The Coming of Cassidy - Clarence E. Mulford (books to read to be successful TXT) 📗

faint line that marked the arroyo’s rim. In a few minutes a figure popped over it and whirled toward him in a high-flung, swirling cloud of dust. Overtaking the lurching wagon, Jimmy shouted a query and kept on, his pony picking its way with the agility and certainty of a mountain cat. The wagon, lurching this way and that, first on the wheels of one side and then on those of the other, bouncing and jumping at such speed that it was a miracle it was not smashed to splinters, careened after the hard-riding horseman. A rifle bounced over the tailboard, followed swiftly by a box of cartridges and an ebony-backed mirror, which settled on its back and glared into the sky like an angry Cyclops.

Mr. Purdy, bruised from head to foot and rapidly getting sober, emitted language in jerks and grabbed at the tailboard as the wagon box dropped two feet, leaving him in the air. But it met him half way and jolted him almost to the canvas top. He slid against the side and then jammed against the tailboard again and reached for it in desperation. Another drop in the trail made him miss it, and as the wagon arose again like a steel spring Mr. Purdy, wondering what caused all the earthquakes, arose on his hands and knees in the dust and spat angrily after the careening vehicle. He scrambled unsteadily to his feet and shook eager fists after the four-wheeled jumping-jack, and gave the Recording Angel great anguish of mind and writer’s cramp. Pausing as he caught sight of the objects on the ground, he stared at them thoughtfully. He had seen many things during the past few days and was not to be fooled again. He looked at the sky, and back to the rifle. Then he examined the mesa wall, and quickly looked back at the weapon. It was still there and had not moved He closed his eyes and opened them suddenly and grunted. “Huh, bet a ten spot it’s real.” He approached it cautiously, ready to pounce on it if it moved, but it did not and he picked it up. Seeing the cartridges, he secured them and then gasped with fear at the glaring mirror. After a moment’s thought he grabbed at it and put it in his pocket just before a sudden, swirling cloud of dust drove him, choking and gasping, to seek the shelter of the bowlders close to the wall. When he raised his head again and looked out he caught sight of a sudden movement in the open, and promptly ducked, and swore. Apaches! Twelve of them!

He had seen strange things during the last few days, and just because the rifle and other objects had turned out to be real was no reason that he should absolutely trust his eyes in this particular instance. There was a limit, which in this case was Apaches in full war dress; so he arose swaggeringly and fired at the last, and saw the third from the last slide limply from his horse. As the rest paused and half of them wheeled and started back he rubbed his eyes in amazement, damned himself for a fool and sprinted for the mesa wall, up which he climbed with the frantic speed of fear. He was favored by the proverbial luck of fools and squirmed over a wide ledge without being hit. There was but one way to get him and he knew he could pick them off as fast as they showed above the rim. He rolled over and a look of mystification crept across his face. Digging into his pockets to see what the bumps were, he produced the mirror and a flask. The former he placed carelessly against the wall and the latter he raised hastily to his lips. The mirror glared out over the plain, its rays constantly interrupted by Mr. Purdy’s cautious movements as he settled himself more comfortably for defense.

A bullet screamed up the face of the wall and he flattened, intently watching the rim. Chancing to glance over the plain, he noticed that the wagon was still moving, but slowly, while far to the south two horsemen galloped back toward the mesa on a wide circle, six Apaches tearing to intercept them before they could gain cover. “I was shore wise to leave th’ schooner,” he grinned. “I allus know when to jump,” he said, and then swung the rifle toward the rim as a faint sound reached his ears. Its smoke blotted out the piercing black eyes that looked for an instant over the edge and found eternity, and Mr. Purdy grinned when the sound of impact floated up from below. “They won’t try that no more,” he grunted, and forthwith dozed in a drunken stupor. A sober man might have been tempted to try a shot over the rim, and would have been dead before he could have pulled the trigger. Mr. Purdy was again favored by luck.

Leaving two braves to watch him, the other two searched for a better way up the wall.

The race over the plain was interesting but not deadly or very dangerous for Bill and Jimmy. Armed with Winchesters and wornout Spencer carbines and not able to get close to the two punchers, the Apaches did no harm, and suffered because of Mr. Cassidy’s use of a new, long-range Sharps. “You allus want to keep Injuns on long range, Kid,” Bill remarked as another fell from its horse. The shot was a lucky one, but just as effective. “They ain’t worth a d—n figurin’ windage an’ th’ drift of a fast-movin’ target, ‘specially when it’s goin’ over ground like this. It’s a white man’s weapon, Jimmy. Them repeaters ain’t no good for over five hundred; they don’t use enough powder. An’ I reckon them Spencers was wore out long ago. They ain’t even shootin’ close.” He whirled past the projecting spur of the mesa and leaped from his horse, Jimmy following quickly. Three hundred yards down the canyon two Apaches showed themselves for a moment as they squirmed around a projection high up on the wall and not more than ten feet below the ledge. The expressions which they carried into eternity were those of great surprise. The two who kept Mr. Purdy treed on his ledge saw their friends fall, and squirmed swiftly toward their horses. It could only be cowpunchers entering the canyon at the other end and they preferred the company of their friends until they could determine numbers. When half way to the animals they changed their minds and crept toward the scene of action. Mr. Purdy, feeling for his flask, knocked it over the ledge and looked over after it in angry dismay. Then he shouted and pointed down. Bill and Jimmy stared for a moment, nodded emphatically, and separated hastily. Mr. Purdy ducked and hugged the ledge with renewed affection. Glancing around, he was almost blinded by the mirror and threw it angrily into the canyon, and then rubbed his eyes again. Far away on the plain was a moving blot which he believed to be horsemen. He fired his rifle into the air on a chance and turned again to the events taking place close at hand. “Other way, Hombrel” he warned, and Jimmy, obeying, came upon the Apache from the rear, and saved Bill’s life. At hide and seek among rocks the Apache has no equal, but here they did not have a chance with Mr. Purdy calling the moves in a language they did not well understand. A bird’s-eye view is a distinct asset and Mr. Purdy was playing his novel game with delighted interest and a plainsman’s instinct. Consumed with rage, the remaining Indian whirled around and sent the guide reeling against the wall and then down in a limp heap. But Bill paid the debt and continued to worm among the rocks.

There was a sudden report to the westward and Jimmy staggered and dived behind a bowlder. The other four, having discovered the trick that had been played upon them on the other side of the mesa, were anxious to pay for it. Bill hurriedly crawled to Jimmy’s side as the youth brushed the blood out of his eyes and picked up his rifle. “It’s th’ others, Kid,” said Bill. “An’ they’re gettin’ close. Don’t move an inch, for this is their game.” A roar above him made him glance upward and swear angrily. “Now they’ve gone an’ done it! After all we Ve done to hide ‘em!” Another shot from the ledge and a hot, answering fire broke out from below. “My G-d!” said a voice, weakly. Bill shook his head. “That was Tom,” he muttered. “Come on, Kid,” he growled. “We got to drive ‘em out, d n it!” They were too interested in picking their way in the direction of the Apaches to glance at Mr. Purdy’s elevated perch or they would have seen him on his knees at the very edge making frantic motions with his one good arm. He was facing the east and the plain. Beaming with joy, he waved his arm toward Bill and Jimmy, shouted instructions in a weak voice, that barely carried to the canyon floor, and collapsed, his duty done.

Bill was surprised fifteen minutes later to hear strange voices calling to him from the rear and he turned like a flash, his Colt swinging first. “Well, I’m d–d!” he ejaculated. Four punchers were crawling toward him. “Glad to see you,” he said, foolishly.

“I reckon so,” came the smiling reply. “That lookin’ glass of yourn shore bothered us. We couldn’t read it, but we didn’t have to. Where are they?”

“Plumb ahead, som’ers. Four of ‘em,” Bill replied. “There’s two tenderfeet up on that ledge, with their sister. We was gettin’ plumb Worried for ‘em.”

“Not them as hired Whiskey Jeff for to guide ‘em?” asked Dickinson, the leader.

“Th’ same. But how ‘n h—l did Logan ever come to let ‘em start?” demanded Bill, angrily.

“We didn’t pay no attention to th’ rumors that has been flyin’ around for th’ last two months. Nobody had seen no signs of ‘em,” answered the Logan man. “We didn’t reckon there was no danger till last night, when we learned they hadn’t showed up in Sharpsville, nor been seen anywheres near th’ trail. Then we remembers Jeff’s habits, an’, while we debates it, we gets wora that th’ Injuns was seen north of Cook’s ranch yesterday. We moves sudden. Here comes th’ boys back I reckon th’ job’s done. They’re a fine crowd, a’right. You should ‘a’ seen ‘em cut loose an’ raise th’ dust when we saw that lookin’ glass a-winkin’. We couldn’t read it none, but we didn’t have to. We just cut loose.”

“Lookin’ glass!” exclaimed Bill, staring. “That’s twice you Ve mentioned it. What glass? We didn’t have no lookin’ glass, nohow.”

“Well, Whiskey Jeff had one, a’right. An’ he shore keeps her a-talkin’, too. Ain’t it a cussed funny thing that a feller that’s got a hardboiled face like his’n would go an’ tote a lookin’ glass around with him? We never done reckoned he was that vain.”

Bill shook his head and gave it up. He glanced above him at the ledge and started for it as Jimmy pushed up to him through the little crowd. “Hello, Kid,” Bill smiled. “Come on up an’ help me get her down,” he invited. Jimmy shook his head and refused. “Ah, what’s th’ use? She’ll only gimme h—l for handin’ her that blamed Greaser lie,” he snapped. “An’ you can do it alone didn’t you tote her up th’ cussed wall?” It had been a long-range view, but Jimmy had seen it, just the same, and resented it.

Bill turned and looked at him. “Well, I’m cussed!” he muttered, and forthwith climbed the wall. A few minutes later he stuck