Jesse's Narrative

While I made signal fires on the top of the cliff, Mr. Robber came to find out from my wife why for I hadn't called to leave my card at the South Cave. He's picturesque, says she, hair like a raven's wing, eyes steel-blue, scarf indigo striped with orange, shirt black silk, woolly shaps out of a Wild West show, gold and silver fixings, Cheyenne saddle, carbine of some foreign breed, or maybe a Krag, manners fit for a king, age thirty-four, height six feet two inches, chest only thirty-eight, and such a sad smile—all of this will be useful to the police.

He tried all he knew to get out of being photographed, which I wisht I'd been there, for it must have been plumb comic, but we all submits when Kate gets after us. That reminds me that if he can't capture the camera and plate, we're apt to be burnt out by accident.

She led him on and made him talk. If his boss knew how much Kate has down in her note-book, this guy with the sad eyes would get kicked all round the pasture. When I axed if the robber made love to her, my wife just laughed, and turned away, telling me not to be a fool; but the blush came round her neck.

I dunno. Perhaps it's my liver, so I'm taking the only medicine I have, which it tastes like liniment. Is it liver, or am I getting to dislike this person?

II

So happens, while I was writing, Billy O'Flynn comes along with the pack outfit on his way to Sky-line. He wanted to know why I made them fires, so I explained I was making a clearing up thar for Kate's spring chrysanthemums. (She spelt that word, which had me bogged down to the hocks.) It may be liver, or my squeam inflamed, but my mind ain't easy, and the Sky-line folk may think I'm only joshing with them fires.

I can't leave Kate to ride for help, I can't shift her, I can't send Billy to the constable without breaking my contract with the Sky-line, and I don't divulge nothin' to William O'Flynn, Esquire, who talks to the moon rather than waste conversation.

If I make a letter for Dale, and slip it into the pouch, Billy won't know, or gossip if he happens to meet in with stray robbers. I'll get him up and off by midnight to the Sky-line, in time for the supper pies, and the boys will be surging down to the ferry before to-morrow midnight. Now I must make up some lies to hasten Billy's timid footsteps along the path of duty.

III

Billy hastened away at midnight to tell Dale that pigeon's milk is selling at eighty-four and three-fourths. He believes that if he can get that secret intelligence to Iron in good time, he's to share the profits. Fact is, that Iron's late wife made him the laughing-stock of the plains over some joke she put up on him connected with pigeon's milk, so that Billy's share of the profits will be delivered on the toe of Dale's boot. He's breaking records to make the Sky-line quick.

Nothing happened this morning, except Bull Durham, calling himself Brooke. He, the gent with the sad eyes, who came to make love to my wife. He paid me one hundred dollars for pasturage. Then I axed him to stay dinner, and Kate says she never seen me so talkative. Bull found out which weeks the Cariboo stage carries specie, and how many thousand dollars a month in amalgam comes down from the Sky-line camp. He even dragged out of me that old Surly Brown, the miser, has fifteen thousand dollars buried under the dirt floor of his cabin—which reminds me that if Brown's home becomes the scene of a mining stampede, I'll have to keep shy of his rifle. I owned up that our provincial constable is in bed with the mumps at Alexandria—temperature of a hundred and six in the shade. I sort of hinted that he was prejudiced agin me for belonging to the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and because I was suspected of adopting poor, dumb, driven cattle which had happened to stray within range of my branding-iron. He even learned I'd rode for the Lightning outfit, and from this jumps on to the conclusion I must have belonged once to the Tonto gang of outlaws. This might account for me being hid up here in the British possessions. Our mutual acquaintance, even at Abilene, was all candidates for the gallows, or such of the dear departed as had been invited to the hereafter by Judge Lynch. Yes, he showed a great gift of faith, and got both his photo and the negative to show there was no ill feeling. I'm pastoral, harmless, simple, raised for a pet.

Leaving Kate hid in a ruined shack, half-way to the ferry, I was down by eleven P.M. to the bank of the river, hailing old man Brown. So soon as he'd brung me acrost, I sent him to ride for all he was worth and collect our constable, which cost me eighteen dollars and a horse. The money is severe, but I'll get even on horse trades.

From midnight to one A.M. I put in the time cussing Dale; from then till two A.M. I felt that nobody loved me; from two A.M. to half past, I was scheming to take the robbers single-handed. At two thirty-five Dale rolled up with nine men from Sky-line, mounted on Billy's ponies, besides O'Flynn, and Ransome Pollock, who may be good for a burnt offering but ain't much use alive.

Of course, having raised the country, I'd got to make good, producing a business proposition and robbers to follow. Iron has no sense of humor anyhow, and can't see jokes unless the prices is wrote plain on their tickets. He's come to this earth after dollars. If a batch of robbers is liable to cost him fifty dollars a day, and only fetches fifty-one dollars a day on the contract, his mine is better money, so he rolls his tail and takes away his men. That's Iron Dale seven days in the week.

He's right smart, too, at holding a business meeting, so when I'd ate cranberry pie, which is a sort of compliment from the mine, and the boys has some of Brown's tea as a donation from me, the convention sits down solemn to talk robbers.

Moved and seconded that hold-ups ain't encouraged in her majesty's dominions, and we hands these robbers to the constable as his lawful meat, but we got to get 'em first.

Resolved that there's money in it. The owners of them cattle had ought to be grateful and show their gratitude, 'cause otherwise the stock is apt to scatter. Proposed that we hit the trail right away, with Iron Dale for leader. Carried, with symptoms of toothache disabling one of his men.

Dale told off O'Flynn and Branscombe to stampede the cattle just at glint of dawn, sending 'em past the cave, and shooting and yelling as if there was no hereafter. That should interest the robbers, and bring them out of the cave which overlooks our pasture. Looking down at a sharp angle, they weren't likely to hit our riders, whereas our posse, posted in good cover with a steady aim, could attend to the robbers with promptness and despatch.

Crossing the ferry our main outfit left Billy and Branscombe to start drifting the cattle southward, while we rode on to take up our positions around the cave. With dawn coming on, and Kate alone in that shack, I wanted the boys to gallop, whereas Dale said he'd no use for broken legs. The night was dark as a wolf's mouth.

In the ruined shack, half-way to our home, Kate was to have a candle, screened so that it could only be seen from our trail. As soon as we rose the edge of the bench, and a mile before we would reach the shack, I seen the candle and knew that she was safe. We passed my fence, we crossed the half-mile creek, we gathered speed along the open pasture, and then Kate's yell went through me like a knife. The robbers must have had a man on night herd, and found her by that light!

Dale's hand grabbed my rein, and with a growl he halted our whole outfit. "Steady," says he, "you fool!" Then in a whisper, as his men came crowding in: "Dismount! Ransome, hold horses! Sam, take three men afoot round the rear of that cabin. I take the rest to close in the front. Siwash, and Nitchie Scott, find enemy's horses and drift them away out of reach. No man to whisper, no man to make a sound, until I lift my hand at that cabin window. After that, kill any man who tries to escape. Get a move on!"

So, with me at his tail, he crept along from cover to cover, waving hand signals to throw his squad into place. The enemy's five horses at the door were led off by Billy's Siwash arriero, and Nitchie Scott, so gently that the robbers thought they were grazing. By that time Dale and me was at the window gap on the north side of the shack, but the candle was in our way, we couldn't see through its glow, and it wasn't till we got round to the door hole that we'd a view of what was going on inside.

My wife stood in the nor'west, right, far corner. A man with a gray chin whisker and a mournful smile, with his gun muzzle in her right ear, was shoving her head against the wall. Bull was talking as usual, explaining how his tact was better'n Whiskers' gun at persuading females. Ginger was trying to assuage Bull. The greaser was keeping a kind of lookout, although he couldn't see from the lighted room into the dark where we was. Ginger clapped his paws over Bull's mouth before the proceedings went on.

"Now," says Whiskers sadly, "are you goin' to scream any more?"

Kate's face was dead white with rage. "You cur," said she, "I screamed because my—you're hurting me, you brute! Leave off if you want to hear one word from me. Leave off! That's better. No, I won't scream again."

The gun sight was tearing her ear as she screwed her head around, looking him full in the eyes. "If you do me any harm," she said, "my husband's friends won't let you off with death. They'll burn you. Stand back, you coward!"

He flinched back just a little, and I saw his hand drawing slowly clear of her head.

"Get your horses," she cried out sharp, "you've barely time to escape!"

Then I fired, the bullet throwing that hand back, so that it contracted on the gun. His revolver shot went through the rear wall. The hand was spoiled.

"Now, hands up, all of you!" Dale yelled. "Hands up! Drop your guns!" One of the robbers was raising his gun to fire, so I had to kill him. The rest surrendered.

"Kate," said I, sort of quiet, and she came to me.