CHAPTER XV
A CLOSE SHAVE
The Ranger opened the door of the "soddy," stepped through, and closedit behind him. Jeers, threats, bits of advice greeted him from those infront of the jail.
"Better p'int for the hills, Mr. Ranger." ... "A whole passel ofsheriffs can't save the greaser." ... "Don't you-all try an' stop us ifyou know what's good for you." ... "Skedaddle while yore skin's whole."... "It's the Mexican, anyhow; it's him an' you too, if you show fight."
The lean-flanked young Ranger looked them over coolly. Men were comingin driblets from the main street. Already perhaps there were a hundredand fifty men and boys in sight. They were the advance guard of thegathering mob.
Never in his gusty lifetime had Jack Roberts been more master ofhimself. He had that rare temperament which warms to danger. He stoodthere bareheaded, his crisp, curly bronze hair reflecting the glow ofthe setting sun, one hand thrust carelessly into his trousers pocket.
"Give up yore prisoner, an' we won't hurt you. We got nothin' againstyou," a voice cried.
Jack did not answer. His left hand came out of the pocket bringing withit half a dozen silver dollars. Simultaneously the nose of his revolverflashed into sight. A dollar went up into the air. The revolver cracked.The coin, struck by the bullet in its descent, was flung aside at anangle. Dollar after dollar went up and was hurled from its course as theweapon barked. Out of six shots the Ranger missed only one.
It was marvelous marksmanship, but it did not in the least cow those whosaw the exhibition. They were frontiersmen themselves, many of themcrack shots, and they knew that one man could do nothing against severalhundred. Their taunts followed Roberts as he stepped back into thesod-house.
Jack reloaded his revolver and joined the Mexican. "All ready, Tony.We're off soon as I've put the cuffs on you," he said briskly.
"Don' handcuff me, _senor_. Give me a gun an' a chance for my life,"begged Alviro. He was trembling like an aspen leaf in a summer breeze.
The Ranger shook his head. "No, Tony. If you weren't wearin' cuffsthey'd think I meant to turn you loose. You wouldn't have a chance. I'mthe law, an' you're my prisoner. That's goin' to help pull us through.Brace up, boy. I've got an ace up my sleeve you don't know about."
A minute later a great yell of triumph rose in the air. The door of thesod-house had opened, and the Ranger and his prisoner stood in front ofit. The mob pushed closer, uncertain as to what its next move would be.Had Roberts brought out the Mexican with the intention of making amerely formal resistance?
Pete Dinsmore, just arrived on the scene at the head of a group from thesaloons, shouldered his way to the front.
"We'll take care of yore prisoner now, Mr. Ranger. Much obliged forsavin' us the trouble of tearin' down the soddy," he called jubilantly.
"You got more sense an' less grit than I figured you had," jeeredGurley. "Now light a shuck back to Mobeetie an' write a report on it."
Roberts waited, silent and motionless, for the tumult to die. Only hiseyes and his brain were active. Homer Dinsmore was in the crowd, well tothe front. So were Jumbo Wilkins, Clint Wadley, and half a dozen otherline-riders and cowmen, all grouped together to the left. Fifty yardsback of them a group of saddled horses waited.
The shouting spent itself. The motionless figure beside the pallidMexican excited curiosity. Did he mean to give up his prisoner without afight? That was not the usual habit of the Texas Ranger.
With his left hand Jack drew from a coat-pocket some dark sticks a fewinches long. A second time his six-shooter leaped from its scabbard.
"Look out for his cutter!"[4] yelled Gurley.
The voice of Wadley boomed out harsh and strong, so that every manpresent heard what he said. "Gad, he's got dynamite!"
The revolvers of the two Dinsmores were already out. They had movedforward a step or two, crouching warily, eyes narrowed and steady. Ifthis brash young Ranger wanted a fight he could have it on the jump. Butat Wadley's shout they stopped abruptly. The owner of the A T O wasright. The fool officer had several sticks of dynamite in his hand tiedtogether loosely by a string.
The crowd had been edging forward. There was no break in it now, but onecould see a kind of uneasy ripple, almost as though it held its mobbreath tensely and waited to see what was to come.
"He's got no fuse!" screamed Gurley.
"Here's my fuse," retorted the Ranger. He held up his revolver so thatall could see. "I'm goin' to fling this dynamite at the first man whotries to stop me an' hit it while it's in the air close to his head.Come on, Tony. We're on our way."
He moved slowly forward. The Dinsmores stood fast, but the crowd sagged.As the Ranger got closer there was a sudden break. Men began to scramblefor safety.
"Look out, Dinsmore," an excited voice cried. It belonged to JumboWilkins. "He'll blow you to hell an' back."
Both of the Dinsmores had a reputation for gameness in a country wherethe ordinary citizen was of proved courage. With revolvers or riflesthey would have fought against odds, had done it more than once. Butdynamite was a weapon to which they were not used. It carried with itthe terror of an instant death which would leave them no chance tostrike back. Very slowly at first, a step at a time, they gave ground.
Roberts, as he moved with his prisoner, edged toward Wadley and hisgroup. He knew he had won, that the big cattleman and his friends wouldclose behind him in apparent slow pursuit, so adroitly as to form ashield between him and the mob and thus prevent a rifle-shot fromcutting him down. The horses were in sight scarce half a hundred yardsaway.
And in the moment of victory he shaved disaster. From the right therecame the pad of light, running feet and the rustle of skirts.
"Goddlemighty, it's 'Mona!" cried Wadley, aghast.
It was. Ramona had known that something was in the air when the Rangerand her father held their conference in front of the house. Her aunt hadcommented on the fact that Clint had taken from the wall a sawed-offshotgun he sometimes carried by his saddle. The girl had waited,desperately anxious, until she could stand suspense no longer.Bareheaded, she had slipped out of the house and hurried toward thejail in time to see the Ranger facing alone an angry mob. Withoutthought of danger to herself she had run forward to join him.
Homer Dinsmore gave a whoop of triumph and rushed forward. The Rangercould not play with dynamite when the life of Wadley's daughter was atstake. His brother, Gurley, a dozen others, came close at his heels,just behind Ramona.
The Ranger dropped the black sticks into his pocket and backed away,screening his prisoner as he did so. The ex-Confederate who had come upon the stage was standing beside Wadley. He let out the old yell of hiswar days and plunged forward.
The Dinsmores bumped into the surprise of their lives. Somehow the manupon whom they had almost laid clutches was out of reach. Between himand them was a line of tough old-timers with drawn guns.
The owner of the A T O handed his sawed-off shotgun to Jumbo Wilkins,caught Ramona round the shoulders with one arm, and ran her hurriedlyout of the danger-zone.
Joe Johnston's old trooper pushed the end of his rifle urgently againstHomer Dinsmore's ribs. "Doggone it, don't be so rampageous! Keep backther! This gun's liable to go off."
"What's ailin' you?" snarled Gurley. "Ain't you goin' to help us stringup the Mexican?"
"No, Steve. Our intentions is otherwise," replied Jumbo with a grin."An' don't any of you-all come closeter. This sawed-off shotgun ofClint's is loaded with buckshot, an' she spatters all over the State ofTexas."
The little posse round the prisoner backed steadily to the left. Nottill they were almost at the horses did Dinsmore's mob guess theintentions of the Ranger.
Pete gave a howl of rage and let fly a bullet at Alviro. Before thesound of the shot had died away, the outlaw dropped his revolver with anoath. The accurate answering fire of Roberts had broken his wrist.
"No use, Pete," growled his brother. "They've got the deadwood on usto-day. But I reckon there are other days comin'."
Hom
er Dinsmore was right. The mob had melted away like a small snowbankin a hot sun. It was one thing to help lynch a defenseless Mexican; itwas quite another to face nine or ten determined men backing the law.Scarce a score of the vigilantes remained, and most of them were lookingfor a chance to save their faces "without starting anything," as Jumboput it later.
The lynching-party stood sullenly at a distance and watched the Ranger,his prisoner, and three other men mount the horses. The rest of theposse covered the retreat of the horsemen.
Just before the riders left, Jumbo asked a question that had beendisturbing him. "Say, Tex, honest Injun, would you 'a' fired off thatdynamite if it had come to a showdown?"
Roberts laughed. He drew from his pocket the sticks, tossed them intothe air, and took a quick shot with his revolver.
For a moment not a soul in the posse nor one of Dinsmore's watchingvigilantes drew a breath. Not one had time to move in self-defense.
The bullet hit its mark. All present saw the little spasmodic jerk ofthe bundle in the air. But there was no explosion. The dynamite fellharmlessly to the ground.
The old Confederate stepped forward and picked up the bundle. Heexamined it curiously, then let out a whoop of joyous mirth.
"Nothin' but painted sticks! Son, you're sure a jim-dandy! Take off yorehats, boys, to the man that ran a bluff on the Dinsmore outfit an' madea pair of deuces stick against a royal flush."
He tossed the bits of wood across to Pete Dinsmore, who caught thebundle and looked down at it with a sinister face of evil. This boy hadout-maneuvered, outgamed, and outshot him. Dinsmore was a terror in theland, a bad-man known and feared widely. Mothers, when they wanted tofrighten their children, warned them to behave, or the Dinsmore gangwould get them. Law officers let these outlaws alone on one pretext oranother. But lately a company of the Texas Rangers had moved up intothe Panhandle. This young cub had not only thrown down the gauntlet tohim; he had wounded him, thwarted him, laughed at him, and made a foolof him. The prestige he had built up so carefully was shaken.
The black eyes of the outlaw blazed in their deep sockets. "By God,young fellow, it's you or me next time we meet. I'll learn you that noscrub Ranger can cross Pete Dinsmore an' get away with it. This ain'tthe first time you've run on the rope with me. I've had more 'n plentyof you."
The riders were moving away, but Jack Roberts turned in the saddle, onehand on the rump of the bronco.
"It won't be the last time either, Dinsmore. You look like any othercheap cow-thief to me. The Rangers are going to bring law to thiscountry. Tell yore friends they'll live longer if they turn honest men."
The Ranger put spurs to his horse and galloped after his posse.
[Footnote 4: In the early days in Texas a revolver was sometimes calleda "cutter."]