Part 38 (2/2)

I--”

”Don't!” she cried, raising a protesting hand. ”Not a word to me. My responsibility ceased when I placed the envelope in your hands. I'm no longer concerned in the matter. That is--” she hesitated.

”Yes, go on.”

”Until after you have made your report to the attorneys,” she added.

”Then, of course, I'll--I'll be sort of curious to know what your answer is.”

”Then I'll come straight back to tell you,” he promised. ”And--Why, what's the matter!”

She had leaned forward suddenly in her saddle, and with wide eyes was looking down the precipice. Then before she could answer there came to Oliver's hearing the sound of a distant shot from the canon.

Now he saw a puff of white smoke above the willows on the river bank, a thousand feet below them. Then a second, and by and by another ringing report reached them, and the echoes of it went loping from wall to wall of the canon.

”Merciful heavens!” cried Jessamy. ”It's Old Man Selden! He's shot! Look at him reel in his saddle! Oh, horrors!... There he goes down on the ground!... But he's not killed! There--he's on his feet and shooting!”

Oliver, with open mouth, was staring down at the tragedy that had suddenly been staged for them in the river bed. Now several puffs of white smoke hung over the trees, and riders rode hither and thither like pigmies on pigmy horses. Now and then a stream of flame spurted horizontally, and at once another answered it. Then up barked the reports, followed by their mocking echoes.

”It's come! It's come!” wailed Jessamy. ”Obed Pence, likely as not, has opened fire on Old Man Selden, and the boys are after him. Look--there's Chuck and Bolar and Jay and Winthrop--and, oh, most all of them! It's a general fight. Oh, I knew it would come! I knew it! Obed Pence has been so nasty of late. They were all drunk last night. Poor mother! Oh, what shall we do, Oliver? What can we do? We can't get down to them!”

”And could do nothing if we did,” he said tensely.

Down below six-shooters still popped, and the b.a.l.l.s of smoke continued to grow in number over the willows. Hors.e.m.e.n dashed madly about, shouting, firing. The two watchers learned later that Obed Pence, supported by Muenster, Allegan, and Buchanan--all drunk for two days on the fiery monkey rum--had lain in wait for Old Man Selden, and Pence had ridden out and confronted him as he rode down the river trail, supposedly alone. But the Selden boys for days had been hovering in the background, to see that their father got a square deal when he and Obed Pence next met. Pence and Adam Selden had drawn simultaneously; but the hammer of the old man's Colt had caught in the fringe of his chaps, and Obed had shot him through the left lung. Knowing their father to be a master gunman, his sons, who had not been close enough to witness the encounter, had jumped to the conclusion that Pence had fired from ambush. They charged in accordingly, and opened fire on Pence, killing him instantly. Then Pence's supporters had ridden forth in turn, and the general gun fight was on.

”I can't sit here and see them murdering one another!” Jessamy sobbed piteously. ”They--they all may need killing, but--but I've lived with the old man and the boys, and--and--My mother!” The tears streamed down her cheeks as she made a trumpet of her hands and shouted down the precipice:

”Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!”

Only the echoes of her piercing cry made answer, and she wrung her hands and beat her breast in anguish.

”I'm going for help!” she cried abruptly. ”They'll get behind trees pretty soon, and fight from cover. I'll ride to Halfmoon Flat for the constable and a posse to put a stop to this. Can't--can't you ride up the trail and find a way down to them, Oliver? Old Man Selden maybe will listen to you. Oh, maybe you can patch up peace between them!”

”I'll try,” said Oliver grimly.

She wheeled White Ann and entered the narrow trail. Oliver followed.

Recklessly she moved her mare at her rolling singlefoot along the dangerous trail, and eventually came out on the hillside. At once White Ann leaped forward and sped over the hills, a streak of silver in the noonday sun.

Oliver loped Poche to an obscure deer path that led down to the river, and as swiftly as possible began negotiating it.

He had not progressed twenty yards when the chaparral before him suddenly parted, and Digger Foss confronted him, his wicked Colt held waist-high and levelled.

”Stick 'em up!” he growled. ”Be quick!”

Thoroughly surprised, Oliver reined in, and Poche began to dance.

Mechanically Oliver raised his hands above his head, then almost regretted that he had not tried to draw. But the picture of Henry Dodd reeling against the legs of Jessamy's mare had been with him since his first day in the Poison Oakers' country. He knew that the halfbreed's aim was sure, and that his heart was a reservoir of venom.

The first shock pa.s.sed, his composure returned in a measure. There stood the halfbreed, spread-legged in the path. The lids of his Mongolic eyes were lowered, and the beads of jet glittered wickedly from under them.

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