Westerfelt Part 19

"I am a pretty good shot," he went on, bitterly, "and Toot Wambush shall be my first target, if I can pick him out. Then the rest may do what they like with me. You go home. It will do you no good to be seen with me."

She caught his arm. "If you don't go, I'll stay right here with you.

Hus.h.!.+ Listen! What was--? Great Heavens, they are coming. Go! Go!"

She glided swiftly to the door, and he followed her. Coming along the Hawkbill road, about an eighth of a mile distant, they saw a body of hors.e.m.e.n, their heads and shoulders dressed in white. His revolver slipped from his fingers and rang on a fallen anvil. He picked it up mechanically, still staring into the moonlight. Again he wondered if he were afraid, as he was that night at the hotel.

"Run! get out a horse," she cried. "Mr. Washburn is there; he will help you! Go quick, for G.o.d's sake! I shall kill myself if they harm you." He stared at her an instant, then he put his revolver into his belt.

"All right, then, to oblige you; but you must hurry home!" He hastened across the street and rapped on the office door.

"Who's thar?" called out Washburn from his bed.

"Me--Westerfelt."

There was a sound of bare feet on the floor inside and the door opened.

"What's up?" asked Washburn, sleepily.

"I want my horse; there's a gang of Whitecaps coming down the Hawkbill, and it looks like they are after me."

"My G.o.d!" Washburn began fumbling along the wall. "Where's the matches? Here's one!" He scratched it and lighted his lantern. "I'll git yore hoss. Stand heer, Mr. Westerfelt, an' ef I ain't quick enough make a dash on foot fer that strip o' woods over thar in the field.

The fences would keep 'em from followin', an' you might dodge 'em."

When Washburn had gone into the stable, Westerfelt looked towards Harriet. She had walked only a few yards down the street and stood under the trees. He stepped out into the moonlight and signalled her to go on, but she refused to move. He heard Washburn swearing inside the stable, and asked what the matter was.

"I've got the bridles all tangled to h.e.l.l," he answered.

"Hurry; anything will do!"

The Whitecaps had left the mountain-side and were now in sight on the level road. A minute more and Westerfelt would be a captive. He might get across the street unnoticed and hide himself in the blacksmith's shop, but they would be sure to look for him there. If he tried to go through the fields they would see him and shoot him down like a rabbit.

"Heer you are; which door, back or front?" cried Washburn.

"Front, quick! I've got to run for it! I'm a good mind to stand and make a fight of it."

"Oh no; h.e.l.l, no! Mr. Westerfelt."

Washburn slid the big door open and kicked the horse in the stomach as he led him out.

"Git up, quick! They are at the branch. Blast it, they heerd the door--they've broke into a gallop!"

As Westerfelt put his foot into the stirrup he saw Harriet Floyd glide out of sight into the blacksmith's shop. She had determined not to desert him. As he sprang up, the girth snapped, and the saddle and blanket fell under his feet.

"G.o.d, they are on us!" gasped Washburn. One of the gang raised a shout, and they came on with increased speed.

"Up! Up!" cried Washburn, kicking the saddle out of his way. "Quick!

What's the matter?" Westerfelt felt a twinge in his old wound as he tried to mount. Washburn caught one of his legs and lifted him on his horse.

Westerfelt spurred the horse furiously, but the animal plunged, stumbled, and came to his knees--the bridle-rein had caught his foot.

The foremost of the gang was now within twenty yards of him.

"Halt thar!" he yelled.

Westerfelt drew his horse up and continued to lash him with his bridle-rein.

"Shoot his hoss, but don't tetch him!" was the next command.

Several revolvers went off. Westerfelt's horse swayed at the rump and then ran sideways across the street and fell against a rail fence.

Westerfelt alighted on his feet. He turned and drew his revolver, but just then his horse rolled over against his legs and knocked the weapon from his hand. It struck the belly of the horse and bounded into the middle of the street.

"Ha, we've got ye!" jeered the leader, as he and two or three others covered Westerfelt with their revolvers.

Chapter XIII

The gang formed a semi-circle round Westerfelt and his horse. In their white caps and sheets they appeared ghostly and hideous, as they looked down at him through the eye-holes of their masks. One of them held a coil of new rope and tantalizingly swung it back and forth before his face.

"You must go with us up the Hawkbill fer a little moonlight picnic," he jeered. "We've picked out a tree up thar that leans spank over a cliff five hundred feet from the bottom. Ef the rope broke, ur yore noggin slipped through the noose, you'd never know how come you so."

"He's got to have some'n to ride," suggested another m.u.f.fled voice; "we have done his horse up."

"Well, he's got a-plenty, an' he won't need 'em atter our ja'nt,"

jested the man with the rope. "You uns back thar, that hain't doin'

nothin' but lookin' purty, go in the stable and trot out some'n fer 'im to ride; doggoned ef I want 'im straddled behind me. His ha'nt 'ud ride with me every time I pa.s.sed over the Hawkbill."

"Bill Washburn's in thar," said a man in the edge of the crowd. "I seed 'im run in as we rid up."

The leader, who sat on a restive horse near Westerfelt, called out:

"h.e.l.lo in thar, Bill Washburn; git out some'n to put yore man on.

Hurry up, ur we'll take you along to see the fun."

Washburn opened the office door and came out slowly.

"What do _you_ say, Mr. Westerfelt? It's yore property. I won't move a peg agin the man that I work fer ef eve'y dam Whitecap in Christendom orders it."

"Care_ful_, care_ful_, young man; none o' your lip!" said the leader, half admiringly.

"Give 'em the lot!" It was the first time Westerfelt had spoken.

Washburn made no reply, but went slowly back into the stable.

Westerfelt's dying horse raised his head and groaned. A man near the animal dismounted and drew his revolver.

"What d' you say?" said he to Westerfelt. "Hadn't I better put 'im out o' his misery?"