CHAPTER XXIII
He had resolved that Levake was to be punished, but it was not aunanimous voice that backed the railroad leader in his determination.Weak-kneed men in the conference wanted to compromise and end thefight where it stood. Even Atkinson was disposed to make terms, as theparty returned to the barricade.
"No," repeated Stanley. "Levake is the head and front of this wholedisorder. As long as he can shoot down unarmed men in the streets ofMedicine Bend there will be no law and order here. While men see himwalking these streets unpunished they will take their cue from him androb and shoot whom they please--Levake and his ilk must go. Arailroad, on the start, brings a lawless element with it--this istrue. But it also brings law and order and that element has come toMedicine Bend to stay. If the machinery of the law is too weak tosupport it, so much worse for the machinery. I don't want to seeblood shed or property destroyed, but the responsibility for thisrests with the outlaws that are terrorizing this town. And I willspend every ounce of ammunition I have and fight them to the last man,rather than compromise with a bunch of cutthroats.
"If any man here feels differently about this, he may step out of thebarricade now," continued Stanley, addressing those of the townsmenthat listened. "There will be no hard feeling. But this is the time todo it. Worse is ahead of us before we can clean the town up as it willhave to be cleaned sometime. The longer you leave the job undone, theharder it will be when you tackle it."
A movement across the square interrupted his words, and a messengerwaving a white handkerchief came over to the barricade to ask for asurgeon for a wounded man. There were some who opposed sending anyrelief to men that had forfeited all claim to humane consideration.Doctor Arnold, however, was summoned, and Stanley finally determinedthat the matter should be left to the surgeon himself--he could go ifhe wished. Arnold did not hesitate in his decision. "It is my duty togo," he decided briefly.
"I don't quite see that," muttered Atkinson.
The white-haired surgeon turned to the leader of the vigilantes. "Itis not a matter of personal inclination, Atkinson. When I took mydegree for the practice of medicine, I took an oath to respond toevery call of suffering and I have no right to refuse this one."
Leaving his own injured with his assistant, the surgeon told themessenger to proceed and the two walked across the square and up FrontStreet to the Three Horses. Arriving there, Arnold was asked to dressthe wound of a man that had been shot through the breast in the fightalong Fort Street. While he was working over his patient, who lay on atable surrounded by a motley crowd of onlookers, Levake walked in. Henodded to the surgeon and drawing a pocket knife, while Arnold wascleansing the wound, sat down beside him to whittle a stick.
"I hear your man, Stanley, wants me," began Levake after an interval.
"I guess you hear right," returned Arnold dryly.
"Tell him for me to come get me, will you?" suggested Levake.
"If he ever comes after you, Levake, he will get you," returnedArnold, looking the outlaw straight in the eye. "There isn't any doubtabout that," he added, resuming his task.
Levake whittled but made no reply. He watched the surgeon's workclosely, and when Arnold had finished and given directions for thewounded man's care he walked out of the place with him.
"Tell Stanley what I said, will you?" repeated Levake, as the railroadsurgeon left the door and started down street.
Arnold made no answer and Levake, taunting him to send all the men therailroad had after him, followed Arnold toward the square.
The surgeon understood that it was Levake's purpose to engage him in adispute and kill him if he could. Arnold, moreover, was hot-temperedand made no concealment of his feelings toward any man. For thisreason, despite his realization of danger, he was an easy prey.
To the final taunt of the outlaw the surgeon made rather a sharpanswer and quickened his pace, to walk away from his unpleasantcompanion. But Levake would not be shaken off, and as the two werepassing a deserted restaurant he ordered the surgeon to halt. Arnoldturned without shrinking. Levake had already drawn his pistol and hisvictim concluded he was to be killed then and there, but he resolvedto tell the outlaw what he thought of him.
"I understand your game perfectly, Levake," he said after he had rakedhim terrifically. "Now, if you are going to shoot, do it. You haven'tlong to live yourself--make sure of that."
"No man can threaten me and live," retorted Levake harshly.
"I came up here, an unarmed man, on an errand of mercy."
"I didn't send for you."
"You would kill me just as quick if you had, Levake. What are youhesitating about? If you are going to shoot, shoot."
Throwing back his right arm, and fingering the trigger of his revolveras a panther lashes his tail before springing, Levake stepped back andto one side. As he did so, with the fearless surgeon still facing him,a man stepped from behind the screen door of the deserted restaurant.It was Bob Scott.
The old and deadly feud between the Indian and the outlaw brought themnow, for the first time in months, face to face. In spite of his ironnerve Levake started. Scott, slightly stooped and wearing the familiarslouch hat and shabby coat in which he was always seen, regarded hisenemy with a smile.
So sudden was his appearance that Levake could not for an instantcontrol himself. If there was a man in the whole mountain country thatLevake could be said to be afraid of, it was the mild-mannered,mild-spoken Indian scout. Where Scott had come from, how he had gotthrough the pickets posted by Levake himself--these questions, forwhich he could find no answer, disquieted the murderer.
Arnold, reprieved from death as by a miracle, stood like a statue.Levake, with his hand on his pistol, had halted, petrified, at thesight of Scott.
The latter, eying the murderer with an expression that might have beenmistaken for friendly, had not Levake known there could be nofriendship among decent men for him, broke the silence: "Levake, Ihave a warrant for you."
The words seemed to shake the spell from the outlaw's nerves. Heanswered with his usual coolness: "You've waited a good while to serveit."
"I've been a little busy for a few days, Levake," returned Scott, withthe same even tone. "I kind of lost track of you." But his words againdisconcerted Levake. The few men who now watched the scene and knewwhat was coming stood breathless.
Levake, moistening his dry lips, spoke carefully: "I don't want anytrouble with you here," he said. "When this town fight is over, bringyour warrant around and I'll talk to you."
"No," returned Scott, undisturbed, "I might lose track of you again.You can come right along with me, Levake."
With incredible quickness the outlaw, half-turning to cover Scott,fired. The cat-like agility of the Indian answered the move in theinstant it was made. Scott was, in fact, the first scout from whommountain men learned to fire a revolver without aiming it and it wasnot without reason that Levake sought no encounter with him. For Scottto draw and fire was but one movement, and hating Levake as a monster,the Indian had long been ready to meet him as he met him now, when heshould be forced to face him fairly.
A fusillade of shots rang down the street. The air between the twomen, feinting like boxers in their deadly duel, filled with whitishsmoke. Arnold, stunned by the suddenness of the encounter, jumped outof range. In the next moment he saw Levake sink to the sidewalk.Scott, springing upon him like a cat, knelt with one hand already onhis throat; with the other he wrung a second revolver from Levake'shand. The surgeon ran to the two men.
Levake, panting, lay desperately wounded, as Scott slowly released hisgrip upon him. The Indian rose as the surgeon approached, but Levake,his eyes wide open, lay still.
"You are wounded, Bob," cried Arnold, tearing the stained sleeve ofScott's coat from his shoulder. The scout shook his head.
"We're in danger here," he replied, glancing hurriedly up the street."We must get this fellow away."
The two picked the wounded man from the ground and started quicklydown street with him. The shooting,
now so frequent all over the town,had attracted little attention outside the few that had witnessed theswift duel, and the two railroad men made good progress with theirburden before the alarm was spread. But the surgeon saw that thestrain was telling on Scott, whose shoulder was bleeding freely. Hehad even ordered his companion to drop his burden and run, when heheard a shout and saw Bill Dancing running across from the barricadeto their aid.
FOR SCOTT TO DRAW AND FIRE WAS BUT ONE MOVEMENT.]
Half a dozen of the rioters, shouting threats and imprecations, werehastening down Front Street after Levake and his captors to rescuetheir prisoner. Scott, reloading his revolver as Dancing relieved himof his end of the burden, stood free to cover the retreat. He fired awarning shot at the nearest of their pursuers. A scattering pistolfire at long range followed. But the railroad men crossed the squarein safety, and the big lineman, with Levake in his arms, carried himsingle-handed into the barricade.
The surgeon and Bob Scott followed close. Bucks was first to meet thewounded scout, and the railroad men, jubilant at Levake's capture, ranto Scott and bore him down with rough welcome. Levake was laid upon abench in the station and Scott followed to his side. Arnold, joiningthe scout, made ready to dress the wound in his shoulder.
"See to Levake first, doctor," said Scott, "he needs it the most."
As he spoke, Dancing hurried into the room. "Bob, the car shops are onfire."
Scott ran to the east window. It was true. The rioters, supplied withoil and torches, had made their way in the darkness throughCallahan's picket line near the river and set fire to the shops.
Stanley was eating a hasty supper in the despatchers' office.
Within a few minutes the blaze could be seen from all the east windowsof the station. Almost at the same moment, through the north windowsfire was seen breaking out in one of the big stores in Front Street.As Stanley rose from his midnight meal, Atkinson ran in with word thata band of rioters, well armed, had attacked a train of boarding-carsdefended by the roundhouse men.
The sky, bright again with the flame of conflagration, made a hugedome of red, lighting the railroad yards across which men were nowhurrying to make fresh dispositions for the emergency.
The vigilante leaders saw impending, in the Front Street fire, theruin of their business property. There were no longer men enoughleft to fight the flames and guard the fire-fighters. A point hadbeen reached in which life and property were no longer taken intoaccount, and efforts to restore law and order were facing completefailure. It was then that the most radical of all measures, thelast resort of organized society in its resolve to defend itself,was discussed. The vigilantes, as well as the railroad men, nowrealized that but one measure remained for saving Medicine Bend andthat was the extermination of the outlaws themselves.