CHAPTER XXIV

BEFORE THE DAWN

The window through which Tom Hallaway had been shot faced the open country. The other two windows in the room flanked the front door.

The thoughtful Laguerre had brought Loudon's rifle in with him, and the two men squatted down behind the windows. Their view of Main Street was excellent. They could see almost the whole width of the street from one end of the town to the other.

Far down the street the windows of Lainey's Hotel were smoking like the gunports of an old-time line-o'-battle-ship. The men in the hotel seemed to be devoting all their attention to the Happy Heart and the houses between it and Piney Jackson's blacksmith shop.

Directly opposite the Happy Heart was a small store from which three or four men were directing a heavy fire at the saloon. Next to the store were four empty corrals, and then came some twenty houses, the twentieth opposite the sheriff's shack. Of these houses all save the three nearest the corrals were silent. The folk in these three were carrying on a duel: with the defenders of the Blue Pigeon Store, whose fire had slackened somewhat.

"I hope they haven't got Mike," said Loudon, and drove a bullet close above a window-sill of the middle house of the three. "He's a good fellah." Another bullet nicked the window-sill. "This can't go on forever." Again a bullet shaved the window-sill. "Somethin's going'

to pop some soon."

Something did pop. The firing from the Happy Heart culminated in a terrific volley, and then ceased abruptly.

"That's funny," commented Loudon. "It can't---- They're sliding out!"

Which latter remark was called forth by a sudden outburst of firing from the corral where Johnny and Chuck were stationed. Loudon and Laguerre ran out the back way. The former's surmise was correct.

The Happy Heart defenders had broken cover and reached the big corral behind the saloon. Four of them were down in front of the corral gate.

They would never pull trigger again. But the others, in number a score or more, had reached their horses and were pouring out of the gate in the far side of the corral.

Loudon perceived that the two riders in the lead were mounted on Brown Jug and the gray. These two kept together. The remaining fugitives wisely fled separately and in many directions.

Loudon and Laguerre did not fire. The range was a long six hundred yards; too long for accurate shooting when the target is astride a racing horse. Imbued with the same idea they ran to their horses, flipped the reins over their heads, and jammed their Winchesters into the scabbards. Both ponies were galloping at full speed when the two were settled in their saddles.

"We can not catch dem!" cried Laguerre ten minutes later.

"We'll try, anyhow," replied Loudon, standing up in the stirrups to ease his horse, and wishing that he had ridden Ranger.

Half an hour later it became obvious that pursuit was useless. Brown Jug and the gray had the legs of the pursuer's horses. The sun was setting, too. Loudon and Laguerre pulled in their panting mounts.

"Here comes Johnny an' Chuck," said Loudon.

"Could yuh tell who they was?" demanded Johnny, breathlessly.

"They kept their backs to us," Loudon replied, drily, "an' they didn't leave any cards."

"Ain't got no manners at all," said Johnny Ramsay. "They're headin'

northwest, an' they sh.o.r.e ought to get there. C'mon back, I'm dry."

"They was seven 88 ponies in Block's corral," said Chuck Morgan.

"Let's hurry. Maybe we can get the owners yet."

"If they ain't already been got," said Johnny Ramsay.

"Seven 88 ponies," repeated Loudon. "I seen 'em in the corral, but I couldn't see the brand. Seven. That means seven o' the outfit was in Farewell, an' more'n seven, maybe. I don't believe Blakely was there.

He's been mighty cautious lately. Well, anyhow, countin' seven at Farewell, there'd ought to be eight more at the four line-camps.

Rudd's quit, an' Marvin is hogtied, an' Shorty Simms is dead.

Accordin' to my figurin', that makes eighteen."

"Yo're well educated, Mr. Loudon," said Johnny Ramsay.

"Correct. Well, then, unless Blakely has hired a bunch o' new men, which ain't likely, then eighteen from twenty-five leaves seven."

"First cla.s.s in 'rithmetic will take the front seats," remarked Chuck, solemnly. "The little boys mustn't sit with the little girls.

Attention, children, an' I'll interduce our new teacher, Mr. Thomas Loudon, a well-known---- Hi! you leave my cayuse alone, Tom! I'm the only gent he allows to spur him. Damitall, he's goin' to buck, an' I'm all het up, anyhow. Oh, ----! I knowed it!"

"Chuck ought to ride pitchers for a livin'," commented Loudon. "Ain't he graceful? Go yuh ten, Telescope, he pulls leather."

Chuck returned to them ten minutes later. He sidled his now thoroughly chastened pony in between Ramsay and Laguerre.

"I'll have nothin' more to do with that long-legged feller on the left o' the line," Chuck announced to the world at large. "He'd just as soon break a friend's neck as not. He ain't got no feelin's whatever.

'Rithmetic's done locoed him."

"As I was sayin' before I was interrupted," said Loudon, grinning, "eighteen from twenty-five leaves seven. There oughtn't to be more'n seven men at the 88 ranch house an' they won't be expectin' callers.

There's four of us. What's the answer?"

"Dat ees fine," Laguerre said. "We weel geet dere before Scotty un de odders come. I say we go."

"Me, too," said Johnny Ramsay.

"But no more 'rithmetic!" Chuck Morgan cried in mock alarm. "It sh.o.r.e makes my head ache, 'rithmetic does."

They swung away from Farewell and entered a long draw, dark with the purple shadows of the twilight.

"Wasn't there n.o.body at all in Block's shack?" queried Johnny Ramsay, rolling a cigarette one-handed.

"Three," replied Loudon.

"Huh!" Johnny Ramsay was startled.

"Two was dead an' the third was dyin'," explained Loudon. "He cashed before we come out. His name was Tom Hallaway. You remember about Cutting stealin' my hoss. Well, him an' Block turned up in Rocket, an'

Cutting was ridin' a blaze-face pinto. Come to find out, the pinto belonged to a fellah named Jim Hallaway, an' Jim was found murdered.

The way I figure it: Cutting knowed better'n to ride in on my hoss, so he killed Jim an' took his pony, leavin' my hoss back in the hills some'ers. Later he went back after Ranger, an' sloped with the pair.

"This Tom Hallaway was Jim's brother. The two dead men in the shack was the sheriff an' Cutting. Yeah, Rufe Cutting. It'd been better for him if he'd gone south like the sheriff said he did. Rufe was carved up tremendous, an' Block had been plugged three times. Hallaway got 'em both. Two o' the Farewell boys got him though--through the window.

But they didn't live long enough to tell about it. He got them plumb centre. Yep, four was Hallaway's tally. He sh.o.r.e paid 'em in full for killin' Jim."

"Which I should say as much," murmured Chuck Morgan, admiringly. "He was some man!"

"An' he had to die," said Loudon. "All on account o' them measly skunks. Well, by the time Scotty an' that crowd get through with Farewell a Sunday-school won't be in it with the town."

"Yo're whistlin'," said Johnny Ramsay.