"Now, Dan Harper, back's the word!" said the quiet, but stern voice of Smokestack Bill, to whose prompt.i.tude was due this first check to the enemy.

"You move a little inch forward and you're a stiff, you bet."

"Leggo the darn door, then--F-fixed t-tight," gasped the pinned one, who, with the muzzle of the scout's six-shooter within an inch of his nose, would willingly have obeyed, but could not. Smokestack Bill, however, relaxing his pressure, the crushed one was able to draw back, considerably bruised, into the outer room, and the door was jammed to, but not before a couple of bullets fired into the room had narrowly grazed Vipan's shoulder.

"Now then, boys," called out the scout. "Anyone feel like trying an entrance? Better not, believe me."

All this had befallen within infinitely fewer minutes than it takes to chronicle. The felled bully lay p.r.o.ne where he had first dropped, stunned, insensible, and motionless--and disarmed, for the first act of his adversary was to put it out of his power to get the advantage of them. The room, half filled with stifling smoke from the pistol-shots; the barricaded door, against which the besieged ones had run up a couple of casks; the two determined men, fully prepared to defend themselves at the expense of any number of their adversaries' lives; the fierce, threatening summons to yield entrance from the infuriated gang without; all went to make up a strange and startling metamorphosis on the hitherto quiet evening, which the two men had reckoned upon when they retired into the private room of the saloon-keeper to be clear of any disturbance.

"Air you agoin' to open?" sung out a harsh voice, at the close of a muttered consultation. "We know you, Smokestack Bill, and we've nothin'

again you. But that pizen skunk, the white Injun, we're bound to have him if we burn down the old log to do it. So you come out of it, Bill, right along, while you can."

"You be advised, Dan Harper," cried the scout in reply. "You're a dead man this very night if you don't git--mind me."

"So are a dozen of you, by G.o.d!" sung out Vipan. He knew the whole business was a deliberate plan to take his life. The ruffian whom he had felled was to pick a quarrel and shoot him on sight, while his scoundrelly mates stood ready to make sure of him if the first part of the scheme miscarried. A roar went up from the crowd. "Let's get at him! What'll we do with him, boys?"

"Tar and feather him!"

"Burn him at the stake!" "Scalp him!" "String him up!" were some of the yells that burst from the maddened throng as it surged round the building, narrowly scanning every door and window for a chance of forcing an entrance. But the defenders of the inner room knew better than to be caught that way.

"One minute before you begin any tricks," cried the scout, and his voice had the dangerous ring about it of that of an ordinarily cool and quiet man roused at last. "One minute, and just listen to me. We've molested n.o.body, and don't want to molest n.o.body. Bitter Rube in here picked a quarrel with my pardner and got knocked down. If he'd done it with any of you boys he'd have been shot dead. He'll be shot before anyone gets in here--"

"Darn Bitter Rube! Serve the bunglin' fool right! What do we care about Bitter Rube? It's the pizen white Injun we're going to lynch--and lynch him we will--by G.o.d!"

"Try it!" rejoined the scout. "There'll be a few of you dead in your boots before mornin', I reckon. And anyone who thinks Smokestack Bill the boy to go back on a pardner is makin' an almighty big error in the undertaking. So now, stand clear for squalls."

A roar and a yell was the only reply. A deafening crash, as some of the rioters in the outer saloon vented their rage in smashing all the gla.s.s they could lay hands on; then a shock, as the end of a beam, wielded as a battering ram, came full against the door. A couple of flashes and reports, mingling like a single one. The beam fell to the earth at the same time as three of its bearers, whom the fire of the besieged, discharged through a c.h.i.n.k at such close quarters, had literally raked in line. The remainder promptly got out of the way.

"Put in the f.a.ggot. Don't give any of the skunks a further show,"

yelled the frantic mob, exasperated by this reverse. And a rush was made for the further end of the building.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

JUDGE LYNCH TAKES A BACK SEAT.

It is not wonderful, all things considered, that the citizens of Henniker, together with its fortuitous and floating population, should have been moved to such lengths as to resolve upon lynching Vipan.

Indeed, it would have been surprising had matters turned out otherwise.

Here was a man they very much more than suspected of being in league with their barbarous and dreaded foes, at a time when the frontier was almost in a state of war. A man of known daring and unscrupulousness, and whom they knew to have been present--the only white man--at an important council, involving issues of peace or war; to have taken part in its deliberations, going even so far as to advise the chiefs, and that, if report were to be believed, by no means in the direction of peaceful results. Several of their friends and neighbours had been murdered and scalped, those who had escaped a similar fate being obliged to carry on their mining or other operations rifle in hand, even if not forced to quit altogether. Meanwhile, this man, it was well known, could move about the country perfectly unmolested, visiting the Indian encampments at will--indeed, in one instance he was known to have witnessed a scalp-dance, wherein the prime attraction of the entertainment lay in the exhibition of the scalps recently torn from the heads of two of their murdered comrades.

And then he was an alien, which was the crowning point of the whole offence; and the good citizens of Henniker were virtuously stirred that a foreigner--an Englishman--should, while dwelling on their free and sacred soil, presume to be on friendly terms with its dispossessed and original owners; even as here and there in Great Britain may still be found a misguided and hard-headed Tory moved to honest indignation at the prospect of Fenians and Invincibles and National Leaguers stirred up to dynamite and murder by Irish-American agents and American dollars.

But how came it that so much should be known of Vipan's movements, seeing that he himself was almost the only white man who could safely penetrate the semi-hostile country or venture among the roving bands who even then were raiding and murdering at their own sweet will? Well, human nature is rather alike all the world over. Gossip on that wild Western frontier was circulated through very much the same channels as, say, at Lant with Lant-Hanger in the county of Brackenshire--through the agency of the squaws to wit. Some of the miners owned red spouses, others, again, were not above open admiration for the savage beauties-- and, presto!--sooner or later the gossip of the Indian villages leaked out.

Peering through the c.h.i.n.ks, the besieged could descry a sea of threatening faces, savagely hideous in the red torchlight. Prominent among these was a man who held a noosed cord. Hither and thither he moved, stirring up the crowd, his sinister features distorted with malicious rage. Hatred, envy, disappointed greed, all were depicted there, as with blood-curdling threats the mob clamoured for the object of its resentment.

Suddenly a clatter of approaching hoofs became audible alike to besiegers and besieged. The crowd paused aghast, the first thought being that of an Indian attack. Then a score of hors.e.m.e.n darted into the light, and a ringing voice was heard inquiring--

"Say, boys, what in thunder's all this muss?"

"That's the sheriff," said Smokestack Bill, coolly, lowering his revolver. "We're out of this fix, anyhow."

A roar was the answer.

"The white Injun! The pizen white Injun! We're going to lynch him."

"I guess not," was the reply. "Not while Nat Hardroper's sheriff of Henniker City. When it comes to reckoning with that invaluable officer, Judge Lynch'll have to take a back seat. Eh, boys?" turning to his well-armed followers, a score of cowboys and well-disposed citizens, whom he had prudently collected in haste on receiving the first intimation of a riot.

"That's so, sheriff," was the prompt reply.

"Say, Dan Harper," called out the sheriff, "Judge Lynch's sittin' in the State you've just left. Why not go and talk to him there?"

The face of the fellow named blanched at this allusion.

Meanwhile the crowd, composed mainly as it was of ruffians and bullies, began to show a disposition to slink off, in the presence of these well-armed and determined representatives of law and order.

"Never mind, boys," shouted someone. "We'll plant him full of lead yet.

Now let's git."

"How do, sheriff?" said the scout, calmly stepping forth with extended hand. "Guess you've raised the siege on us right slick in the nick of time."

"How do, Bill? How do, colonel?" to Vipan. "Now you come right along to my log and we'll talk."

"Hold hard, friends," objected Vipan. "We've got to drink first.

Murphy, bring out the juice."

"Whurroo, sheriff darlint," chuckled the saloon-keeper. "Whurroo! but it's purty shootin' there's bin around here afure you came. Be jabers!

and thur'll be a big inquist to-morrow, and the power of the 'crame' 'll be on hand for the jewry, I reckon. Bedad! and whur's that shuck-faced omadhaun?" he added, gazing at the corner. For Bitter Rube, having recovered his confused senses, had profited by the confusion to steal away unperceived.

"Now, boys, mind me," said Nat Hardroper to Vipan and the scout, after a substantial supper a few hours later. "This same Henniker City's a powerful survigerous place. I've got you out of one fix, but I can't go on getting you out of fixes. It's too big a contract on one man's hands, I want you to see. Now, a power of those chirruping roarers'll be on your trail first thing you show your noses out of this shebang.

If I warn't sheriff this'd be my advice--to take your hosses this very night and git. But it ain't my advice, because, you see, I _am_ sheriff, and you're under my charge. No, no; it ain't my advice."

Save for the faintest possible wink, he looked them straight in the face, as solemn as an owl. Vipan burst into a roar of laughter.

"Right you are, Nat. It's not your advice--we'll remember that."

"Well, good-night, boys; good-night."

They shook hands heartily. But our two friends did not go to bed; they went to the stable. By daybreak they had put a considerable number of miles between Henniker City and themselves.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A CONJUGAL DEBATE AND ITS SEQUEL.

With all his failings, the Rev. Dudley Vallance had one redeeming point--he was excessively fond of his children; but it is probable that he loved his only son more than all the rest put together. To him he could refuse nothing. Indeed, so loth was he to part with him even for a time that he could not bring himself to allow Geoffry to enter any profession. He must remain at home. There was no need for him to earn his living, since he would one day succeed to the Lant property, and meanwhile he could be learning to look after it.