“You don’t look awful glad to see an old friend, Miles,” said Billy Gee suavely, after a short pause. “An’ so you’re Jule Quintell, the boss of Geerusalem, I’ve heerd so much about, eh? They tell me you bin runnin’ things to suit yoreself, an’ gettin’ away with it. Like you got away with it that other time, eh, Miles? Oh, Pete!” he called out suddenly. “Come on in an’ see who’s here!”
Out of the hall behind him trotted Tinnemaha Pete. He stopped, squinting at the visitors.
“Oho! If it ain’t you, Dot! What’re ye doin’—an’ Mr. Spangaree, or I’m a liar! That’s yore ol’ man, ain’t it?” His glance fell on Quintell, then he shuffled up to him and peered boldly into his face. “Billy,” he burst out, giggling, “you ol’ son-of-a-gun, you ketched him! Kill him! Go on an’ kill him——”
The outlaw raised his hand restrainingly. “I bin watchin’ around for you ever since that time, Miles,” he said, addressing the broker. “I oughter shoot you, jest like Pete says. Folks think I’m a pretty tough cuss. Mebby I am. Anyhow, I’m puttin’ you over the hurdles. Now, you tell these people the name you know me by. Go on!”
“His—Jerome Liggs,” faltered Quintell, with an effort.
“Jerome!” gasped Lex. He took a quick step toward the bandit and stared at him with wide eyes. The elder Sangerly frowned bewilderedly. The man who had, for three years, rifled the trains of the M. & S.!
“Now, Miles, tell ’em what you done to the Lucky Boy claims last night!” went on Billy Gee grimly. He jammed the menacing six-shooter into the man’s midriff. “Tell ’em how you salted ’em—everything!”
While the broker began in a reluctant, hesitating voice, Harrison edged quietly out of the room. He sped out through the back door of the bungalow and thence down the dark hillside, racing like mad for the main street to arouse the camp.
Meanwhile, Miles, alias Jule Quintell, confessed. His audacity, self-assurance, arrogance, vanished with that confession. Confronting him, holding him at the point of a gun, was a man who held a long-standing grudge against him, none other than the notorious desperado, Billy Gee, the man on whom he had shunted the crime of robbing the Marysville city treasury.
Billy Gee now turned to Dot and the two Sangerlys. “Folks,” he said evenly. “Miles here jest told you that Jerome Liggs robbed the Marysville city treasury. That’s why I’m Billy Gee. To-night I’m turnin’ him over to Sheriff Warburton, an’ Tinnemaha Pete—who used to be janitor of the Marysville city hall—he’ll swear he saw Treasurer Miles actin’ mighty suspicious in his office, round one o’clock one night.”
“Will I? Will I?” cried the old desert rat jubilantly. “Reckillect, Billy, what I told you? I seen him puttin’ a package——Kill him, Billy! Why don’t you go on an’ kill him! Don’t be a damn fool! D’ye hear?”
Shortly afterward, the door of Quintell’s desert mansion opened, and its owner stepped onto the veranda. Behind him came Billy Gee, followed by the rest. They set out down the terraced grounds for the street—a strange procession surely, five men and a girl. Dot reached the outlaw’s side and touched his arm.
“Jerome,” she whispered. “I’m afraid. You must not take the risk. You must not meet Sheriff Warburton. He’s looking for you. Don’t you understand, Jerome?” There was a little catch in her voice.
“There’s no need worryin’,” he replied. “If I have to skip out sudden tell Lex I want to see him at the ranch the furst thing in the mornin’. An’ you come along, won’t you? That other chap musta sneaked out after help, but we’ll fool him,” he added.
She kept pace with him, Quintell moodily plodding on before them. Once she looked up at Billy Gee. There were fine lines in his face, she thought, despite the fact that she could only just make out his features in the uncertain light reflecting from the business thoroughfares, some blocks away. Presently, she found herself thrilling over the realization that she was walking beside a popularly supposed “bad man” in action, one who, through her influence, had abandoned his lawless career to get back into the ranks of the law-abiding. But the strange surge of pride she felt was fleeting. The utter hopelessness of the effort struck her with full force. He was a fugitive. He would remain a fugitive until he was captured; even now, Sheriff Warburton was in the country to capture him. Again, she laid her hand on his arm—clutched it.
“Jerome, please! For—for my sake, Jerome, don’t meet Warburton. Let this wretch go. It is too late for revenge. Please—Jerome!” she urged wildly.
He looked down at her and smiled. He opened his mouth to speak but the words were never uttered. A deafening explosion on the main street ahead, broke horribly on the still night, shook the ground under their feet, and brought them to a sudden halt. Quintell, seizing the opportunity to escape, started forward, then stopped in his tracks as his captor’s revolver prodded him in the back.
At that moment, a two-story stone building standing in the brilliantly illuminated center of the camp crumpled before their eyes, crashed into ruins with a muffled roar. A great cloud of dust shot into the air.
“The Searchlight! They’ve—they’ve dynamited the Searchlight!” cried Lex aghast.
“Good heaven!” burst out the elder Sangerly. “Babcock—the men, Lex! They might have been at work—some of them.” A furious cry broke from him. He sprang at Quintell and caught him by the throat. “You devil!” he panted. “Not content with trying to rob us, you destroy our property—the newspaper we wrested from your filthy clutches. You miserable——”
“Father!” Lex dragged the other back forcibly. “Listen! This is no time for that sort of thing. We are in danger, without making matters worse. The camp is backing him, backing him to a man.”
Quintell overheard him. “I’m glad you appreciate that fact, Mr. Sangerly,” he remarked with a harsh chuckle. “If I may be permitted to say it, you’re all in imminent danger of your lives. I would advise you to see that I’m set free. Otherwise, I won’t be responsible for consequences. This man is a criminal. It is ridiculous to believe that he will turn me over to the sheriff—to the very man who is looking for him. He’s bluffing.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Billy Gee curtly. “Come on—get a-goin’! If yore friends start shootin’, so do I. I’ve bin waitin’ for this chance too long, Miles. I’m goin’ through with it now. Better you take the sidewalk, Dot,” he added gently. “There’s trouble comin’, I reckon. Tell Lex to hurry on ahead to the Miners’ Hotel an’ notify Warburton we’re on our way. He’ll know where to meet us. Take down this back street, Miles, an’ watch yore step!”
The street he indicated was a deserted back thoroughfare paralleling the main one of the camp. The rear of the Miners’ Hotel faced it, and a little distance farther on, was the gate leading into the yard back of the dry-goods store through which Billy Gee had flitted on many a midnight to visit his mother.
With Quintell obeying the outlaw’s command, the group turned to enter the side street. Their footfalls rang out sharply on the rocky ground. Following the explosion, a profound silence had fallen on the settlement, broken only by the sound of galloping hoofs as Warburton’s deputies dashed for the scene of destruction.
Suddenly a wild shout rose out of the gloom of the side street. It swelled into a roar, coming from all directions. In a twinkling, the thoroughfare became alive with men, pouring from every conceivable hiding place in the vicinity. Lex and his father cried out a warning. The former caught Dot by the arm.
“Come! Run! They’ll trample us!” he shouted.
But she shook him off, her eyes flashing with a resolute fire. “I’m all right. Take care of your father and Pete. Get them away!” Her voice was harsh, commanding.
The outlaw gave a short laugh. Lex hesitated an instant, then started off on a run for the sidewalk, dragging his father with him. They collided with the onrushing horde of furious men and went wallowing. Tinnemaha Pete, his old brain grasping the peril of the situation at the first alarm, escaped the crush and fled like mad for the Miners’ Hotel.
Meanwhile, Billy Gee’s disengaged hand had fastened on Quintell’s coat collar. He jerked the boss around out of the treacherous darkness and headed him for the brilliantly lighted main street, a block away. His six-shooter was boring into his prisoner’s back, cutting into the flesh.
“Talk to ’em, Miles!” he hissed into the other’s ear. “Talk to ’em fast, Miles, or I let go!”
Quintell put up a trembling hand. His face was ashen, drawn with fear. “Men, he’s got me. Stop, men! He’s got me! Can’t you see? Stand back! For God’s sake, men, stand back!” he panted wildly.
The mob halted its forward rush—frenzied, baffled. It circled just out of arm’s reach of the trio, a solid mass of surging, lawless humanity that itched for the letting of blood, gripping their murderous weapons, filling the night with their cries and curses. Like stampeded cattle, they milled and strained around the three, shouting their foul threats and insults at the girl and the outlaw, reassuring their master, waiting with wolfish eagerness for the moment when they could fall upon their prey and destroy it.
“Fellers,” proclaimed Billy Gee, his tones cool and deliberate, “this here is a personal matter ’twixt me an’ him. His name ain’t Quintell. It’s Gene Miles. He robbed the Marysville city treasury three years ago an’ laid the job on me. Gangway, men, gangway!” he added, starting Quintell onward.
“He lies! He lies!” cried Harrison, shouldering his way to the front. “This is Billy Gee, the bandit. He held us up—burglarized Jule Quintell’s home. He’s taking him down to the office to make him open the safe. Are you going to let him get away with it, men? Are you letting him pull off this rough stuff before your eyes, in a civilized community? One man against a thousand? Are you going to stand for——”
“Talk to ’em, Miles! Talk to ’em!” threatened Billy Gee. “Tell ’em to fall back an’ let us through. You’ll go before I do, Miles. I got a bead on yore heart. I’ll be good for one bullet—maybe more.”
Again, the broker called on that frantic crowd, supplicated it vehemently in an agony of terror. Snarling its hatred, its ranks parted grudgingly, then closed in behind where Dot brought up the rear with Billy Gee’s other revolver tight gripped in her hand.
Carried away by the desperateness of the outlaw’s plight, Dot had whisked the six-shooter from the holster of her romantic hero, resolved to back him in his fight, to perish with him, if necessary. Just now, she kept her gun trained on the bank of vicious faces that crowded after her. There was a fire in her eyes and a determination on her pretty face, far more eloquent than any words.
They turned into the main street finally, and continued on down, moving slowly, the multitude pressing in on them, raging around them, menacing them still. They passed the great heap of débris which had once represented the home of the Geerusalem Searchlight. As they reached the corner, out of the cross street dashed a troop of cow-punchers, with Sheriff Warburton at their head. Others followed, thundering down upon the mob from front and rear, scores of the grim-faced riders of the range waiting only for the signal to open fire on the enemy.
“Men of Geerusalem, as sheriff of San Buenaventura County, I order you to disperse!” shouted Warburton in ominous tones.
The mob halted. It stood hemmed in by mounted men, surrender being the only alternative left it, save that of bloody resistance. There was a tense, heavy silence.
Billy Gee, followed by Dot, thrust Quintell forward until he stood at the sheriff’s stirrup.
“Hullo, Billy!” said Warburton curtly.
“Hullo, Bob!” replied Billy Gee. “Here’s yore man. What d’you want done with him?”
“Herd him on down to the hotel, an’ I’ll——”
“This is an outrage, sheriff,” broke from Quintell.
“Collusion!” cried Harrison, at the top of his lungs. “Warburton, I demand the arrest of Billy Gee, notorious outlaw and criminal at large. Men, they’re in cahoots! It’s a frame-up! A political frame-up!”
A sudden wave of fury swept over the massed body of the mob. Big George Rankin’s face glared murderously for one instant out of its depths.
“Altogether, gang! Give the cow-chasers hell!” he yelled, opening fire on the nearest riders as he spoke.
In a twinkling, the battle was on. The street was converted into a bloody arena reverberating with the roar of blazing six-shooters and the shouts and curses of frenzied men. Taking advantage of the moment, Billy Gee thrust Dot in front of him, and with Quintell leading the way, fled in a hail of bullets for the Miners’ Hotel. The conflict raged on fiercely, the mob fighting with desperate abandon to break through the cordon of mounted deputies. Up and down the main street dashed terrified horses, riderless. Other cow-punchers, thirsting to avenge their fellows’ deaths, filled up the ranks. The street became littered with dead and dying. Stubbornly, furiously, the Quintell element fought. Then Big George Rankin passed out, a curse on his lips.
Sheriff Warburton raised his voice over the tumult:
“Las Animas an’ Bar-G men, close in there! Ride ’em down!”
The two cow-puncher outfits swung into line and set spurs to their horses. Into the mob they drove, head on, hurling it back, trampling its members under hoof. Like some irresistible tide, they swept on recklessly, fatally; and the rioters began to give way, to retreat, slowly at first, then with increasing haste, before the savage advance. Presently they broke and fled for the security of the sidewalks, pouring into saloon and dance hall and gambling den, availing themselves of every means of escape. The street cleared as if by magic. In the dust lay the dead, Big George Rankin and Harrison among them. Through the camp sped bodies of horsemen bearing the sinister message:
“Lights out! Keep inside or be shot on sight!”
Warburton, bleeding from a nasty scalp wound, reached the hotel finally. He was in a fiery mood. He rushed Quintell upstairs to a room, handcuffed him, and put a guard over him. Then he came down again, wiping the blood from the side of his face, and walked over to where Billy Gee and Dot were standing.
“You know what we agreed, Billy? I got to git patched up an’ I’ll be busy most o’ the night,” he said tersely.
The outlaw nodded. “I’m goin’ out to the Huntington ranch to-night, Bob. The agreement stands.”
“You kin expect me there round noon, Billy,” said Warburton, turning away.
“You’ll find me waitin’, sheriff.”
“Send them cow-punchers in. Tell ’em to report here.”
Half an hour later, a hostler brought two saddle horses up to the hotel entrance. Lex Sangerly and his father stood on the sidewalk along with Mrs. Liggs, and watched as Billy Gee and Dot mounted and rode down the quiet street, bound for the lonely, desolate ranch on Soapweed Plains. Mrs. Liggs was weeping disconsolately into her handkerchief, a pathetic little figure, bent and broken with a sorrow she had never earned.
The moon was just rising, flooding the gaunt land with its soft, compassionate glow. There was a subtle charm in that desert realm; a strange beauty in the night. But Dot was oblivious to these enchantments, ideal though they were for tender words of love, for the delicious ecstasies of that first embrace, that first kiss. Her heart was brimful of grief, weighed down with an overwhelming sadness greater than she had ever known. Billy Gee was surrendering to the law in the morning. He was passing out of her life, forever.