2
GAMBLING WITH FATE
By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK
Author of "The Gold Gleanerj : A Story of the Cyanide
TanKJ." " Wilby'j Dan." "Hij Friend the Enemy."
'"Ro^frj of "Butte.” Etc.. Etc.
c
(Copyright, 1W3, by William Wallace Cook )
(Continued from last week.)
CHAPTER V.
DAIIHEJ.S ESCAPE.
Eponay creek skirted the confines of
Sandy Bar. The lett bank was a fla
reach of sand which gave the camp its
name; but the right bank, on which the
settlement had been built, was high
and bluff-like and “gophered” with
tunnels.
The bar was rich in placer gold.
When the sand had been cradled over
prospecting for quart/, dykes began and
many a “stringer” had been followed
inward from the face of the right
bank.
The stringers had pinched out. The
south hank, however, had not been
abandoned as worthless until fairly
honeycombed with drifts that led to
nothing hut country rock.
Thus it followed that the camp had
under it a sort of catacombs wherein
lay buried a thousand hopes of disap
pointed miners. To this fart, as will
be seen, Nate Barrel owed his life.
The Sandy Bar jail was a log struct
ure that had outlived its usefulness as
h miner’s cabin. It was situated not
more than 50 feet from the brink of the
steep, brush-covered bank of the
Eponay.
In the singfle room of this makeshift
jail Parrel and the marshal presently
found themselves, a tallow "dip” splut
tering feebly on the table. Outside the
mob could be heard scurrying about in
ominous silence.
“They’re worked up to beat four of
a kind," muttered the marshal, listen
ing to the sounds from without, “but
HK TU.'.UiM-;" i.iK CKKAK1NG
in >A 111 S >K AN HOI K.
you can bet your moccasins they’ll
think tiling:- over pretty careful before
try in’ to take the bit in their teeth."
He loci ■ at the prisoner curiously.
Darrel Ik ,1 mm d himself in a chair
and lighted a cigar with his usual non
chalance.
“For a murderer, in the grip o’ the
law and with a pack of lawless coy
otes only too anxious to get at you,
you're taking this plenty cool.”
“I'm not a murderer."
“That shot yeses as it lays,” returned
the incredulous marshal, “but it won’t
help you.” Hi brought out Darrel’s
revolver, pulled down the barrel and
examined the cartridges. “One empty
cartridge and live full ones,” he added,
briefly; “45-caliber."
“1 fired that one shot, a good many
miles from Sandy Bar.” said Darrel.
“Stick to it." grinned the marshal;
“it’s your only hope and it’s slim
enough.”
“When will you hold the inquest?”
“To-morrow morning. And here’s
something you can spread your blank
ets and go to -li e on, my friend.
Escape ain’t to be tho h ol'. When
I leave here I draw n con n of trusty
men around this j:i: and the guard ’ll
be kept up until 1 come to take you to
Anacondy with a coroner's verdict
boldin' yon for the murder of Jack
Sturgis stuffed in my \ n ket. 1
The marshal wall ed to the door,
Darrel watchim bin ib oly.
“Carry another gun beside this ’un?”
asked the officer, his hum! on the latch.
"No.’’
“Well, the rest of your helongin’s you
can keep, tor the present, it will be
morning before 1 <• >me for you ag’in.”
He went out and Darrel heard him
rattling the padlock that secured the
door. For some time afterward there
■were sounds suggesting that sentries
were being posted about the building,
and after that silence.
Darrel’s thoughts were not of the
brightest and he cleared his mind of
them and surveyed the interior of his
prison. Every opening that had once
•erved as a window was covered with
stout planking, the chinks between the
logs were solidly filled and the place
was as tight as a drum.
Even had there been no guards on
; the outside escape from the jail would
have baffled the most resourceful pris
oner. Darrel yawned, laid the stump
of his cigar on the candlestick and
crossed the creaking boards of the
floor to a cot on the opposite side of
the room.
It had been his intention to lie down,
but his fastidiousness rebelled at the
blankets on the cot. The dirt and the
vermin disgusted him and he returned
to his chair.
Drowsily he leaned back and through
his half closed eyes' he saw the shad
ows of the room taking vague shapes.
Stealthily they glided to and fro. now
forward, now back and now surround
ing him, their gaunt hands clasped
and their dance a dance of death.
Out of the spectral ranks came final
ly the soothsayer who had crossed his
path at the Half Way house—a hideous
hag who tossed her skeleton-like arms,
mocked him with jeering face and
pointed towards him a bony and threat
ening finger.
V <111 lit i \* lio Iwtnnct 1 i t \Ti * 11 ca l
never be Honorable:
The words pierced him like pointed
| javelins and he writhed undei the
! smart. Rousing, he brushed a hand
j across his eyes, laughed at the lolly
Into which the perilous h >ur had be
; guiled him and droppt 1 back to be a
further prey of his disagreeable rev
j eries.
The queen of hearts tripped through
: the semi-gloom, but between her smil
! ing countenance and his came the
| dead face of Sturgis; and when this
i faded it left the gruesome hand of
Death raising five cards for his inspec
tion—three knaves and two sevens,
dripping red.
With a sudden movement he threw
I himself forward in the chair and raised
| his clenched fist. There was nothing
j before him. however, except the dull
j gleam of the candle.
What was wrong with his nerves?
This mood was foreign to him and he
could not understand it.
Springing up, he tramped the creak
ing boards for an hour. When he
again seated himself he bowed his head
on the table in his folded arms. The
i restless stirring of the guards outside
died away in his ears; he slept, and
j the candle burned to its socket, sput
tered and went out.
Some time later—just how long he
1 had no means of knowing—-a peculiar
I sound aroused him. He started tip.
; his eyes peering into the blank dark
■ ness.
He still heard the guards; bur the
noise 'hat had awakened him came
| from within, not from without.
A labored breath, carefully stifled;
the sweep of a hand over a rough stir- j
face; a creaking lift of one of the floor
boards; a fall of wood, muffled with
painstaking care. Then silence again,
i broken only by the tramp of the armed
sentries.
In the opaque gloom, Darrel strained
his ears to follow the sounds and
couple each with a corresponding
movement that must have caused it.
He readily gathered that entrance was
being forced into his prison chamber
from beneath. Who could it be?
"Darrel:” came a hissing whisper.
“Yes?” he returned, in undertone.
"If you would save your life you
have not a moment to spare. The
marshal has been lured away and made
a prisoner and there is nothing to
prevent Sturgis’ friends from wreaking
their vengeance on you. There are a
lot of them at HawkbiU’s now, getting
ready. The guards posted by the mar
shal are in sympathy with them and—
I listen!” The voice broke off, trem
l ulous with excitement. "Do you hear
I anything? They may be coming this
minute.”
"No,” returned Darrel, after a mo
ment. "it’s the watchers outside that
you hear. In the first place, who are
you?"
“The man whose life and honor you
saved at HawkbilTg.”
“How have you been able to come to
me?”
“Through one of the drifts from the
creek bank. It was only necessary to
dig out a few feet of earth in order
to come up directly under this build- j
ing-—but it has taken hours and every
hour seemed an age. 1 was afraid 1
should not be in time. God knows I i
could not abandon you after what you
have done for me.”
“Sturgis’ friends would take the law
into their own hands, would they?”
“They intend to lynch you.”
“For a crime I did not commit,” sup
plemented Darrel.
“The doctor found the bullet that
killed Sturgis and it's a 45. The re
volver taken from you by the marshal
was also a 45 and one shell was
empty.”
"Who is the doctor?”
"An eastern man and one of the
sanest and best men in the ramp. He
has implored the mob to let the law
take its course, but no one would listen
to him. But there’s no time for talk.
You can drop into the tunnel through
this hole I have dug. reach the creek
and get to a point, below the camp un
der shelter of the bank. My horse is
there, saddled, bridled and ready.
Come, you must hurry!”
There was not a little feeling mani
fested in Darrel’s voice as he an
swered:
"You have done a good deal for me
and I appreciate it. You do not think
I killed Sturgis?”
“I haven’t stopped to think very
much about it. It would be no more
than a natural supposition after that
row in Hawkbill’s—that row on my
account.”
“Well, I’m innocent of murder, but
circumstances have got a grip on me
and I shall avail myself of the means
of escape which you offer. I can’t
lake your horse, though. That would
throw suspicion on you.”
‘‘How will you get out of the coun
try?”
“With any kind of a start yon ' - n
trust me for that. Go back through
the tunnel, take your horse away and
get to your lodging place. 1 am much
obliged to you for the interest you
have taken in me. Some time 1 shall
hope to repay you.”
“I am already repaid. But. I think
you should take the horse.”
“No.”
"You won t he long m coming?
“Not long,”
“Good-by, then, and good luck to
you. Your word that you did not kill
Sturgis is enough for me.”
“Thank you. Good-by and don’t
forget that promise."
"God knows I have cause to remem
ber it,” came back in a husky whisper.
Darrel listened while the young man
lowered himself into the tunnel ami
retreated beyond earshot in the direc
tion of the creek. Then, taking a note
book and pencil from his pocket, Dar
rel wrote a few lines, his pencil point
groping over the small page in the
dark.
"Mr. Darrel regrets that clrcum
Vs > «_- • ■ > . *. .. .*v_ i*ao
compel him to postpone indefinitely
his meeting with Mr. Murgatroyd. He
begs to assure Mr. Murgatroyd, how
ever, that the meeting is simply de
ferred and not abandoned."
Tearing out the sheet on which he
had penciled this message, Darrel left
it on the table.
CHAPTER VI.
DARREL'S K 1.1GHT.
Old Ab Gryce, under foreman at the
War Eagle mine, pulled in his half
broken bronco team at the rear of the
Half Way house and rolled off the
seat of his mountain wagon.
“When ye take 'em off the pole,
Jimmie,” said he to the hostler, “don't
fool none with the harness. Them
hronks kin kick more an’ faster than
ary other critters in these parts.”
Jimmie grunted and measured Gryce
sharply with his eyes.
“Now,” continued the old man, “don't
turn your lamps on me like that. Meb
by I did look through the bottoms of
a few glasses before shackin' out of
Anacondy, but it wasn’t enough to af
fect. my jedgement. Dynamite, thar on
the off side, is the original inventor
of the bed-post buck, an' he kin he
plum scand'lous when he takes a no
tion. As ter Terror, the nigh hoss,
many a time he’s kinked himself inter
a bow knot an’ laid out three punchers
in the untanglin’. So ef ye—”
Gryce was interrupted by one of the
cattlemen grouped in front of the ho
tel. waiting for the Chinese cook to
sound the dinner gong. The under
foreman was well known and. in spite
of s many infirmities, universally
like By way of greeting, the cattle
man pleasantly drew a revolver and
cut t e air with a bullet not half a
doze . oet from the old man's ear.
Wii a zipping hiss the missile
fann< away into the void directly
over t e rear of the mountain wagon,
so cl< c to a pile of cases roped to the
wago: . ox that Gryce gave vent to a
terril ■ i yell.
“lb dy, Gncle Ab?” called the cat
tlemr u. “The sing of a bullet lias a
migh: queer effect on ye, seems like.”
“Yi ;, Ben,” shouted Gryce, “you
stop : iat. If the p’int of that gun had
been in inch lower the hull passel of
us would have been wiped off the
map." The old man drew a sleeve
aero h ; forehead. “Glory, man!
I'm freir it In' r.00 o' high explosive,
along with caps an’ fuse, ter the War
Eagle.”
The laughing crowd was instantly
sobered.
It the bronks are all you say, t'ncle
Ab," said Jimmie, “they're altogether
too frisky for a load like that.”
“I'm less afeared o' the team than
I am of some playful fool like Ben,
thar. Mind what I say about the crit
ters. Jimmie,” and Gryce reached the
front of the- tavern just as the gong
sounded. "Howdy, boys?” he asked,
taking in his friends with a compre
hensive look. “How’s things at Sandy
Bar, Clift’?”
“Couldn't be w'orse,” answered Cliff,
gloomily. “Jack Sturgis got his ticket
across the divide last night.”
“Buy it himself?”
/
“Not much! A gambler from Frisco
handed it out; a 4f>, and poor old Jack
never knew what struck him.”
Gryce swore softly. “Took care o’
the gambler, didn’t ye?” he asked, sig
nificantly.
“Intended to, much as could be,” an
swered Cliff, "but while we were tak
ing care of the marshal so he couldn't
interfere and making our plans the
gambler got away.”
"Did he have help?”
“It’s the general verdict that he did
it himself; pulled up a board in the
lloor and dug down to a drift that led
out on the creek bank.”
“That’s plagued rough.” muttered
Gryce. “You’ll get 'im, though, won’t
ye?”
“1? we can. Several parties are out
combing the hills and I'm expecting
some fellows this way before long.
Murgatroyd has offered $1,000 to the
man who brings Darrel in.”
“Darrel! I’ve heard o’ him, but he’s
somethin' of a stranger on this part o'
the range. Come in to the bar, Cliff,
an’ we'll crook elbows to your success
in baggin' Darrel. Can’t eat, anyhow,
till 1 put an edge on my appetite. Any
the rest o' you care ter j ine us?"
The invitation was eagerly accepted.
During the meal that followed Cliff
aired the whole matter connected with
the killing of Sturgis in detail.
His recital was punctuated with
angry comments on the part of the lis
teners. Sturgis was known to be a
gambler and a hard citizen, but the
manner of his taking off, together with
the c ape of Darrel, appealed strong
ly to the latent sympathies of the
rough and ready frontiersmen.
After the meal Gryce invited his
friends into the other part of the tav
ern once more and drank so many
glasses to the success of the Sandy
Bar men that it was necessary to help
him out and boost him to his seat on
the mountain wagon.
With a wild whoop he rolled out of
sight along the cross trail that led to
ward the War Eagle. Dynamite and
Terror on the keen jump.
“Shouldn't wonder if Uncle Ah set
off that load o' his,” remarked Ben
Chickworthy, his eyes following the
vanishing cloud of dust. “It was crim
inal carelessness fer the super at the
War Eagle ter send such a man after
blastin' material.”
Another cloud of dust had appeared
along the south trail and presently a
dozen mounted men broke out of it,
plying their lathered mounts with
quirt and spur. It was the Sandy Bar
contingent and they reined in their
horses at the door of the tavern.
“We're hot after the fellow,” said
one of the pursuers in response to a
question from Cliff. “Ile'3 been seen
twice, once by Kasper, between bet u
ley. a mill-hand at the Eagle. When
Hawley seen him he was footing it
west along the Eagle trail. We’li over
haul him. Cliff. Get your horse if you
want to be in at the finish.''
Cliff hurried to get his mount under
saddle and take his place in the ranks
of the pursuers. The horsemen there
upon darted away at the same stirring
pace.
Meanwhile the under foreman had
been trying clumsily to get his flying
team under control. Gryce was not so
far gone in drink that he failed to es
timate the dangers of such a killing
pace w-ith such a load, but his awkward
work with the reins would have proved
unsuccessful had not a man stepped
into the road in front of the horses.
A thick tangle of brush bordered the
trail and the appearance of the man
was as surprising and unexpected to
the bronchos as it was to Gryce. The
team halted abruptly, thrown far back
in the harness.
The under foreman got a fresh grip
on the lines and brought up the
bronchos well in hand.
“Good afternoon.” said the stranger,
courteously.
“Howdy,” said Gryce.
The stranger wore clothes of good
quality, but they showed evidence of
recent hard usage. He was on foot,
also, and a vague suspicion worked
sluggishly into Gryce’s brain.
“Have you come from the Half Way
house?” queried the stranger.
“That’s me,” hiccoughed Uncle Ab,
wondering how he could go to work
and capture the man. Handicapped
with a fractious team and f>00 pounds
of freight that was still more unre
liable, as well as possessing a head
that w^as far from well balanced, the
old man yet t hought it possible that he
might be able to do something.
“Have you seen anything of a
smooth-faced man in corduroys?” was
the stranger’s next question.
Uncle Ab pricked up his ears. Pos
sibly lie was mistaken in the smooth
voiced stranger, after all.
“Ridin’ a calico cayuse?” demanded
the tinder foreman.
"Yes,” replied the other, with bright
ening eye.
rnunner: so tnai. s tne yap mais
wanted over Sandy Bar way. I seen
him, sure; and he was lopin’ off this
piece of War Eagle trail about three
this mornin’, when 1 was pikin’ fer
Anacondy ter git this load o’ high ex
plosive. An’ ter think that. I was as
dost ter him as me an' you is, an’
didn’t know he was wanted an' never
raised a hand. Shucks!”
Uncle Ab was morbidly disappointed.
‘‘Which way was he going?” asked
the stranger.
“West." was the answer. "Say,
friend, jump up here with me an’ I’ll
take ye along as fur as the Eagle, any
how.”
The stranger thanked Gryce for his
offer and climbed up on the seat. At
a word from the driver the bronchos
plunged away at their usual break
neck speed.
The War Eagle trail, west of the
Half Way house, threaded a very rough
section of country. With a clear head,
firm nerves and steady drivers the way
was sufficiently dangerous, but with
Gryce in his half-tipsy condition, the
bronchos charging pell-mell and the
boxes of giant powder leaping around
in the rear of the wagon, the risk
might have been denominated extra
hazardous.
“Whoa, consarn ye!” yelled Gryce,
sawing at the reins. “Dynamite, ye're
the wust infernal trouble-maker ever
hitched ter a pole! An’ ye're sawed
off’n the same piece. Terror. Drat
’em! They'll have us sky-rocketin’ be
fore we know what's struck us.”
A lurch of the mountain wagon all
but hurled Gryce from his seat. The
lines slackened and would have
dropped had the stranger not grabbed
them as they rippled over the dash
board.
"Bear down on ’em, friend!” shouted
the old man, making frantic attempts
to keep himself in the wagon.
"They’ve taken the bits in their teeth
an’ we’ll go up like a couple o’ shootin’
stars if ye can't hold 'em in.”
A clatter of galloping hoofs could bo
heard behind, broken now and again
by a distant shout. The stranger threw
a look over his shoulders and, instead
of holding the horses in. leaned for
ward with loosened reins and urged
them on.
Directly ahead the trail made a sharp
turn around a shoulder of rock. At
the present rate of speed it looked
very much as though the careening *
wagon would be thrown from its
wheels in taking the bend.
_
WHKN IID STAGGKHKI) TO HIS I'KKT
AM) 1.M)KE|i hack the moi:\
TAIN WAGON HAD DISaBPKARKD,
AS IF BY MAGIC.
With grinding teeth and hands oon
vulsively gripping the sea., i -.do Ab
abandoned himself to wild , .oi inity.
Around the curve raced the bronchos,
the inner wheels of the wagon scraping
the rocks and the outer wheels
whirring in the air.
The seat was lifted front the wagon
and cast to the outer side of the trail,
the old man going with it. Darrel saved
himself for a few moments by dropping
to his knees and, with a quick move
ment, winding the lines across hia
palms.
Then 200 feet from the spot whor®
the under foreman had fallen and was
lying unconscious. the broncho*
swerved slightly. In a moment the
forward wheels struck a bowlder, a
crash followed, the team broke away
from the wagon and the stranger was
jerked over the dashboard and hauled
a hundred yards along the rough trail
before he could disentangle his hand*
from the reins.
As he lay. bruised and dazed, in th®
roadway, the frenzied team vanished
in the distance, a roar as from a hun
dred cannons came from behind him.
The very hills seemed shaken to their
foundations, a lurid glare flashed sky
ward and the sun was darkened with
a cloud of rocks, dust and debris.
(To be continued.)
Railroad Time Card,
WHITE RIVER BRANCH
St. L. I. M. & S. Ry.
Trains pass Newark as follows:
GOING WEST,
No.127.12.50 p. m.
No. 125.8.00 a. in.
GOING EAST.
No. 128.9.10 a. m.
No. 126.7.02 p. m.
F. C Hoyt, Aj'ent.