Part 29 (1/2)

At last the smile changed on Whispering Smith's face. It lighted his eyes still, but with a different expression. ”See here, Rebstock, you and I have always got along, haven't we? I've no desire to crowd any man to the wall that is a man. Now I am going to tell you the simple truth. Du Sang has got you scared to death. That man is a faker, Rebstock. Because he kills men right and left without any provocation, you think he is dangerous. He isn't; there are a dozen men in the Cache just as good with a gun as Du Sang is. Don't shake your head. I know what I'm talking about. He is a jay with a gun, and you may tell him I said so; do you hear? Tell him to come out if he wants me to demonstrate it. He has got everybody, including you, scared to death.

Now, I say, don't be silly. I want Du Sang.”

Rebstock rose to his feet solemnly and pointed his finger at Whispering Smith. ”Whispering Smith, you know me--”

”I know you for a fat rascal.”

”That's all right. You know me, and, just as you say, we always get along because we both got sense.”

”You're hiding yours to-day, Rebstock.”

”No matter; I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you all the horseflesh you can kill and all the men you can hire to go after him, and I'll bury your dead myself. You think he can't shoot? I give you a tip on the square.” Whispering Smith snorted. ”He'll shoot the four b.u.t.tons off your coat in four shots.” Smith kicked Rebstock's dog contemptuously. ”And do it while you are falling down. I've seen him do it,” persisted Rebstock, moist with perspiration. ”I'm not looking for a chance to go against a sure thing; I wash my hands of the job.”

Whispering Smith rose. ”It was no trick to see he had you scared to death. You are losing your wits, old man. The albino is a faker, and I tell you I am going to run him out of the country.” Whispering Smith reached for his hat. ”Our treaty ends right here. You promised to harbor no man in your sink that ever went against our road. You know as well as I do that this man, with four others, held up our train night before last at Tower W, shot our engineman to death for mere delight, killed a messenger, took sixty-five thousand dollars out of the through safe, and made his good get-away. Now, don't lie; you know every word of it, and you thought you could pull it out of me by a bluff. I track him to your door. He is inside the Cache this minute.

You know every curve and canyon and pocket and washout in it, and every cut-throat and jail-bird in it, and they pay you blood-money and hush-money every month; and when I ask you not to give up a dozen men the company is ent.i.tled to, but merely to send this pink-eyed lobster out with his guns to talk with me, you wash your hands of the job, do you? Now listen. If you don't send Du Sang into the open before noon to-morrow, I'll run every living steer and every living man out of Williams Cache before I cross the Crawling Stone again, so help me G.o.d! And I'll send for cowboys within thirty minutes to begin the job.

I'll sc.r.a.pe your Deep Creek canyons till the rattlesnakes squeal. I'll make Williams Cache so wild that a timber-wolf can't follow his own trail through it. You'll break with me, will you, Rebstock? Then wind up your bank account; before I finish with you I'll put you in stripes and feed buzzards off your table.”

Rebstock's face was apoplectic. He choked with a torrent of oaths.

Whispering Smith, paying no attention, walked out to where Kennedy was waiting. He swung into the saddle, ignoring Rebstock's abjurations, and with Kennedy rode away.

”It is hard to do anything with a man that is scared to death,” said Smith to his companion. ”Then, too, Rebstock's nephew is probably in this. In any case, when Du Sang has got Rebstock scared, he is a dangerous man to be abroad. We have got to smoke him out, Farrell.

Lance Dunning insisted the other day he wanted to do me a favor. I'll see if he'll lend me Stormy Gorman and some of his cowpunchers for a round-up. We've got to smoke Du Sang out. A round-up is the thing.

But, by Heaven, if that round-up is actually pulled off it will be a cla.s.sic when you and I are gone.”

Thirty minutes afterward, messengers had taken the Frenchman trail for Lance Dunning's cowboys.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE FIGHT IN THE CACHE

A clear night and a good moon made a long ride possible, and the Crawling Stone contingent, headed by Stormy Gorman, began coming into the railroad camp by three o'clock the next morning. With them rode the two Youngs, who had lost the trail they followed across Goose River and joined the cowboys on the road to the north.

The party divided under Kennedy and Smith, who rode through the Door into the Cache just before daybreak.

”I don't know what I am steering you against this morning, Farrell,”

said Whispering Smith. ”Certainly I should hate to run you into Du Sang, but we can't tell where we shall strike him. If we have laid out the work right I ought to see him as soon as anybody does. Accidents do happen, but remember he will never be any more dangerous than he is at the first moment. Get him to talk. He gets nervous if he can't shoot right away. When you pull, get a bullet into his stomach at the start, if you possibly can, to spoil his aim. We mustn't make the mistake of underestimating him. Rebstock is right: he is a fright with a revolver, and Sinclair and Seagrue are the only men in the mountains that can handle a rifle with him. Now we split here; and good luck!”

”Don't you want to take Brill Young with you?”

”You take both the Youngs, Farrell. We shall be among rocks, and if he tries to rush us there is cover.”

Stormy Gorman with four Crawling Stone cowboys followed Whispering Smith. Every rider on the range had a grievance against Williams Cache, and any of them would have been glad to undertake reprisals against the rustlers under the wing of Whispering Smith.

Just how in the mountains--without telegraph, newspapers, and all ordinary means of publicity--news travels so fast may not certainly be said. The scattered lines of telephone wires help, but news outstrips the wires. Moreover, there are no telephones in the Mission Mountains.

But on the morning that the round-up party rode into the Cache it was known in the streets of Medicine Bend that the Tower W men had been tracked into the north country; that some, if not all, of them were in Williams Cache; that an ultimatum had been given, and that Whispering Smith and Kennedy had already ridden in with their men to make it good.