Westerfelt Part 11

"Why?"

"If they get Toot out, it would be just like him to try to-- You--you are not strong enough to get out of their way. Oh, I don't know what to do!" She went back to the window in the next room. He followed her, and stood by her side.

The white figures had dismounted at the jail. They paused at the gate a moment, then filed into the yard and stood at the door. The leader rapped on it loudly.

"h.e.l.lo in thar, Tarpley Brown, show yorese'f!" he cried.

There was a silence for a moment. In the moonlight the body of men looked like a snowdrift against the jail. The same voice spoke again:

"Don't you keep us waitin' long, nuther, Tarp. You kin know what sort we are by our grave-clothes ef you'll take the trouble to peep out o'

the winder."

"What do you-uns want?" It was the quavering voice of the jailer, from the wing of the house occupied by him and his family.

His voice roused a sleeping infant, and it began to cry. The cry was smothered by some one's hand over the child's mouth.

"You know what we-uns want," answered the leader. "We come after Toot Wambush; turn 'im out, ef you know what's good fer you."

"Gentlemen, I'm a sworn officer of the law, I--"

"Drap that! Open that cell door, ur we'll put daylight through you."

This was followed by the low, pleading voice of the jailer's wife, begging her husband to comply with the demand, and the wailing of two or three children.

"Wait, then!" yielded the jailer. Westerfelt heard a door slam and chains clank and rattle on the wooden floor; a bolt was slid back, the front door opened, and the white drift parted to receive a dark form.

"Whar's my hoss?" doggedly asked Toot Wambush.

"Out thar hitched to the fence," answered the leader.

"You-uns was a h.e.l.l of a time comin'," retorted Wambush.

"Had to git together; most uv us never even heerd uv yore capture tell a hour by sun. Huh, you'd better thank yore stars we re'ched you when we did."

The band filed out of the gate and mounted their horses. Toot Wambush was a little in advance of the others. He suddenly turned his horse towards the hotel.

Westerfelt instinctively drew back behind the curtain, Harriet caught his arm and clung to it.

"Go to your room!" she whispered. "You'd better; you must not stay here." He seemed not to hear; he leaned forward and peered again through the window. The leader and Wambush had just reined their horses in at the edge of the sidewalk.

"Come on, Toot; whar you gwine?" asked the leader.

"I want to take that feller with us; I'll never budge 'thout him, you kin bet your bottom dollar on that."

"He's bad hurt--'bout ter die; don't be a fool!"

"Huh! Doc Lash sent me word he was safe. I didn't hurt 'im; but he did me; he damaged my feelings, and I want to pay 'im fer it. Are you fellers goin' back on me?"

"Not this chicken," a voice muttered, and a white form whipped his horse over to Wambush's. "I'm with you," said another. Then there was a clamor of voices, and all the gang gathered round Wambush. He chuckled and swore softly. "That's the stuff!" he said. "Them's Cohutta men a-talkin'; you kin bet yore sweet life."

Harriet turned to Westerfelt. "They are drinking," she said. "Haven't you got a pistol?"

"No."

"You stay here then; don't let them see you; I'm going up-stairs and speak to Toot from the veranda. It's the only chance. s.h.!.+"

She did not wait for a reply, but opened the door noiselessly and went out into the hall. He heard the rustle of her skirts as she went up the stairs. A moment later the door leading to the veranda on the floor above opened with a creak, and she appeared over the heads of the band.

"Toot! Toot Wambus.h.!.+" she called out in a clear, steady voice. "I want to speak to you!"

Wambush, in a spirit of bravado, had just ridden on to the veranda, and could hear nothing above the thunderous clatter of his horse's hoofs on the floor.

"Here, thar, you jail-bird, yore wanted!" cried out the leader. "Stop that infernal racket!"

"What is it?" asked Wambush, riding back among his fellows.

"Toot Wambus.h.!.+" Harriet repeated.

He looked up at her. "What do you want?" he asked, doggedly, after gazing up at her steadily for a moment.

"Get away as fast as you can," she replied. "His wound has broke again. He's bleeding to death!"

"Well, that's certainly good news!" Wambush did not move.

"You'd better go," she urged. "It will be wilful murder. You made the attack. He was unarmed, and you used a pistol and a knife. Do you want to be hung?"

He sat on his horse silent and motionless, his face upraised in the full moonlight. There was no sound except the champing of bits, the creaking of saddles.

"Come on, Toot," urged the leader in a low tone. "You've settled yore man's hash; what more do you want? We've got you out o' jail, now let us put you whar you'll be safe from the law."

Wambush had not taken his eyes from the girl. He now spoke as if his words were meant for her only.

"If I go," he said, "will you come? Will you follow me? You know I'm not a-goin' to leave 'thout you, Harriet."

It seemed to Westerfelt that she hesitated before speaking, and at that moment a realization of what she had become to him and what she doubtless was to Wambush came upon him with such stunning force that he forgot even his peril in contemplating what seemed almost as bad as death.

"This is no time nor place to speak of such things," he heard the girl say, finally. "Go this minute and save yourself while you can."

"Hold on, Harriet!" Wambush cried out, as she was moving away.

Westerfelt could no longer see her, and then he heard her close the door and start down-stairs.

"Come on, Toot"--the leader whipped his horse up against that of Wambush.

Some of the others had already started away.

Toot did not move. He was still looking at the spot where Harriet Floyd had stood.

"It simply means the halter, you blamed fool!"