Edward G. Cheyney

THE MAN HUNT

“Gee,” Baxter exclaimed when he heard the story. “You certainly are the lucky one. All that doing in your first week. It’s more excitement than I have had in the past two years.”

“It has been pretty good fun,” Scott admitted, “but I suppose it will seem slow now that it is all over.”

“Not if I know Jed and Dawson,” Baxter exclaimed, “Jed is yellow and will never try a fair fight with you, but if I were you I would get a suit of mail armor for he is likely to try to shoot you in the back any time. Isn’t old Dawson a smooth one, though? Here he has been doing that thing for three or four years and yet no one ever so much as suspected him of it. He will not say or do a thing until he knows which way this investigation is going. If he finds you have anything on him that he cannot get out of, then watch out. I did not know he was crooked but I know that he will not stop at anything to get what he wants.”

“Sounds as though there might be some interest left in life yet,” Scott laughed.

“If I were you I would come over to my shack and stay. You can work your district just as well from there and I can help you. It would not be so easy for them to pick on the two of us. One man does not stand much show alone; he has to sleep sometime.”

“And let them think they had run me out,” Scott exclaimed. “Nothing doing. I’m not afraid of them.”

“There are times when a man has a right to be afraid,” Baxter urged, “it isn’t cowardice, it’s only decent caution and common sense.”

He was so earnest about it and so different from his usual daredevil self that Scott seriously considered his proposition. “Well, I can’t run away now without any pretext, but if they make it too hot for me I’ll consider it. If I have to run anywhere it will be to you.”

“Good, I don’t want to seem to croak but I expect to see you before long. Don’t put off the running too long.”

“By the way,” Scott called just as he was starting back for the chute to see if the sheep were coming back all right to their allotted ranges, “have you had lunch? I forgot mine in the excitement and it is almost three o’clock.”

“Forgot mine, too. Might as well eat together here before you go.”

They brought their lunches from their saddle bags and continued the investigation discussion. Probably most of the people within fifty miles would be talking about it in the morning. They had scarcely swallowed the last sandwich when Scott noticed a distinct column of smoke rising over the ridge to the north.

“Hello,” he exclaimed, “is that another of Jed’s signal fires?”

Baxter took a long look at it. “No, that’s no brush pile. There is no wind and yet the smoke seems to be pretty widely scattered. That’s the trouble with this country; four days of sunshine and then fire will run in the needles. That cannot be far from the lookout station, but I suppose we better go up and have a look.”

They mounted and rode up the slope together. As they approached the ridge it seemed very apparent that it was not a brush pile burning. The smoke was rising from a considerable area. From the ridge they could see it plainly. It was a ground fire on the lower slope just below the lookout station.

“Quickest way will be to ride to the lookout station and get a couple of shovels from the cache.”

So they galloped up to the station and raided the tool cache. There was no one there. They grabbed the shovels and ran down the slope. The first person they saw was the lookout’s wife, dressed in overalls and swinging a shovel like a ditch digger.

“Where is Benny?” Baxter called to her.

“He’s working on the other end of it,” she replied without turning from her work.

“Then I’m going over there,” said Baxter with decision. “He’s sent me out on many a dirty fire and I want the satisfaction of seeing him work on one himself. Don’t know as I’ll even help him unless it’s pretty bad.”

Only the needles on the surface were dry and a shovel full of the moist earth put out the fire wherever it reached it. Scott fell to work a little bit ahead of the woman and they progressed rapidly. It was only a few minutes till they met the lookout and Baxter and the fire was out.

“How did it start, Benny?” Baxter asked. “Throw a cigarette out the tower window?”

“Looks like it,” Benny admitted. “No, some sheep herder did it. I happened to pick him up with the glasses away down by the cliffs, and I caught sight of him from time to time as he came up the valley, but I could not recognize him. Just about the time he reached the pass up there I found the smoke. Since then I have been too busy to think about him.”

“He probably dropped a match,” Scott suggested.

“It was a match all right, but I’ll bet he did not drop it,” Baxter commented. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

The emergency over, the lookout’s wife had gone quietly back to her home work. The three men went down into the valley to investigate. They easily picked up the man’s trail and found where it touched the edge of the burn. Sure enough, there was plenty of evidence to show that the match was not dropped carelessly. Pine needles had been carefully raked together in a long pile which had apparently been lighted in several places. No efforts had been made to efface the traces of the work.

“Just what I thought,” Baxter exclaimed, straightening up with a frown.

“But why in thunder did he set the thing right under my nose?” asked Benny in an injured tone.

“Probably like the rest of us,” Baxter laughed, “he wanted to see you work. No, that was just sheer bravado. That fire was set as a warning to show us what would happen if we pushed this sheep business and he wanted to put it where it would surely be seen.”

“By the way,” Benny asked with sudden interest, “how did the recount come out? I called up Dawson, but he was not home.”

When he had heard the story he shook his head sagely. “If that is the way it stands I would not be surprised if that was what the fire was for. And I would not be surprised if there were some more of them in the next few days.”

With this comforting piece of news Scott started back by the way of the bench to have a look at the sheep before he went home to supper. He found them all trailing back to the feeding grounds. The herders were in a sullen mood. Not that it made much difference to them who owned the sheep, but they felt the failure of the plan as a personal defeat and they took it out in hating the man who had frustrated the plan. They hinted darkly at what would happen to the district and its patrolman.

Their attitude furnished Scott with some food for thought. If these men who had no financial interests at stake felt as bitter as they did, he could well imagine the feelings of Dawson, Jed and Dugan. Two of them he knew to be unscrupulous and Baxter had assured him that Dawson would be no better. He was beginning to think a little more seriously of Baxter’s advice. It would be hard for one man to live alone and protect himself against three others for an indefinite time.

He had ridden so slowly that it was dusk when he turned Jed into the corral and went to the lonely cabin to prepare his supper. There was no evidence that any one had been there in his absence, but he felt uneasy. These men were not like the men he had known. If they would come out in the open and fight fairly with their fists he would not have thought twice about it, but the thought of being shot in the back with no chance at all seemed horrible. It was one thing to rush a man in the face of a loaded gun in the flush of excitement, and to feel hour after hour that the same gun may be aimed at you from behind a tree or from out of the darkness around the cabin. It was the unfairness of it all that oppressed him; the feeling that it was something over which he had no control.

Early in the evening the ’phone rang. He had already become so nervous that he jumped almost out of his skin at the sound. It was the supervisor.

“I have only a minute, Burton, and must talk fast. You made a beautiful clean up of that bunch to-day and from a few things I have found out since, I believe you are right about all the rest of it. Jed is crazy. He has loaded up on fire water and is telling every one what he is going to do to you and the whole service. I want you to keep out of his way. You are probably no match for him with a gun and moreover I do not want any fights if I can help it.

“I understand that the big reservoir on the upper plateau is about full. The snows are melting pretty fast now. I want you to start up there early to-morrow and watch it. When it reaches the twenty foot mark open the spillway; it will raise Cain if it overflows. Stop and tell Baxter to look after your district, but do not tell any one else where you are going. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Scott answered.

“I’ll send for you when I want you for that investigation. So long. Take care of yourself.”

Scott had forgotten his fears while the supervisor was talking, but with the click of the receiver the old loneliness came over him again. So Jed was on the war path and Ramsey thought there was danger. He recognized that his assignment to the reservoir was only an excuse to get him out of the way. He was glad of the excuse himself and wondered whether the sensible thing would not be to go to Baxter’s for the night.

He had a hard time swallowing the idea of running away, even when he knew that it was the sensible thing to do. The cabin felt like a trap to him and he wandered out under the stars. He had a show there, no one could sneak up on him. He sat down on a log at the edge of the clearing and listened to the night noises as he had done so many times before. As the distant sounds floated up to him on the still night air and his trained ear caught the scurrying of tiny feet in the bushes about him, his confidence came back to him. He felt safe enough out there. It was just a matter of woodcraft now, and in that he was not afraid to put himself against any man. That would be a fair contest.

Far up along the ridge trail to the east a woman was running desperately. She was keeping to the shadow as much as possible and looking nervously back over her shoulder. Her breath was coming in gasps and it seemed as though she must give up, but she staggered on doggedly. The yapping of the coyotes and the lurking shadows of the forest trail seemed to have no horrors for her. They were overshadowed by another horror far more terrible. Her face wore a look of dread, but it was not the dread of the dangers of the night. She did not give a thought to her own safety. She was running a race with death and her only thought was that she might be too late.

She turned down the little trail to the patrolman’s cabin and made one more desperate effort. Her strength was failing but the sight of the light in the cabin seemed to buoy her up and lend wings to her feet. There was yet time. She staggered uncertainly to the open door of the cabin. There was no one there. The disappointment was too much for her and she sank to the step with a sob.

To Scott, sitting quietly in the shadow of the forest’s edge, the sight of this disheveled woman gliding into the flood of light from the cabin door had appeared like a specter. He hesitated a moment, suspicious of every one, but at the sound of that heartbroken sob he forgot his own danger and hastened to her. He raised the limp form gently and recognized Mrs. Dawson.

She raised her tired eyes dully, but at the sight of Scott she started up with unexpected strength.

“Oh, Mr. Burton,” she gasped, “you must get away from here at once. There are some men coming here to kill you to-night and you must get away before they come.”

“How do you know this?” Scott asked kindly, trying to help the exhausted woman to a chair in the cabin.

“No, no, not in there,” she exclaimed in terror. “I must not be seen here. Why do you make me say how I know? It is bad enough to have to betray my husband without having to talk about it. But you saved Marie for me and I had to tell you. He will thank me for it some day. Now please go. They may come any minute.”

“I must see you safely home first,” Scott replied.

“No, no, they would kill us both. There is no danger for me in the woods alone. Oh, please go quickly and do not make me make this awful trip for nothing. Please go; you must.” She began to sob again.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this,” Scott said earnestly. “They will not find me when they come. Good-by.”

He stepped back into the outdoor shadows. “Will you promise me,” the woman called after him in a broken voice, “not to shoot them when they come? I know I have no right to ask it, but won’t you promise?”

“I don’t even carry a gun,” Scott assured her.

With a little gasp of thankfulness the woman disappeared into the shadows of the trail.

Scott retreated to his station on the edge of the forest and listened. There were a few faint clicks from the rolling pebbles on the trail and all was still once more. Scott had thought his position was bad enough but it seemed easy when compared with the dilemma of that poor woman, who had felt herself forced to betray her husband to keep him from murder, and to save the man who, she considered, had saved her child. He little thought when he picked the child up on the trail that day that he was piling up such a store of gratitude. In fact he had never even considered that he had really rescued the child; he had simply carried her home.

He certainly felt grateful to Mrs. Dawson. It was not half as hard to wait for trouble when he knew definitely that it was coming as it was to sit around and wonder about it. He could act now. At first he thought that he would go at once to Baxter’s, but he could not resist the temptation to stay and try to find out who the men were who were after him. He went quietly down to the corral, put the saddle and bridle on Jed, and led him out a quarter of a mile in the direction of Baxter’s quarters. He left the horse there in a well-marked spot and stole cautiously back to his station near the cabin.

It was too dark to see his watch, but Scott judged that it must be pretty close to midnight. Once more he settled down to wait and listen but he knew what to expect now and was entirely free from the creepy feeling of uncertainty which had so worked on his nerves earlier in the night. After about an hour’s vigil he thought he heard a faint sound far down the trail. He waited patiently but it was not repeated. That, however, was not significant for they would probably leave their horses at a safe distance and come the rest of the way more quietly on foot. He continued to listen intently.

In about half an hour his patience was rewarded. A twig snapped in the direction of the corral and a dark shadow crawled slowly toward the cabin. Scott sat as still as the tree against which he leaned. It made him shudder to think that he might have been in that cabin with that crawling shadow sneaking up on him. The man moved very cautiously and as silently as the death that he carried. He avoided the glare of the light from the doorway and edged around toward the side next to Scott. His progress was almost imperceptible now but he finally reached the wall. He listened intently for a moment and then raised himself cautiously to a level with the window. For one second he stood in the glare of the lamplight before he realized that there was no one within and then he ducked quickly below the sill. He was quick to recognize the disadvantage of being there in the light with a possible enemy in the dark woods behind him.

Short as the time had been Scott had recognized Dugan and had caught the gleam of light from something which glittered in his hand. It was hard to realize that he had slept with that man for three nights in that very cabin. He did not have long to think about it for Dugan had made certain there was no one in the shack and was retreating to the very patch of shade in which Scott was hiding. He used the same stealthy caution with which he had approached the cabin and seemed to Scott to be gliding toward him for all the world like a snake. There was the same dull reflection every time he advanced his right hand that Scott had noticed in the window. It looked as though they were certain to meet if Dugan held to his present course. Scott almost stopped breathing and braced himself for the encounter. If only the man would come within reach. Scott felt that he could handle Dugan if he could only get hold of him before there was time to shoot.

Steadily the shadow advanced. Only eight feet separated him from the man in the forest when he turned slowly toward the cabin once more and settled down to watch. Scott could not have missed him, as poor a shot as he was, but even now he was glad that he was not armed. The idea of shooting a man in the back even when that man was waiting to do the same thing to him was repulsive to him.

Almost side by side the two men sat and watched in absolute silence. Scott had been still for an hour before he came without suffering the slightest inconvenience, now he suffered agonies. He wanted to sneeze. He itched all over and had an almost uncontrollable desire to scratch. His legs became cramped and he felt that he would have to move them or scream. And still Dugan waited patiently, toying silently with his revolver. Scott saw the ridiculous side of the situation as well as the danger and grinned as he planned what he would do when the day began to break.

Dugan seemed to realize that something was wrong. He rose slowly and walked cautiously back to the window. He was bolder now. His vigil had convinced him that there was no one around. He made a careful survey of the inside of the cabin and then walked boldly off in the direction of the corral.

Scott heaved a great sigh of relief, congratulated himself on his foresight in getting Jed out of the way and sneaked cautiously out to join him. Jed heard him coming and nickered loudly. Scott had no doubt that Dugan heard it, but it was too late now to do him any harm. He swung onto Jed’s back with a feeling of perfect safety and cantered away to Baxter’s.

Baxter was standing in the door of his cabin waiting for him. “I heard your horse a mile away,” he called in cheerful greeting. “Put Jed in the corral and come tell me the story. I have been lying awake all night just to hear it.”