Silvertip's Trap (10 page)

I
N SPITE
of Naylor's hurry, in spite of the fact that there might be literal danger to his neck if he were missed during this long absence, he did not aim straight back at the camp, but swung a little to the south of the straight line and came out through the hills in sight of the Townsend ranch.

There was a moon, by this time. It stood in the east like a pale ship of an ancient design, and the light from it blanched the hills and painted long black shadows beside them.

Naylor rode down to the rear of the hay shed and there tethered the gray horse and pulled off its saddle After that, he went to the side of the little ranch house. He felt that it was a lucky break that had brought him into the house not many days before, so that now he knew in which room the girl slept. Standing at the low window, he tapped lightly on the sill.

When he had no answer, he leaned a little across the sill and listened. He could hear regular breathing, and there was a faint delicacy of perfume in the air. That was strange, he thought. She was not the sort of a girl to use perfume. But one never can tell about women. It is best not to waste time trying to foretell their characters.

He hissed, and rapped the sill of the window again.

The regular noise of the breathing ended; there was a creaking of springs, and then:

“Who's there?”

“Be quiet,” commanded Naylor. “No robber, Sally.”

“Hi!” he heard her say, under her breath. “It's Bill Naylor!”

The moon slanted into the room and hit the foot of the bed. In the thick of the darkness beyond the moonlight, vaguely he saw the girl get out of the bed and throw a bath robe around her. She came toward him. Her bare, brown feet walked through the moonlight. The feet looked soft. The ankles were small and gave inward slightly. She walked like an Indian, toeing straight ahead. Her elbows were up as she swung her long hair into a knot behind her head. Then she sat down on the window sill.

It had not taken her five seconds, he thought, to get from the bed to the window.

“Hi, Bill,” said she. “How's things?”

“So, so,” said Naylor. He had taken off his hat, and now he grinned at her. He wished, suddenly, that he were inches taller. He almost wished that a face surgeon could work for a time on his face to make him more handsome. For now that he could not see the freckles across her nose, the girl looked beautiful to him. She was sun-browned like an Indian, but she was beautiful.

“Is this a dog-gone serenade, or something?” said the girl.

“Quit it, will you?” said Bill Naylor. “If I started caterwauling, you'd think that a wolf had come down out of the hills.”

“D'you wanta see dad, then?” she asked. “He's a light sleeper, and the whisky jug isn't sealed.”

“Thanks,” said Naylor. “You think that I'd ride all this way for the sake of a drink?”

“Go on, tell me why you came,” urged the girl. “Say something nice, and tell me why you came, will you?”

She put her chin on her fist and looked at him.

“How deep are you laughing at me?” asked Naylor.

“Skin-deep,” said the girl.

“Skin-deep, eh?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That's as far as beauty goes.”

She laughed, silently, shaking with her mirth.

“Quit it, will you?” said Naylor. “I'm no handsome bird. I know that.”

“Just a good, dependable, home boy, eh?” she asked.

She kept on laughing. She was always laughing. There was a river of mirth pulsing in her throat like a song. Her teeth flashed in the moonlight.

He made a cigarette, lighted it, and blew out smoke. The smoke was as silver-pale as frosted fog, in the moonlight.

“I had to rush over here and tell you something,” said Naylor.

“Rush on with it, then,” said the girl, nodding.

He came up close to the window sill and took hold of her hand. There was nothing scary about her. She was as steady as a man. There was nothing silly or simpering about her, either. She looked him straight in the eyes.

“Listen,” said he.

“Have you scalped somebody?” asked the girl. “What's the matter with you, being all nervous, like this?”

“I ain't nervous,” argued he. “I'm just telling you something. What time is it?”

“That's not telling me anything. That's asking something.”

“Quit kidding me. What time is it, about?”

“It struck one, a little while back.”

“You went to bed when?”

“Ten thirty. Why?”

“Well,” said he, “I wanta tell you something. You went to bed at ten thirty, and about eleven o'clock, just as you were getting your eyes shut — ”

“You mean it takes me half an hour to go to sleep?” said Sally Townsend. “Don't be silly. At the end of a Townsend day on this man's ranch nobody needs to be sung to sleep. When my head hits the pillow, I'm out like a light. But what're you driving at?”

“Give me a chance to tell you, will you? At about eleven o'clock, just after you hit the hay, you heard a tapping at the window, and you sat up and saw me looking in. I'd come over here from the camp. Understand?”

“That's all right,” said the girl. What did you come for?”

“I dunno. I just come over. You see? Don't forget it. And I stayed around here talking with you for a couple of hours. I've been here since eleven o'clock.”

“Look here, Bill,” said the girl, “what are you trying to put over on me?”

“I'm not putting nothing over. I'm asking you to do me a good turn, that is all.”

“Then come clean, will you?”

“What do you mean, come clean?”

“Tell me all about it. You been out gadding?”

“I've been out,” said Naylor. “That's all I can tell you.”

“Who'll check you up for playing hookey?” said the girl.

“Somebody who's worse than the devil when he gets riled.”

“You mean Barry Christian?”

“That's who I mean.”

He sighed as he said it.

“Well,” said the girl, “have you crossed up Barry in any way, to-night?”

“No matter what I've done,” said he, “I'm asking you to do me a good turn.”

“Does it sound as simple as all of that to you?”

“What's the matter? You just let people know — if they should happen to ask — that I arrived here at eleven and didn't leave till after one.”

“That'll be fine for me!” said the girl grimly. “Look here, Bill. You're not that sort of a fellow. You don't want to get me into that sort of a jam, do you?”

“What's the matter?” asked Bill Naylor.

“Why, suppose you had a sister or a daughter, or something, and she got out of bed and talked to a man she'd only seen once before — talked to him for a couple of hours? What would you think? What would you do?”

“I see what you mean,” said Bill Naylor slowly. “I didn't think about that. I'm just dumb, I guess. Forget about what I asked you to say; go back to bed and go to sleep, Sally.”

“And what comes of you?”

“Oh, I'm all right. I'll get through, all right. There won't be any pinch.”

“If there is, you'll be dead from it. I know Barry Christian as well as you do. Listen, Bill. What crazy thing have you done to Barry Christian?”

“I should be telling you, eh?” asked Naylor.

“You were telling me that you called on me at eleven and didn't leave till one.”

A little thrill of desperation ran coldly through his nerves. He gave her hand a hard grip. He stuck out his jaw and looked her right in the face.

“I'll tell you what I did, beautiful,” said he. “I'll tell you that Silver's in Elsinore; and Barry Christian knows he's there; and Christian and a couple more are lying in Silver's hotel room, right now, waiting for him to come in. But Silver won't come in. He won't — because I told him to stay away. I didn't tell him what was in his room. I told him to stay away from it.”

“Did you actually do that?” whispered the girl. “Did you mix up between Christian and Jim Silver?”

“Yeah. I'm bright, I guess,” said Bill Naylor. “I mixed in between them, and now I'll catch it. I don't know what's the matter with me,” he added, in a faintly groaning complaint. “I never made a fool of myself like this before!”

“Look, Bill,” said the girl, “maybe you're a better man than you ever thought. I told you that you were too soft to play around with Barry Christian and his gang.”

“That was because you softened me up a little,” argued Naylor. “I'm hard enough, beautiful. Don't let anybody tell you nothing different. I'm hard enough.”

“Hard enough to do time, eh?”

“Yeah, plenty,” said Bill Naylor. “Well, I gotta go and sashay back to the camp. So long, Sally.”

“Wait a minute,” said the girl.

“What for?”

“While I think. I gotta think something out.”

“Go on and think, then,” said Naylor. “You can think just as well while I'm on the road.”

“No. I'm just thinking that maybe you
did
get here at eleven and stay till one. I don't care what people say.”

“I do, though,” said Naylor. “I was a tramp to ever ask you to say that. I didn't think.”

“Quit it. I've got to think,” she said.

She dropped her chin on her fist again. The moon painted her frown black. It made her face look old. Her nostrils quivered and expanded a little. Naylor saw how she would appear when she was ten years older. But he hardly cared. She would always look good to him.

“Well,” she said, with a sigh, “people can go hang. You got here at eleven o'clock, all right.”

“No, I didn't. I won't put that over on you.”

“You can't help yourself. That's the story I tell. If you don't stick to it, you make a fool out of me and maybe you lose your scalp. Be yourself, Bill. Wake up and be yourself.”

He looked at her for a long time, feature by feature.

“Sally,” said Naylor, “you're not very old or very big, but you're great. You know that? You're great.”

“We were talking about something for two hours,” said the girl. She chuckled suddenly. “That was what we were talking about. You came over to tell me that I was great. It was something I didn't know and I wanted to hear about it. I heard about it for two hours, sitting right here on the window sill.”

“Sure,” said Naylor. “That's all right. We were talking about you. I'll tell you what, I came over here to tell you that I'm nutty about you, Sally.”

“That's a good one, too,” said Sally. She chuckled again. “Good old Bill,” she said. “That's all right, too.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bill Naylor. “I
am
nutty about you. You're the goods. I'm crazy about you, Sally!”

“Good old Bill,” she repeated. “What a lingo you've got. You're a regular snake charmer.”

“Am I talking like a fool?” said Naylor. “Anyway, I mean what I say. I don't know how to make you believe me. I never talked to a girl like this.”

“No?” said she.

“The females all back up and shy when they see my map,” said Bill. “I never had a chance to work up any lingo, you know. It's my tough mug that stops ‘em at a distance.”

“It's a good enough mug,” said the girl. “It ought to wear pretty well, Bill.”

“I gotta be going,” said Naylor.

“So long,” said the girl. “If you get back quick and sneak in, maybe nobody'll spot you.”

“That's right,” said Naylor. “You think of things.”

“Go on, then. Hurry it up, Bill.”

He started to turn away, but could not move his feet.

“It's hard to go,” said Naylor. “Because there's nobody like you. I feel pretty dog-gone queer, Sally.”

“Where?” said she.

He put his arms around her. She sat up straight on the window sill and looked into his face.

“You'd better do some thinking,” she said.

“I've done more thinking right here than I've done in all the rest of my life,” said Bill Naylor.

“Have you?” said the girl.

She put her hand on his forehead and pushed her fingers back through the tough scrub of his hair, tilting back his head till the moon got at his face.

“You
are
a tough-looking mug,” said the girl.

“Yeah, I'm something fierce to look at. If you're doing any thinking — I've been in for everything from smuggling to stick-up work. I ain't even been bright. Any dumb cop could pinch me. Only I'm crazy about you, Sally.”

“Well,” said the girl, “I've been doing some thinking, too.”

“About what?” he asked.

“About the way you arrived at eleven, and you told me you were crazy about me, and I said I was crazy about you. That would take a couple of hours, all right.”

“Hold on,” said Naylor hoarsely. His whole body began to shudder. “You have to think it all out before you talk like that. This is for good and all.”

“Sure it is,” said Sally Townsend. “But I wish that you wouldn't go back to Barry Christian. Not if you know Jim Silver well enough to even brush his boots with your best hat!”

W
HEN
Bill Naylor got back to the camp, he used a very simple device for getting past the outer guard. He simply took saddle and bridle off the gray mustang and then walked beside it carrying the paraphernalia. On that side of the camp stalked the lengthy form of “Crane”

Bushwick. He stopped long enough to whistle softly to the mustang, and then to laugh as the horse came edging on, worked along by the nudging elbows of Naylor, who walked bent over on the farther side.

Crane Bushwick went on with his beat, humming softly to himself, paying no heed, for a number of the horses had been turned loose to graze beyond the trees which sheltered the camp. And as the gray mustang walked ahead, Naylor was presently in the safe sanctuary of the pines.

There, in a small clearing, he hobbled the gray as most of the other horses were hobbled, and he paused long enough to rub down the mustang with bunches of pine needles. For if there were an examination, he did not wish the horse to show the encrusted sweat that is always present after a long and hard ride.

Finally, there was the move to get to his blankets. He had made up his bunk on the outer rim of the fire-lighted circle, and now from the shelter of a big tree trunk he looked over the scene. The firelight, he was glad to see, had dwindled. The fire was almost out, and the embers stared with steady, red eyes. Only when a breeze worked in among the trees was there an upward flickering of the flame that set all the scene around wavering like a thing seen beneath rippling waves.

He made sure that all of the men were in their places. He found only three made-up blanket beds which were empty — those of the three men who had ridden to town to waylay Jim Silver.

Bill Naylor shook his head when he thought of how he had forestalled them! His whole code of faith was much perturbed by the thing he had done. To Bill Naylor it had always been proper to serve one's own ends in most affairs, but when occupied in any sort of work, one must serve one's comrades as oneself. In this case, he had deliberately thwarted his great man, his Barry Christian, by carrying the warning to Jim Silver.

Naylor could not tell what to think of his own conduct. There was one solitary consolation, and this was that of the girl, Sally Townsend, had seemed to approve. She was, to be sure, only a woman; but she was certainly unlike all others of her sex.

Even about Sally his feelings were mixed. Suppose that his old comrades of many illegal adventures were to hear that he had married, what would they say? What was he himself to say of the thought? Was he fit to marry a decent person? What sort of a future could he offer to her?

He thought of those things as he stood behind the pine tree, looking over the camp. Finally he muttered to himself: “You're bein' a fool, Bill Naylor!”

This quiet comment from his own lips set him in motion toward his blankets. He had reached them unobserved, he was certain when the flame of the fire reached a resinous knot in a bit of firewood and made it explode with a loud, snapping noise.

Some one grunted, and as Naylor sank down on his blankets, he saw a figure sitting bolt upright on the far side of the fire. It was Steve Cassidy, yegg extraordinary. And as he said nothing, but simply stared, Naylor was assured that the safe blower had ugly thoughts in his mind.

He wished, as he fell asleep, that any man in the camp, other than Steve Cassidy, had seen him.

Once before morning, Naylor wakened, and was aware of a hushed bustling around him. Three men had just returned. He opened one eye and observed them.

He saw the tall, gaunt form of Pokey and heard him mutter: Rottenest luck I ever heard of!”

Well, that was one thing finished. It was apparent that they had returned without doing any harm to Jim Silver, and it was also apparent that Jim Silver had not taken advantage of the information he had received in order to do harm to them.

About this second point Bill Naylor did a good deal of thinking, as he lay awake for a moment and stared up past the narrow points of the evergreens into the blue-black of the sky. He could see a swarm of little stars, a cloud of them, and in addition there was one big bluish point of fire. Was it a planet or was it a star of the first magnitude? He could not tell, but he had a feeling that that was the way Jim Silver shone among other men, no matter how bright the rest might be.

On that thought he went to sleep again and when he roused the next morning, he discovered that every one else was already astir. The gray of the dawn had ended and the golden time had begun. And beside him stood Pudge Wayler, in the very act of poking him in the ribs again with the toe of a boot.

The indignity enraged Bill Naylor and got him to his knees in a flash.

He was ready to hit Wayler when the sour, rumbling voice of the other man said:

“If you wanta fight, save it for the chief. He wants to talk to you, brother.”

Well, the fight went suddenly out of Naylor, at that. He got into his boots, washed his face and hands and shaved at the nearest run of water, and then went to where fragrant steam was rising from the big pot where coffee was being made. Barry Christian already was poising a tin cup on his knee. He looked up calmly at Naylor as the latter came to him. And suddenly Naylor found an exact parallel for the color and the brightness of those eyes; for he could remember how Taxi had looked toward the shuttered window the night before.

The outlaw chief said, simply: “You got in pretty late, last night. Where were you?”

“Oh, no place,” said Naylor.

It was the speech of a fool, and he felt like a fool after he had uttered it.

“Think it over,” said Christian. “You were somewhere, I guess. You got in late. Cassidy saw you get in at pretty near two o'clock this morning. Where were you?”

Cassidy was a fellow with a crumpled, broken face. He had a broken jaw and a broken nose. His blond hair was always rumpled. His brow was constantly disturbed by a troubled frown. Now he looked wearily toward Naylor, and up and down Naylor's body. It was plain that he did not care about any man's displeasure. Certainly he was not concerned as to whether or not Naylor disapproved of him.

Bill Naylor said: “I don't want to make a fool of myself. I'll tell you the first time we're alone, chief. I'll tell you where I was.”

Barry Christian looked right through him.

“You might as well speak out now. You know that I went in with Pudge and Pokey last night, to wait for Jim Silver in his room. We found the room, all right. We waited there all night. But Jim Silver never showed up! It looked as though somebody had warned him that there might be trouble in that room last night. Well, no one could have warned him from this camp. Everybody was accounted for — except you! And you got in about two o'clock. Where were you?”

“Yeah,” said Pokey, under his breath, “where were you?”

“You mean,” said Naylor, repeating the idea as though in loathing of it, “you mean that I might have sneaked in ahead and warned Jim Silver, might ‘a' told him that you were going to wait for him in his room?”

“That's what I mean. You're not a fool, Bill,” said Christian. “That's what I mean, all right. Now tell me where you were!”

“Why,” said Naylor, “did Silver jump you and try to bag you? You mean to say that the three of you got through a trap that Silver set for you, and none of you hurt?”

“He means,” explained Pudge Wayler, speaking to himself, “that if Silver had had word, he wouldn't ‘a' let it go with just staying away from the room. He would ‘a' tried to bag us. I dunno. I didn't think of that.”

Christian suddenly stood up and dashed his coffee cup to the ground. His voice, usually so persuasive and soft, rang thundering against the frightened ears of the guilty man.

“Answer me! Where were you, Naylor?”

“Chief,” said Naylor, “I was only over seeing a girl. That was all.”

“A girl? A girl?” exclaimed Barry Christian. “What girl? I was afraid — and now I'm practically sure! Naylor, if you've come between me and Jim Silver, no matter what you've done for me, no matter if you're more than a brother to me, I'll have the best blood out of your heart — and I'll have it now! What girl are you talking about?”

“Why, Barry,” said Naylor, “I mean the Townsend girl. That's all I mean. I went over to talk to her last night. I thought that it might be the last chance.”

“Maybe it is — maybe it was!” said Christian savagely.

He stared at Naylor, and his eyes were more like the eyes of Taxi than ever — balls of pale fire. His whole face grew pale. It seemed to Naylor as luminous as steel.

“Pokey — Cassidy — take the guns off Naylor, and cart him over to the Townsend place. Get the facts out of the Townsend girl. If you think that Naylor has lied — shoot him dead, and come back here. Lay him dead right across the threshold of the Townsend ranch house. It'll teach some of these ranchers what it means to double-cross Barry Christian.”

That was the way they went about it.

Yonder in the town of Elsinore was Jim Silver, who had kept faith and declined to bag scoundrels who were lying in wait for him in the darkness of his own room. Jim Silver had kept faith perfectly. But here with Barry Christian it was a different matter.

Then another thought occured to Bill Naylor. He told himself that no man could lead as Christian led unless he had a soul as hard as chilled steel. No man could go on to so many triumphs unless he had the cruelly stern nature of Christian. If one man failed Christian and the gang, that man had to go to the wall were he Christian's own brother!

Naylor was frightened, but he could not say that even in this moment of supreme trial he really hated Christian. He was too big and important for such emotions. It would be like hating a tiger to hate Christian. It was as easy to expect mercy and tenderness from a wild beast.

Naylor saw this, at last. He thought of the way he had pulled the man from the water of Kendal River. He thought of the way he had nursed him, of the dangerous expedition he had made to the town of Blue Water for the sake of Barry Christian, of the manner in which, for the sake of Christian, he had saved Duff Gregor from the men of Crow's Nest. But all of these services would be forgotten if, for an instant, he had come between Christian and the hatred which the great outlaw felt for Jim Silver.

Well, the thing was almost justified. The hate of Christian for Silver had made history in the past and it would make history in the future.

He pondered these things as he was “fanned” for his guns. Then he was taken between Cassidy and Pokey to the Townsend ranch.

Cassidy said, when the gray mustang was saddled: “If he rode all the way to Elsinore, last night, he wasn't on this mustang. There ain't enough sweat marks on it. Besides, it's still full of ginger!”

That was true, also, for the inexhaustible meanness of the gray mustang induced it to try to pitch off its rider as soon as Naylor got into the saddle. He blessed the fierce nature of the gray at that moment!

They got to the ranch to find that Bill Townsend and his daughter were busily stringing wire on the fence posts of the new corral. Townsend worked the lever which stretched the wire while his daughter in a workmanlike manner whacked home the big brads that fastened the wire to the posts. They stopped work to watch the approach of the trio.

It was Cassidy who spoke first. He touched his hat to the girl and said:

“Hello, Townsend. Come over here from the chief. He wants to know if this gent here, this fellow Naylor, was really over here chinning with your girl, last night from around eleven to one?”

“Him?” said Townsend. “He sure wasn't. If he was, I'd knock his block off. A runt like that make eyes at Sally? I'd tear him in two!”

The girl said nothing.

“You hear that?” said Cassidy grimly, to Naylor.

There was no mistaking Cassidy. He was the type to put cold lead in any man, with or without orders. Yes, and to enjoy the doing of it, too!

“I hear,” said Naylor. “There's a lot that Townsend doesn't know, maybe. That's all I can say.”

“Is that all?” said Pokey savagely.

“Wait a minute,” urged Cassidy.

He turned to the girl.

“What about this yarn of Naylor coming over here to talk to you for a couple of hours last night?”

“What business is it of yours?” asked the girl angrily.

Naylor, with a vast relief of spirit, saw that she intended to be as good as her word, and lie in his behalf.

“I gotta make it my business,” said Cassidy. “Let's have an answer — if you care enough to get up and talk to this gent for two hours by night, you can say two words for him by day.”

“Well, he was here, and what of it?” said the girl.

Pokey grunted as though it were bad news to him. Cassidy turned his deformed face and stared at Naylor.

“All right, old son,” he said. “I guess that lets you out.”

“Wait a minute!” shouted Townsend. “Lets him out? It don't let him out at all. You mean to say, Naylor, you worthless hound, that you were over here last night talking to my girl? Sally, is that right?”

She said nothing. Townsend charged like a bull, but Naylor spun the gray mustang about and fairly fled from the danger. At that, the big hand of Townsend clutched for him and barely missed his coat sleeve.

In the near distance, Naylor pulled up again, and saw Townsend gesticulating behind him.

But the two of the escort were laughing as they came up.

“That saves your hide, Naylor,” said Pokey, as he ranged his horse alongside. “You wouldn't blame Christian for being heated up if he thought that you had crossed him with Silver, would you?”

They got back to the camp, and Christian heard the report. He nodded. There was no apology for the suspicion he had fixed upon Naylor. He simply said:

“Then if Naylor didn't carry word, somebody else did. Watch yourselves, boys, because we have a traitor with us. And when we catch him, he'll wish that he'd got to hell in any way except through our hands. However, this is a busy day, and the crook will have to wait for to-morrow.”