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Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West

<h2 id="id01555">CHAPTER XXV</h2><h5 id="id01556">MILLER TALKS</h5> A man stood in the doorway, big, fat, swaggering. In his younger days his deep chest and broad shoulders had accompanied great strength. But fat had accumulated in layers. He was a mountain of sagging flesh. His breath came in wheezy puffs. "Next time you get your own—" The voice faltered, died away. The protuberant eyes, still cold and fishy, passed fearfully from one to another of those in the room. It was plain that the bottom had dropped out of his heart. One moment he had straddled the world a Colossus, the next he was collapsing like a punctured balloon. "Goddlemighty!" he gasped. "Don't shoot! I—I give up." He was carrying a bucket of water. It dropped from his nerveless fingers and spilt over the floor. Like a bullet out of a gun Crawford shot a question at him. "Where have you hidden the money you got from the stage?" The loose mouth of the convict opened. "Why, we—I—we—" "Keep yore trap shut, you durn fool," ordered Shorty. Crawford jabbed his rifle into the ribs of the rustler. "Yours, too, Shorty." But the damage had been done. Miller's flabby will had been braced by a stronger one. He had been given time to recover from his dismay. He moistened his lips with his tongue and framed his lie. "I was gonna say you must be mistaken, Mr. Crawford," he whined. Shorty laughed hardily, spat tobacco juice at a knot in the floor, and spoke again. "Third degree stuff, eh? It won't buy you a thing, Crawford. Miller wasn't in that hold-up any more'n I—" "Let Miller do his own talkin', Shorty. He don't need any lead from you." Shorty looked hard at the cattleman with unflinching eyes. "Don't get on the peck, Em. You got no business coverin' me with that gun. I know you got reasons a-plenty for tryin' to bluff us into sayin' we held up the stage. But we don't bluff worth a cent. See?" Crawford saw. He had failed to surprise a confession out of Miller by the narrowest of margins. If he had had time to get Shorty out of the room before the convict's appearance, the fellow would have come through. As it was, he had missed his opportunity. A head followed by a round barrel body came in cautiously from the lean-to at the rear. "Everything all right, Mr. Crawford? Thought I'd drap on down to see if you didn't need any help." "None, thanks, Mr. Thomas," the cattleman answered dryly. "Well, you never can tell." The prospector nodded genially to Shorty, then spoke again to the man with the rifle. "Found any clue to the hold-up yet?" "We've found the men who did it," replied Crawford. "Knew 'em all the time, I reckon," scoffed Shorty with a harsh laugh. Dave drew his chief aside, still keeping a vigilant eye on the prisoners. "We've got to play our hand different. Shorty is game. He can't be bluffed. But Miller can. I found out years ago he squeals at physical pain. We'll start for home. After a while we'll give Shorty a chance to make a getaway. Then we'll turn the screws on Miller." "All right, Dave. You run it. I'll back yore play," his friend said. They disarmed Miller, made him saddle two of the horses in the corral, and took the back trail across the valley to the divide. It was here they gave Shorty his chance of escape. Miller was leading the way up the trail, with Crawford, Thomas, Shorty, and Dave in the order named. Dave rode forward to confer with the owner of the D Bar Lazy R. For three seconds his back was turned to the squat cowpuncher. Shorty whirled his horse and flung it wildly down the precipitous slope. Sanders galloped after him, fired his revolver three times, and after a short chase gave up the pursuit. He rode back to the party on the summit. Crawford glanced around at the heavy chaparral. "How about off here a bit, Dave?" The younger man agreed. He turned to Miller. "We're going to hang you," he said quietly. The pasty color of the fat man ebbed till his face seemed entirely bloodless. "My God! You wouldn't do that!" he moaned. He clung feebly to the horn of his saddle as Sanders led the horse into the brush. He whimpered, snuffling an appeal for mercy repeated over and over. The party had not left the road a hundred yards behind when a man jogged past on his way into the valley. He did not see them, nor did they see him. Underneath a rather scrubby cedar Dave drew up. He glanced it over critically. "Think it'll do?" he asked Crawford in a voice the prisoner could just hear. "Yep. That big limb'll hold him," the old cattleman answered in the same low voice. "Better let him stay right on the horse, then we'll lead it out from under him." Miller pleaded for his life abjectly. His blood had turned to water. "Honest, I didn't shoot Harrigan. Why, I'm that tender-hearted I wouldn't hurt a kitten. I—I—Oh, don't do that, for God's sake." Thomas was almost as white as the outlaw. "You don't aim to—you wouldn't—" Crawford's face was as cold and as hard as steel. "Why not? He's a murderer. He tried to gun Dave here when the boy didn't have a six-shooter. We'll jes' get rid of him now." He threw a rope over the convict's head and adjusted it to the folds of his fat throat. The man under condemnation could hardly speak. His throat was dry as the desert dust below. "I—I done Mr. Sanders a meanness. I'm sorry. I was drunk." "You lied about him and sent him to the penitentiary." "I'll fix that. Lemme go an' I'll make that right." "How will you make it right?" asked Crawford grimly, and the weight of his arm drew the rope so tight that Miller winced. "Can you give him back the years he's lost?" "No, sir, no," the man whispered eagerly. "But I can tell how it was—that we fired first at him. Doble did that, an' then—accidental—I killed Doble whilst I was shootin' at Mr. Sanders." Dave strode forward, his eyes like great live coals. "What? Say that again!" he cried. "Yessir. I did it—accidental—when Doble run forward in front of me. Tha's right. I'm plumb sorry I didn't tell the cou't so when you was on trial, Mr. Sanders. I reckon I was scairt to." "Will you tell this of yore own free will to the sheriff down at Malapi?" asked Crawford. "I sure will. Yessir, Mr. Crawford." The man's terror had swept away all thought of anything but the present peril. His color was a seasick green. His great body trembled like a jelly shaken from a mould. "It's too late now," cut in Dave savagely. "We came up about this stage robbery. Unless he'll clear that up, I vote to finish the job." "Maybe we'd better," agreed the cattleman. "I'll tie the rope to the trunk of the tree and you lead the horse from under him, Dave." Miller broke down. He groveled. "I'll tell. I'll tell all I know. Dug Doble and Shorty held up the stage. I don' know who killed the driver. They didn't say when they come back." "You let the water into the ditch," suggested Crawford. "Yessir. I did that. They was shelterin' me and o' course I had to do like they said." "When did you escape?" "On the way back to the penitentiary. A fellow give the deputy sheriff a drink on the train. It was doped. We had that fixed. The keys to the handcuffs was in the deputy's pocket. When he went to sleep we unlocked the cuffs and I got off at the next depot. Horses was waitin' there for us." "Who do you mean by us? Who was with you?" "I don' know who he was. Fellow said Brad Steelman sent him to fix things up for me." Thomas borrowed the field-glasses of Crawford. Presently he lowered them. "Two fellows comin' hell-for-leather across the valley," he said in a voice that expressed his fears. The cattleman took the glasses and looked. "Shorty's found a friend. Dug Doble likely. They're carryin' rifles. We'll have trouble. They'll see we stopped at the haid of the pass," he said quietly. Much shaken already, the oil prospector collapsed at the prospect before him. He was a man of peace and always had been, in spite of the valiant promise of his tongue. "None of my funeral," he said, his lips white. "I'm hittin' the trail for Malapi right now." He wheeled his horse and jumped it to a gallop. The roan plunged through the chaparral and soon was out of sight. "We'll fix Mr. Miller so he won't make us any trouble during the rookus," Crawford told Dave. He threw the coiled rope over the heaviest branch of the cedar, drew it tight, and fastened it to the trunk of the tree. "Now you'll stay hitched," he went on, speaking to their prisoner. "And you'd better hold that horse mighty steady, because if he jumps from under you it'll be good-bye for one scalawag." "If you'd let me down I'd do like you told me, Mr. Crawford," pleaded Miller. "It's right uncomfortable here." "Keep still. Don't say a word. Yore friends are gettin' close. Let a chirp outa you, and you'll never have time to be sorry," warned the cattleman. The two men tied their horses behind some heavy mesquite and chose their own cover. Here they crouched down and waited. They could hear the horses of the outlaws climbing the hill out of the valley to the pass. Then, down in the cañon, they caught a glimpse of Thomas in wild flight. The bandits stopped at the divide. "They'll be headin' this way in a minute," Crawford whispered. His companion nodded agreement. They were wrong. There came the sound of a whoop, a sudden clatter of hoofs, the diminishing beat of horses' feet. "They've seen Thomas, and they're after him on the jump," suggested Dave. His friend's eyes crinkled to a smile. "Sure enough. They figure he's the tail end of our party. Well, I'll bet Thomas gives 'em a good run for their money. He's right careless sometimes, but he's no foolhardy idiot and he don't aim to argue with birds like these even though he's a rip-snorter when he gets goin' good and won't stand any devilin'." "He'll talk them to death if they catch him," Dave answered. "Back to business. What's our next move, son?" "Some more conversation with Miller. Probably he can tell us where the gold is hidden." "Whoopee! I'll bet he can. You do the talkin'. I've a notion he's more scared of you." The fat convict tried to make a stand against them. He pleaded ignorance. "I don' know where they hid the stuff. They didn't tell me." "Sounds reasonable, and you in with them on the deal," said Sanders. "Well, you're in hard luck. We don't give two hoots for you, anyhow, but we decided to take you in to town with us if you came through clean. If not—" He shrugged his shoulders and glanced up at the branch above. Miller swallowed a lump in his throat. "You wouldn't treat me thataway, Mr. Sanders. I'm gittin' to be an old man now. I done wrong, but I'm sure right sorry," he whimpered. The eyes of the man who had spent years in prison at Cañon City were hard as jade. The fat man read a day of judgment in his stern and somber face. "I'll tell!" The crook broke down, clammy beads of perspiration all over his pallid face. "I'll tell you right where it's at. In the lean-to of the shack. Southwest corner. Buried in a gunnysack." They rode back across the valley to the cabin. Miller pointed out the spot where the stolen treasure was cached. With an old axe as a spade Dave dug away the dirt till he came to a bit of sacking. Crawford scooped out the loose earth with his gauntlet and dragged out a gunnysack. Inside it were a number of canvas bags showing the broken wax seals of the express company. These contained gold pieces apparently fresh from the mint. A hurried sum in arithmetic showed that approximately all the gold taken from the stage must be here. Dave packed it on the back of his saddle while Crawford penciled a note to leave in the cache in place of the money. The note said: This is no safe place to leave seventeen thousand dollars, Dug. I'm taking it to town to put in the bank. If you want to make inquiries about it, come in and we'll talk it over, you and me and Applegate. <h5 id="id01639">EMERSON CRAWFORD</h5> Five minutes later the three men were once more riding rapidly across the valley toward the summit of the divide. The loop of Crawford's lariat still encircled the gross neck of the convict. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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