CHAPTER XIII
AN UNSEEN LISTENER
Bert was lost. There was no use blinking the fact. For two hours pastthis feeling had been growing stronger, and now it had deepened into aconviction.
It was an unusual and disconcerting experience for him. His sense oflocation was very keen and acute, and, even without a compass, he hadbeen able almost instinctively to distinguish the cardinal points. Butjust now he was deprived of the help of that trusty counselor. He hadbeen compelled to dismount, a little while since, to make some triflingadjustment. Some time later, when the sun had disappeared under a cloud,he felt in the pocket where he usually carried his compass, and wasdismayed to find it empty. He must have lost it in bending over themachine. He could replace it when he reached the next large town, butjust at present he missed it sorely. For an hour now, the sun had beeninvisible, and although he felt confident he was traveling due West, hewould have given a good deal for absolute assurance of that fact.
If he had been following some broad highway, he would not so much havecared, as he would have been sure before long to reach some settlementwhere he could again get his bearings. But there had been a number oftrails, none of them well-defined, and he had chosen one that grewfainter and fainter as he progressed until it had faded away into themass of the prairie. In bright sunlight, he might have still been ableto trace it, but, in the dun haze and gathering dusk, it was no longervisible.
Although the country was mostly a level plain, it was interspersed hereand there with bits of woodland and rocky buttes, rising in places to aheight of two hundred feet. One of these Bert descried in the distance,and, putting on more power, he neared it rapidly. If he had to spend thenight in the open, which seemed very probable now, he wanted to have thecheer and comfort of a fire, and there was no material for that inthe treeless plain. At the edge of the wood he could get boughs andbranches. By the aid of the spirit lamp that he carried in his kit, hecould make a pot of coffee to supplement the sandwiches he had with him.
By the time he had reached the woods it had grown wholly dark. He jumpedfrom the saddle, leaned the "Blue Streak" against a tree, and commencedto gather twigs and branches. He soon had enough for his purpose, andwas just about to apply a match, when he caught the twinkle of a light,farther up the wooded slope. He looked closely and could see theoutlines of a cabin from which the light was streaming.
The discovery was both a surprise and a delight. Here was humancompanionship, and an opportunity to know just where he was and how hecould best reach the nearest town. He thought it was probably the hut ofsome sheepherder or cattleman, and he had no doubt of a warm welcome.Apart from the hospitality that is proverbial on the Western plains, theoccupant of that lonely cabin would be just as glad as himself to have acompanion for the night. He thrust his matchbox back in its waterproofpouch, and, taking his machine by the handlebars, began to trundle it upthe slope.
His first impulse was to blow the horn of his motorcycle, as a cheeryannouncement that a stranger was coming. But as he reached out his hand,some unseen power seemed to hold him back. There seemed to be no reasonfor the caution, but that subtle "sixth sense," that experience hadtaught Bert to rely upon, asserted itself. On such occasions he hadlearned not to argue, but to obey. He did so now, and, instead of goingdirectly to the cabin as he had planned at first, made a wide circle andcame up behind. He left the motorcycle fifty feet away, and then withinfinite care drew near the cabin.
It was a rude structure of logs, and mud had been used to close up thechinks. There was no window on that side, but in several places thedried mud had fallen away, and the light shone through the crevices.Bert glued his eye to the largest of these openings and looked in.
A smoky lamp stood on a rough pine table, before which a man was seatedon a nail keg. His face was partly turned away, and, at the moment Bertsaw him, he was applying his lips to a half-filled whiskey bottle. Hetook an enormous dram and then slammed the bottle down on the table anddrew his sleeve across his mouth.
Around his waist was a cartridge belt, and two ugly-looking revolverspeeped from his holsters. A bowie knife lay on the table beside thelamp. The outlook was not reassuring, and Bert blessed the caution thathad impelled him to "hasten slowly" in approaching the cabin.
He blessed it again when the man with an oath and a snarl picked up ahandbill that had dropped on the floor. In doing so, he exposed his fullface to view, and Bert thought that he had seldom seen one so whollyvillainous.
The ferret-like eyes, set close together, as they looked out frombeneath bushy brows, glinted with ferocity. Although comparativelyyoung, dissipation and reckless living had stamped their impress onevery feature. His outthrust jaw bespoke a bulldog courage anddetermination. Brute was written largely all over him. An ugly scaracross his temple told of the zip of a bullet or the crease of a knife.It was the face of a desperado who would stop at nothing, howevermurderous or cruel, to gain his ends.
As the light fell upon the paper, Bert saw that it was headed by theword "REWARD" in staring capitals. Then came a picture that correspondedclosely to the face of the man who was reading. Large print followed, ofwhich Bert could see enough to grasp the meaning. It was an offer offive thousand dollars reward for the capture, alive or dead, of "Billythe Kid," who had held up a stage at Valley Gulch two weeks before, and,after killing the driver and one of the passengers who had resisted, hadmade his escape with the contents of the express company's pouch.
Billy the Kid! The newspapers had been full of the robbery at the timeit was committed, and columns had been published narrating his exploits.He was wanted for thefts and murders covering a series of years. Posseswere out for him in all directions, but he seemed to bear a charmed lifeand had successfully evaded capture. An almost superstitious fearattached to his name, and he was cited as an illustrious example of the"Devil taking care of his own."
"Dead or alive," muttered the outlaw with an ugly sneer. "It will haveto be dead, then. They'll never get me alive."
Bert was in a ticklish situation. The slightest move on his part mightbetray his presence to this sullen bandit, to whom human life wasnothing. He slipped his hand behind him and was comforted by the feel ofhis revolver. It was a Colt .45, fully loaded, and he knew how to useit. In that fight with the pirates off the Chinese coast it had donegood service. He knew that, at need, he could rely upon it now. He tookit from his hip pocket and put it in his breast, with the handleprotruding so that he could grasp it instantly.
Just then the gallop of horses smote upon his ears. The outlaw heard it,too, and jumped to his feet. He blew out the light and snatched up hisweapons. The hoof beats drew nearer and a halloo rang out that wasevidently a preconcerted signal. With an oath of relief the desperadorelighted the lamp and went to the door.
"It's time you came," he ripped out savagely. "What kept you so long?"
"Couldn't help it, Cap," protested a man who entered the cabin, closelyfollowed by four others. "Manuel had to hang around the telegraph officetill the message came from Red Pete. The minute it came, we beat itlickety split and almost killed our hosses getting here."
The leader snatched the held out telegram and read it eagerly while thefive men, of the same desperate type as their captain, stood aroundready to jump at his bidding. It was clear that they feared and cringedto him. His brute force and superior cunning combined with his evilreputation held them in complete subjection.
The telegram was brief and seemingly innocent:
"Mary leaves at ten. Meet her with carriage. Pleasant visit."
He drew from his pocket a scrap of paper, evidently containing a key tothe message. He compared it with the telegram, and a light of unholyglee came into his eyes.
"It's all right, boys," he said, his fierce demeanor softening somewhat."The Overland Limited will be at the water tank near Dorsey at threeo'clock. There'll be forty thousand in the express messenger's safe.It's up to us to make a rich haul and a quick getaway. Now listen tome," and with the swift decision that
marks the born leader and thatwent far to explain his ascendancy over his men, he sketched out theplan of the coming robbery.
"You, Mike and Manuel, will attend to the engineer and fireman. Firstget their hands up over their heads. Then keep them covered and makethem uncouple the engine and express car from the rest of the train andrun up the track a half a mile or so. I'll see to the express messengermyself. He'll open that safe or I'll blow his head off and then breakopen the safe with dynamite. Joe and Bob and Ed will stay by the trainand keep shooting off their guns, to cow the passengers and trainmenwhile we get in our work. We won't have time to go through the cars, asit will be too near daylight, and we'll have to do some hard ridingwhile it's dark. I hate to let the passengers' coin and jewelry go, butwe'll get enough from the express car to make up for that. Let yourhorses rest till twelve and then we'll saddle up and get to the watertank by two. Now you fellows know what you've got to do, and God helpthe man who makes a bad break. He'll have to reckon with me," and helaid his hand significantly on the handle of his knife.
There was an uneasy grin on the part of the men, and then they fell todiscussing the details of the plan, while the bottle passed freely fromhand to hand.
Bert, who had listened breathlessly to the daring plot, was doing somerapid thinking. He had not the slightest idea where the water tank waslocated. It might be east, west, north or south, as far as he knew.But what he did know was that it behooved him to get away from thatdangerous locality at the earliest possible moment. His life would nothave been worth much if he had been discovered before they had discussedthe robbery. Now that he was in possession of the details, it would beworth absolutely nothing. A killing more or less made no difference tothese abandoned outlaws, and they would have shot him with as littleconcern as they would a prairie dog.
Then, too, the alarm ought to be given at once. By riding into thenight, he would have a chance of reaching some town and getting intotouch with the railroad authorities, by wire or phone. Or he might runacross some one familiar with the country who could guide him. Anythingwas better than inaction. Theft and murder were in the air, and everypassing moment made them more probable. He might break his neck, collidewith a rock or a tree, ride over a precipice in the dark. But he had totake a chance. Danger had never yet turned him from the path of duty. Itshould not daunt him now.