly. Then he lied: "Headin' fer south of the Mizoo. Got a job down there."

"Who with?"

"Don't know the name. It's out of Lewiston. Feller come through couple of days ago an' said they was short-handed."

"Cow outfit?"

"Yup."

"That why yer ridin' a Circle J horse? An' why you snuck into the brush back yonder an' laid low while Pete, here, rode past a-singin' 'Big Foot Sal'?" The man's eyes were still upon him, and Purdy knew that he had been caught in his lie. He glanced toward the man called Pete, and recognized the leisurely rider of the afternoon. The man who had conducted him in laughed, and Purdy was surprised that the sound held a note of genuine amus.e.m.e.nt:

"An' is that why you cussed me an' Bill when we was keepin' cases on you comin' down the coulee, an' wound up by cussin' the whole world, an'

invitin' us to string you up?"

Purdy was at loss for words. He felt the blood mounting to his face, and he cleared his throat uncertainly.

"D'you know who I am?" The squat man questioned.

Purdy shook his head.

"Grimshaw's my name--Ca.s.s Grimshaw."

"Ca.s.s Grimshaw! The--" Purdy stopped abruptly in confusion.

The other laughed shortly: "Go ahead an' say it. It won't hurt my feelin's none. I'm the party--Ca.s.s Grimshaw, the horse-thief."

Purdy stared open-mouthed, for the man had uttered a name that in the cattle country was a name to conjure with. Ca.s.s Grimshaw, and the Grimshaw gang were notorious for their depredations throughout Montana and half of Wyoming. For two years they had defied the law and resisted all efforts to break them up. One or two of their number had been killed in fights with posses, but the gang remained intact, a thorn in the side of the Stock a.s.sociation, and the sheriffs of many counties. Purdy continued to stare and again Grimshaw broke the silence: "Total rewards on all of us is thirty-two hundred. On me, personal, takin' a.s.sociation, State, an' County, it's two thousan' even money. Figurin' on collectin'?"

Purdy gasped. What kind of a man was this? As a matter of fact, he had been thinking of those rewards. He had forgotten his own crimes and was picturing himself riding into Wolf River with a squat, bow-legged body dangling across the front of his saddle.

"h.e.l.l--no!" he managed to blurt out, "I'm--I'm a horse-thief, myself!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE INSURGENT

And so Purdy had joined the Grimshaw gang, and had prospered. Raids were planned and, under the leaders.h.i.+p of the crafty Ca.s.s Grimshaw whole bands of horses were run across the line and disposed of, and always the gang returned to the bad lands unbroken. For nearly a year things went well, and then came a change. Where absolute unity of purpose, and unswerving loyalty to their leader were essential, dissension crept in--and Purdy was at the bottom of it.

The first intimation of discord came to Ca.s.s Grimshaw one night in the hang-out where the six sat smoking. Purdy casually mentioned that it was getting along towards shearing time and that the Wolf River bank ought to be heavily stocked with cash. The leader blew a double plume of smoke from his nostrils and abruptly asked:

"Well, what if it is?"

"Oh, nothin'," Purdy answered with a show of indifference, "only--I was just thinkin'."

"Thinkin', mebbe, to slip over an' pull a hold-up?"

"Well, they's more _dinero_ in one haul there than they is in a half a dozen horse raids. Pete, here, he says he knows about handlin' soup."

"Be'n talkin' it over, eh?" there was a sneer in Grimshaw's voice.

"Figure because you've helped pull off a few good horse deals, you're a regular outlaw? Want to tackle banks, an' express boxes? The horse game's got too slow, eh? Tired of follerin' my lead?"

Purdy interrupted with a gesture of impatience: "h.e.l.l--no! We thought, maybe, you'd----"

"Thought I'd turn bank robber, eh? Thought I'd quit a game where I hold all the aces, an' horn in on one where I don't hold even a deuce to draw to? Bitin' off more'n he c'n chaw has choked more'n one feller. Right here in Choteau County they's some several of 'em choked out on the end of a tight one, because they overplayed their hand. I'm a horse-thief--an' a d.a.m.n good one. You fellers is good horse-thieves, too--long as you've got me to do yer thinkin'. My business is runnin'

off horses an' sellin' 'em--an' I ain't holdin' up no banks fer a side line. If I ain't able to pull a bank job, how in h.e.l.l be you forty-dollar-a-month cow hands goin' to do it? So don't go lettin' me hear any more of that talk." He paused and looked his hearers over with narrowed eyes: "An' if any of you feel like trying it on yer own hook--if you don't git away with it, the sheriff'll git you--an' if you do, I'll git you--so, take yer pick."

There was no more talk of bank robbery. Grimshaw planned a horse raid that was successful, but the heart of the leader was troubled and always he kept close watch on Purdy. And Purdy gave him no grounds for suspicion, nevertheless he was busy with his own thoughts, and way back in his brain was an ever present vision--the vision of a squat, bow-legged man, dangling limp across the front of his saddle.

The next friction between them came one evening when Grimshaw announced that there was a new nester over on Red Sand Creek.

"Is he--right?" asked Bill.

The leader nodded: "Yeh, it's Cinnabar Joe, that used to tend bar in the Headquarters saloon in Wolf River. Him an' that there Jennie Dodds that used to work in the hotel's got married an' filed along the crick, 'bout four mile above McWhorter's."

Purdy laughed harshly: "Cinnabar, eh? Well, when the time comes, I'll just naturally tap him fer his pile. I've got somethin' on that bird.

He's mine."

Ca.s.s Grimshaw eyed Purdy coldly: "I said _he's right_. D'you git that?

Meanin' that him, an' his stock, an' his wife, an' everything he's got is safe an' sound fer as this gang's concerned. He ain't in on nothin'--same as McWhorter. Only--he don't know nothin'--see? An' if any of us wants anythin' an' he's goin' to town--all right."

"But, I've be'n aimin' to make him come acrost for over a year, an'----"

"An', now you c'n fergit it! Friends is worth more'n enimies, anyways you look at it--'special,' in our business. That makes jest eighty-three ranches, big an little, that the Grimshaw gang counts friends. That's why we git away with it. They's be'n times when most any of 'em could of said the word that would of got posses on to us--an' I've made it right with all of 'em. We don't owe none of 'em nothin'. Why they's plenty of sheriffs, much as they want to git me, wouldn't bushwhack me--not fer all the reward money they is, 'cause they know they's be'n times when I could of got 'em easy, an' didn't. I don't hold it agin' 'em. My rule is never kill a posse man or a sheriff onless it gits right down to you an'

him fer it. They're doin' their duty accordin' to law--an' the laws has got to be uphelt--er this would be a h.e.l.l of a country to live in--fer most folks." The man ceased speaking and Purdy maintained silence. The subject of Cinnabar Joe was never mentioned again.

It was not long, however, before Purdy once more fell in the way of Grimshaw's displeasure. He came into the hang-out late one evening. The five were playing poker upon a blanket spread upon the floor between the swinging lamps, but instead of joining them, Purdy seated himself with his back to the wall, rolled a cigarette, and smoked in silence. A few deals went around, bets were made, and pots raked in. Grimshaw shuffled the deck slowly with a sidewise glance toward Purdy: "They say McWhorter's gal's to home," he announced, casually. Purdy said nothing.

Grimshaw dealt, picked up his hand, examined it minutely, and tossed the cards onto the blanket. "How about it, Purdy?"

"You seem to know," answered the other, surlily.

"Yes," answered the leader, without even glancing in his direction, "I generally know what's goin' on in the bad lands, an' out of 'em fer a ways. Mighty good lookin', they say." No answer from Purdy, and a deal or two went by. Again Grimshaw tossed away his cards: "Ain't she good lookin', Purdy?"