CHAPTER XVI
THE DIXIE'S BOSS
If Mannix expected any resistance from Rathburn he soon found thatnone was to materialize. The deputy, a short, rather stout man ofperhaps thirty-nine, with bronzed features, clear, brown eyes, and aprotruding jaw covered with a stubble of reddish-brown beard, wasnevertheless wary of his prisoner. He had not yet obtained Rathburn'sgun, and he recognized the unmistakable signs of a seasoned gunman inthe lounging but graceful postures of his prisoner, in the way hemoved his right hand, in the alertness of his eye. He frowned, forRathburn was smiling. There was a quality to that smile which was notlost upon the doughty officer.
"I take it you've got sense enough to come along easylike," he said,with just a hint of doubt in his voice.
"Yes, I've been known to show some sense, sheriff; now that's afact."
"I'll have to ask you for your gun," said the deputy grimly.
"I've never been known to hand over my gun, sheriff," drawledRathburn. "Now that's another fact."
Again the tension in the room was high. Others than Mannix, andprobably Carlisle, had readily discerned in the gray-eyed stranger acertain menacing prowess which is much respected where weapons are therule in unexpected emergencies. The crowd backed to the wall.
The deputy wet his lips, and his face grew a shade paler. Thensuddenly he went for his gun, as Rathburn dropped, like a shot, to thefloor. There came the crack of Carlisle's pistol and a laugh fromRathburn. The deputy, gun in hand, stared at Rathburn who rose quicklyto his feet. Then he thought to cover him. Rathburn raised his handswhile Carlisle returned his own smoking weapon to its holster. Mannixturned and glared at Carlisle in perplexity.
"I don't know what his game is, Mannix; but he could have drawn downon you in a wink and shot you in your tracks if he'd wanted to," saidCarlisle.
"So you were taking the play in your own hands," Mannix accused.
The deputy looked at Rathburn angrily. Then he advanced and took theprisoner's six-shooter from him. He brought handcuffs out of hispockets.
Rathburn's face went white. "If what Carlisle says is true, it doesn'tlook as if I was trying to get away, does it, sheriff?" he askedcoldly.
Mannix was thoughtful for a moment. "Well, come along," he ordered,thrusting the steel bracelets back into his pocket.
"I'll go with you," Carlisle volunteered.
"That's up to you," snapped out the deputy. "I ain't asking you to."
The trio left the place as the spectators gazed after them in wonder.There was a hum of excited conversation as the deputy and his prisonerand Carlisle passed through the door.
No word was spoken on the way to the small, two-room, one-storystructure which served as a detention place for persons under arrestuntil they could be transferred to the county jail in the town wherethe railroad touched. Petty offenders served their sentences there,however.
In the little front office of the jail, Rathburn looked with interestat some posters on the walls. One in particular claimed hisattention, and he read it twice while the deputy was getting some keysand calling to the jailer, who evidently was on the other side of thebarred door where the few cells and the "tank" were.
This is what Rathburn read:
REWARD
Two thousand dollars will be paid for the capture of the bandits who are responsible for the robberies of Dixie Mine messengers in the last few months.
DIXIE MILLING & MINING CO., George Sautee, Manager.
Rathburn now knew exactly what Carlisle had meant when he had referredto the Dixie pay-roll taking wings. He had, however, suspected it. Theholdup of the truck driver also was explained. Rathburn smiled. It wasa peculiar ruse for the mines manager to resort to. Could not thepay-roll be sent to the mines under armed guard? Rathburn's eyes weredreamy when he looked at the deputy.
"All right, in you go," said Mannix, as the jailer unlocked the heavy,barred door from the inside.
He led Rathburn to one of the single cells, of which there were six onone side of the jail room proper.
"Maybe you'll be ready to talk in the morning," he said, as he lockedhis prisoner in.
"Morning might be too late," Rathburn observed, taking tobacco andpapers from his shirt pocket.
"What do you mean by that?" Mannix asked sharply.
"I might change my mind."
"About talking, eh? Well, we'll find a way to make you change it backagain."
"You're a grateful cuss," said Rathburn, grinning.
Mannix scowled. It was plain he was not sure of his man, although hewas trying to convince himself that he was.
"I don't get you," he said growlingly.
"No? Didn't you hear that fellow Carlisle say I saved your life by notdrawing?"
"He'd have got you if you'd tried to draw. That's what he thought youwas going to do. You saved your skin by grabbing the floor."
Rathburn wet the paper of his cigarette and sealed the end. "I'mwondering," he mused, as he snapped a match into flame, with a thumbnail and lit the weed.
"It's about time," said the deputy grimly.
"I'm wondering," said Rathburn, in a soft voice, exhaling a thinstreamer of smoke, "if he'd have got me."
Mannix grunted, looked at him curiously, and then turned abruptly onhis heel and left. Rathburn could not see the door, but he heard thebig key grate in the lock, and then the jail room echoed to the clangof hard metal and the door swung shut again.
Rathburn sat down on the bunk which was to serve as his bed. He smokedhis brown-paper cigarette slowly and with great relish while hestared, not through the bars to where the dim light of a lamp showed,but straight at the opposite steel wall of his cell. His eyes werethoughtful, dreamy, his brow was puckered.
"An' there's that," he muttered as he threw away the stub of his smokeand began to roll another. "Somebody's been playing the Dixie Queenfor a meal ticket. That sign said 'robberies.' That means more'n one.The truck driver was the last. Two thousand reward. An' me headed forthe desert where I belong. What stopped me? I reckon I know."
He smiled grimly as he remembered the insolent challenge in Carlisle'seyes and the reference to the bath.
After a time Rathburn stretched out on the bunk, pulled his hat overhis face, and dozed.
He sat up with a catlike movement as a persistent tapping on the barsof his cell reached his ears. Blinking in the half light he sawCarlisle's dark features.
"Well, now's your chance to smoke me up good an' plenty an' get awaywith it," said Rathburn cheerfully. "I'm shy my gun which the sheriffhas borrowed."
"You figure he's just borrowed it?" sneeringly inquired Carlisle.
Rathburn rose and surveyed his visitor. "I reckon I've got to tolerateyou," he drawled. "I can't pick my company in here."
"I've got your number," snarlingly replied Carlisle in a low voice.
Rathburn sauntered close to the bars, rolling a cigarette.
"If you have, Carlisle, you've got a winning number," he said evenly.
"Whatever your play is here, I dunno," said Carlisle; "but you won'tget away with it as easy as you did over the range in Dry Lake."
Rathburn's eyes never flickered as he coolly lit his cigarette with asteady hand. "You're plumb full of information, eh, Carlisle?"
"I was over there an' heard about how you stuck up that joint an'tried to blame it on some kid by the name of Lamy," said Carlisle,watching Rathburn closely.
"You sure that was the way of it?" asked Rathburn casually.
"No," replied the other. "I know the kid stuck up the joint an' youtook the blame to keep him under cover. I don't know your reasons, butI guess you don't want the facts known. You broke jail. They ain'tforgot _that_ over in Dry Lake. There's a reward out for you overthere, an I wouldn't be surprised if there was some money on your headin Arizona, Coyote!"
Rathburn's eyes were points of red between narrowed lids.
"The Coyot
e!" said Carlisle in a hoarse voice of triumph. "An' the wayit looks I'm the only one hereabouts that knows it."
"I told you you was plumb full of information," said Rathburn.
"The Coyote has a bit of a record, they tell me," Carlisle leered."There's more'n one sheriff would pay a pretty price to get him safe,eh?"
"Just what's your idea in telling _me_ all this, Carlisle; why don'tyou tell what you know to Mannix, say?"
"Maybe I'm just teasing you along."
"Not a chance, Carlisle. I know your breed."
The other's face darkened, and his eyes glittered as he peered inthrough the bars.
"What's _your_ breed?" he asked sneeringly.
"I don't have to tell you that, Carlisle. You _know_!" said Rathburnwith a taunting laugh.
Carlisle struggled with his anger for a brief spell. Then he shruggedhis shoulders.
"I ain't going to poke at you in a cage," he said in a more civiltone; "an' I ain't going to tell anybody what I know. Remember that."
"I ain't the forgetting kind," Rathburn flung after him as he walkedswiftly away.
Again Rathburn sat on the edge of the bunk and smoked and thought.After a time he went to sleep. The opening of his cell door woke him.It was Mannix.
"Come to let me out, sheriff?" inquired Rathburn sleepily.
The deputy looked at him keenly, opened the cage, and motioned to himto follow. Rathburn went with him out into the little office. It wasbroad day. Mannix picked up a pistol from his desk and extended it toRathburn.
"Here's your gun, Rathburn. You can go," he said, pressing his lipsclose together.
"Well, now, sheriff, that's right kind of you," Rathburn drawled,concealing his astonishment.
"Don't thank me," snapped out Mannix. "This gentleman asked me to setyou loose."
For the first time Rathburn looked squarely at the other man in theoffice--a thin man, with a cropped mustache, beady eyes, and a narrowface.
The man was regarding him intently, and there seemed to be an amusedexpression in his eyes. He turned away from Rathburn's gaze.
"I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman,"said Rathburn agreeably.
"That's George Sautee, manager of the Dixie Queen," said the deputywith a shrug.