Part 13 (2/2)
”Yep,” Bill answered, following within the hut to where Derrick's lighted candle burnt in the neck of a bottle among the rank weeds that grew about the broken hearthstone.
”Sure?”
Bill nodded emphatically.
”It's all serene,” he answered. ”n.o.body seen us start, and we ain't set eyes on a livin' human all along the trail.”
”Good,” said Derrick. ”Y'see, I was some afraid as that all-fired, double-barrelled detective, Sergeant Silk, might ha' gotten wind of suthin'. Thar ain't a whole lot as he don't ferret out somehow. Say, he ain't been spyin' around any, has he?”
”Haven't seen him for weeks,” reported Hen Faxon.
”Reckon he's gone off on another patrol,” said Bill. ”Anyhow, he ain't liable t' ha' gotten wind of this yer game we're startin' on, and that's sure.”
”Then we're safe ter pull it off,” declared Red Derrick, ”and we kin lay our plans right now. But first, I suspicion you two boys is some dry, eh? Say, thar's suthin' in the shape of liquid refreshment here.”
He opened his haversack and produced a bottle and a tin pannikin, and each of the three took a long drink in his turn. One of the fallen roof timbers served as a seat for Derrick and Allison. Hen Faxon seated himself on the earthen floor, with his back against one of the upright logs of the wall.
As he did so he was half-conscious of a rustling movement at the other side of the timber against which he leant. He drew himself forward an inch or two and looked round.
”Guess thar's a lynx or a fox or some sich critter sniffin' around outside,” he muttered. He put his ear to a gap in the wall and listened.
”Dessay it was only my fancy,” he decided. ”I'm some scared to-night.
Allus am when thar's a risky job on hand. Give us another drink, Jim.”
The sound which had disturbed him was not repeated, and his two companions paid no regard to his remark. Even if he had been correct in his surmise as to the cause of the rustling movement, there would be no possible danger in the circ.u.mstance of a fox or a lynx or any other species of wild creature sniffing around.
Nevertheless, Hen Faxon's sharp hearing had not altogether deceived him, and had his eyesight been as keen--had he put an eye instead of an ear to the open seam between the pine logs at his back--he might even in the darkness have discovered that the actual intruder was much more formidable and dangerous than was any prowling four-footed beast.
”Well, boys,” began Red Derrick, pulling vigorously at his pipe. ”I figure thar's no p'ticler need fer me ter say a whole lot. You've both of you got as much savee as I have how the thing's got ter be pulled off, and it's up to us ter pull it off successful. Y'see that thar stage coach is bound ter keep schedule time. Alf Bulger'll see to it. Alf's our trump card. He'll join on and take charge of the stage, as per usual, at Soldier's Knee, drivin' his team clean into our arms, so ter speak. He'll be due along the Rattlesnake section an hour before sundown. Just when it's gettin' tolerable dark, he'll enter White Wolf Gulch. That's our point, see? That's whar we're shapin' ter hold him up and collar the boodle.”
”Say, thar ain't no doubt 'bout that boodle bein' on board, is there?”
Hen Faxon leant forward to inquire.
Red Derrick looked at him severely across the flickering candle-light.
”Not a ghost of a doubt,” he said. ”Not a shadder. That's the one thing more sartin than anythin' else in the whole biz. Fifty thousand dollars'
worth. That's the value, 'cordin' ter Alf, and I reckon Alf should know, him bein' stage driver and in the company's confidence. And say, boys, you've got ter see as Alf don't get scratched.”
”Any pa.s.sengers?” inquired Bill Allison.
Derrick shrugged his broad shoulders.
”What odds if thar is?” he retorted. ”We kin deal with 'em, sure--three of us, droppin' on 'em unawares, and Alf helpin' us. Nat'rally thar'll be the messenger in charge of the boodle,” he explained, ”some quill-drivin', white-collared bank clerk from Ottawa. Don't figure as he need count for a lot. He ain't liable ter be anyways handy with a gun; and Tom Mason'll see as the skunk's shooter is empty. Soon as Alf enters the gulch, drivin' slow, he'll give us the signal. He'll crack his whip ter let us know as everythin's serene. Then the fun'll begin.”
”We got ter fire in the air, then?” questioned Bill Allison. ”We got ter do nothin' but fill the atmosphere with yells an' smoke? Seems easy!”
”The more noise we makes the better,” returned Red Derrick. ”But we've got ter do more'n make a clatter. Y'see, Alf Bulger c'n hardly make out as he's been held up by a gang of desperate road agents if we don't give him the evidence of a considerable pepperin' of bullet holes in the panels of his coach. As fer Mister Bank-clerk, if he shows fight--well, you kin leave him t' me. Savvy? Him and any other pa.s.sengers, while you two make off with the swag.”
His two confederates signified their understanding of the bold scheme by which the stage coach was to be held up and robbed: and they had now only to discuss the details of their plan of attack.
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