CHAPTER XVIII.
HONOR AMONG THIEVES.
We knew, even as our fingers instinctively closed on the handles of oursix-shooters, that we had not come upon the men we wanted; in such acase there would have been an exchange of leaden courtesies long beforewe managed to get in their immediate vicinity. It was unlikely that theywould cease to exercise the cunning and watchfulness that had, so far,carried their infernal schemes through with flying colors. And a secondlook showed us that the scarlet coat belonged to a man who half-sat,half-lay on the ground, his shoulders braced against the trunk of afallen tree. We got off our horses and went cautiously up to him.
"Be not afraid; it is only I!" Goodell raised his head with an effortand greeted us mockingly. "I am, as you can see, hors de combat. What isyour pleasure, gentlemen?"
The weakness of his tone and the pallid features of him vouched for thetruth of his statement. Stepping nearer, we saw that the light-coloredshirt showing between the open lapels of his jacket was stained atell-tale crimson. The hand he held against his breast was dabbled andstreaked with the blood that oozed from beneath the pressing fingers;the leaf-mold under him was saturated with it.
"Where is the rest of the bunch?" MacRae asked him evenly. "You seem tohave got a part of what is coming to you, but your skirts aren't clear,for all that."
"You have a bone to pick with me, eh?" Goodell murmured. "Well, I don'tblame you. But don't adopt the role of inquisitor--because I'm as goodas dead, and dead men tell no tales. My mouth will be closed forever ina little while--and I can die as easily with it unopened. But if you'llget me a drink of water, and be decent about it, I'll unfold a talethat's worth while. I assure you it will be to your interest to give mea hearing."
Piegan turned and strode out of the timber. He unfastened thecoffee-pot from my saddle, and made for the coulee channel we hadcrossed, in which a buffalo-wallow still held water from the recentrain.
Goodell coughed, and a red, frothy stream came from his lips. It isn'tin the average man to be utterly callous to the suffering of another,even if that other richly deserves his pain. Notwithstanding thedeviltry he and his confederates had perpetrated, I couldn't helpfeeling sorry for Goodell--what little I'd seen of him had been likableenough. I found it hard to look at him there and believe him guilty ofmurder, robbery, and kindred depredations. He was beyond reach ofearthly justice, anyway; and one can't help forgiving much to a man whofaces death with a smile.
"Are you in any pain, Goodell?" I asked.
"None whatever," he answered weakly. "But I'm a goner, for all that. Ihave a very neat knife-thrust in the back. Also a bullet somewhere in mylungs. You see in me," he drawled, "a victim of chivalry. I've playedfor big stakes; I've robbed gaily, and killed a man or two in the way offighting; all of which sits lightly on my conscience. But there are twothings I haven't done. I want you to remember distinctly that I have_not_ dragged that girl into this--nor had any hand in torturing awounded old man."
"You mean Lyn Rowan? Is she safe?" Mac squatted beside him, leaningeagerly forward to catch the reply. Piegan returned with the water asGoodell was about to answer. He swallowed thirstily, took breath, andwent on.
"Yes, I mean her," he said huskily. "I'll tell you quick, for I know Iwon't last long, and when I'm done you'll know where to look for them. Istarted this thing--this hold-up business--no matter why. Lessard wasaway in the hole--gambling and other things--I hinted the idea to him;he jumped at it, as I thought he would. And----"
"Lessard!" I interrupted. "He was in on this, then?"
"Was he?" Goodell echoed. "He is the whole thing."
I had suspected as much, but sometimes it is a surprise to have one'ssuspicions confirmed. I glanced at Mac and Piegan.
"I was sure of it all along," Mac answered my unspoken thought. Pieganmerely shrugged his shoulders.
"I wanted to get that government money in the pay-wagon, that wasall--at first," Goodell continued. "We planned a long time ahead, and wehad to take in those three to make it go. Then Lessard found out aboutthose two old miners, and put Hicks and Gregory on their trail unknownto me--I had no hand in that foul business. You know the result--thefinish--that night you lost the ten thousand--it was hellish work. Iwanted to kill Hicks and Gregory when they told me. Poor old Dutchman!Lessard put Bevans on your trail, Flood. He followed you from Walsh thatday, and you played into his hands that night when you stirred up thefire. Only for running into his partners, he would probably havemurdered you for that ten thousand some night while you slept. Give meanother drink."
I lifted the pot of water to his lips again, and he thanked mecourteously.
"Then Lessard conceived the theory that you fellows had learned morethan you told. We were fixed to get the paymaster on that trip. We shookyou, and did the job. MacRae was on the way--you know. He sent you tothe Stone with those devils to keep cases on you. It seemed a pity tolet slip that gold-dust after they had gone so far. You know how thatpanned out. We had a stake then. Lessard was the brains, the guidinggenius; we did the work. The original plan was to make a clean-up,divide with him, and get out of the country--while he used his authorityto throw the Force off the track till we were well away. Then the girlappeared, and Lessard lost his head. She turned him down; and at thelast moment he upset our plans by deciding to cut loose and go with us.I believe now that he hatched this latest scheme when she refused him. Itell you he was fairly mad about her. He took advantage of this lasttrip to loot the post of all the funds he could lay hands on. Wehave--or, rather, _they_ have," he corrected, "about a hundred and fiftythousand altogether.
"We couldn't ford Milk River on account of the storm. You tracked us?You saw our last camp? Yes. Well, we left there early this morning. Andwhen Hicks turned off opposite Baker's outfit with an extra horse, Ithought nothing of it--it was perfectly safe, and we needed morematches, Lessard said. Not until he joined us later with the girl did Isuspect that there were wheels within wheels; a kidnapping had neveroccurred to me; I hadn't thought his infatuation would carry him thatfar. She realized at once that she had been hoodwinked, and appealed toLessard. He laughed at her, and told her that he had abandoned themodern method of winning a mate, and gone back to the primitive mode.
"I've put myself beyond the pale; outlaw, thief, what you like--I'm notsensitive to harsh names. But a woman--a good woman! Well, I have my ownideas about such things. And when we camped here, I had made up my mind.I told Lessard she must go back. That was a foolish move. I should havegot the drop and killed him out of hand. While I argued with him, Hicksslipped a knife into my back, and as I turned on him Lessard shot me.Ah, well--it'll be all the same a hundred years from now. But I'd liketo put a spoke in their wheel for the sake of that blue-eyed girl.
"MacRae, you and Smith know the mouth of Sage Creek, and the ford there.That's where they'll camp to-night. I doubt if they'll cross the rivertill morning. If you ride you can make it in three hours. From therethey plan to follow Milk River to the Missouri and catch a down-streamboat. But you'll get them to-night. You must. Now give me anotherdrink--and drift!"
"We'll get them, Goodell." MacRae rose to his feet as he spoke. "You'rewhite, if you did get off wrong. I'll remember what you did--for her. Isthere anything we can do for you?"
Goodell shook his head. "I tell you," he said, and turned his head tolook wistfully up at the eastern coulee-rim, all tinted with the blazingsunset. "I'll go out over the hills with the shadows. An hour--maybetwo. It's my time. I've no complaint to make. All I want is a drink. Youcan do no good for a dead man; and the living are sorely in need. It'llbe a bit lonesome, that's all."
"No message for anybody?" MacRae persisted.
"No--yes!" The old mocking, reckless tone crept into his voice again."If you should have speech with Lessard before you put his light out,tell him I go to prepare a place for him--a superheated grid! Nowdrift--_vamos_--hit the trail. Remember, the gorge at the mouth of SageCreek. Good-by."
Soberly we filed out from among the trees, now swayi
ng in the grip ofthe wind, their leafy boughs rustling sibilantly; as though the weirdsisters whispered in the nodding branches that here was another threadfull-spun and ready for the keen shears. Soberly we swung to the saddleand rode slowly away, lest the quick beat of hoofs should bring a suddenpang of loneliness to the intrepid soul calmly awaiting death under theshivering trees. I think that one bold effort to right a wrong willmore than wipe out the black score against him when the Book of Life isbalanced.
A little way beyond the poplar-grove Piegan drew rein, and held up onehand.
"Poor devil," he muttered. "He's a-calling us."
But he wasn't. He was fighting off the chill of loneliness that comes tothe strongest of us when we face the unknowable, the empty void thatthere is no escaping. Dying there in the falling dusk, he was singing tohimself as an Indian brave chants his death-song when the red flame ofthe torture-fire bites into his flesh.
Sing heigh, sing ho, for the Cavalier! Sing heigh, sing ho, for the Crown. Gentlemen all, turn out, turn out; We'll keep these Roundheads down! Down--down--down--down. We'll ke--ep these Round--heads down!
Once--twice, the chorus of that old English Royalist song rose up out ofthe grove. Then it died away, and we turned to go. And as we struck homethe spurs, remembering the mouth of Sage Creek and the dark that wasclosing down, a six-shooter barked sharply, back among the trees.
I swung my horse around in his tracks and raced him back to the poplars,knowing what I would find, and yet refusing to believe. I will not saythat his big heart had failed him; perhaps it did not seem to him worthwhile to face the somber shadows to the bitter end, lying alone in thatdeep hollow in the earth. It may be that the night looked long andcomfortless, and it was his wish to go out with the sun. He lay besidethe fallen tree, his eyes turned blankly to the darkening sky, thesix-shooter in his hand as he had held it for the last time. Istraightened his arms, and covered his face with the blood-stained coatand left him to his long sleep. And even old Piegan lifted his hat andmurmured "Amen" in all sincerity as we turned away.