'Firebrand' Trevison
of the level, straight into the path of the running horse, which at sight
of him slid, reared and came to a halt, snorting and trembling. Trevison
had recognized the girl; he flung himself at the horse, muttering:
"Dynamite!" seized the beast by the bridle, forced its head around despite
the girl's objections and incoherent pleadings--some phrases of which sank
home, but were disregarded.
"Don't!" she cried, fiercely, as he struck the animal with his fist to
accelerate its movements. She was still crying to him, wildly,
hysterically, as he got the animal's head around and slapped it sharply on
the hip, his pistol crashing at its heels.
The frightened animal clattered over the back trail, Trevison running
after it. He reached Nigger, flung himself into the saddle, and raced
after Levins, who was already far down the level, following Rosalind's
horse. At a turn in the butte he came upon them both, their horses halted,
the girl berating Levins, the man laughing lowly at her.
"Don't!" she cried to Trevison as he rode up. "Please, Trevison--don't let
_that_ happen! It's criminal; it's outlawry!"
"Too late," he said grimly, and rode close to her to grasp the bridle of
her horse. Standing thus, they waited--an age, to the girl, in reality
only a few seconds. Then the deep, solemn silence of the night was split
by a hollow roar, which echoed and re-echoed as though a thousand thunder
storms had centered over their heads. A vivid flash, extended, effulgent,
lit the sky, the earth rocked, the canyon walls towering above them seemed
to sway and reel drunkenly. The girl covered her face with her hands.
Another blast smote the night, reverberating on the heels of the other;
there followed another and another, so quickly that they blended; then
another, with a distinct interval between. Then a breathless, unreal calm,
through which distant echoes rumbled; then a dead silence, shattered at
last by a heavy, distant clatter, as though myriad big hailstones were
falling on a pavement. And then another silence--the period of reeling
calm after an earthquake.
"O God!" wailed the girl; "it is horrible!"
"You've got to get out of here--the whole of Manti will be here in a few
minutes! Come on!"
He urged Nigger farther down the canyon, and up a rocky slope that brought
them to the mesa. The girl was trembling, her breath coming gaspingly. He
faced her as they came to a halt, pityingly, with a certain dogged
resignation in his eyes.
"What brought you here? Who told you we were here?" he asked, gruffly.
"It doesn't matter!" She faced him defiantly. "You have outraged the laws
of your country tonight! I hope you are punished for it!"
He laughed, derisively. "Well, you've seen; you know. Go and inform your
friends. What I have done I did after long deliberation in which I
considered fully the consequences to myself. Levins wasn't concerned in
it, so you don't need to mention his name. Your ranch is in that
direction, Miss Benham." He pointed southeastward, Nigger lunged, caught
his stride in two or three jumps, and fled toward the southwest. His rider
did not hear the girl's voice; it was drowned in clatter of hoofs as he
and Levins rode.
CHAPTER XXI
ANOTHER WOMAN RIDES
Trevison rode in to town the next morning. On his way he went to the edge
of the butte overlooking the level, and looked down upon the wreck and
ruin he had caused. Masses of twisted steel and iron met his gaze; the
level was littered with debris, which a gang of men under Carson was
engaged in clearing away; a great section of the butte had been blasted
out, earth, rocks, sand, had slid down upon much of the wreckage, partly
burying it. The utter havoc of the scene brought a fugitive smile to his
lips.
He saw Carson waving a hand to him, and he answered the greeting, noting
as he did so that Corrigan stood at a little distance behind Carson,
watching. Trevison did not give him a second look, wheeling Nigger and
sending him toward Manti at a slow lope. As he rode away, Corrigan called
to Carson.
"Your friend didn't seem to be much surprised."
Carson turned, making a grimace while his back was yet toward Corrigan,
but grinning broadly when he faced around.
"Didn't he now? I wasn't noticin'. But, begorra, how c'ud he be surprised,
whin the whole domned country was rocked out av its bed be the blast! Wud
ye be expictin' him to fall over in a faint on beholdin' the wreck?"
"Not he," said Corrigan, coldly; "he's got too much nerve for that."
"Ain't he, now!" Carson looked guilelessly at the other. "Wud ye be havin'
anny idee who done it?"
Corrigan's eyes narrowed. "No," he said shortly, and turned away.
Trevison's appearance in Manti created a stir. He had achieved a double
result by his deed, for besides destroying the property and making it
impossible for Corrigan to resume work for a considerable time, he had
caused Manti's interest to center upon him sharply, having shocked into
the town's consciousness a conception of the desperate battle that was
being waged at its doors. For Manti had viewed the devastated butte early
that morning, and had come away, seething with curiosity to get a glimpse
of the man whom everybody secretly suspected of being the cause of it.
Many residents of the town had known Trevison before--in half an hour
after his arrival he was known to all. Public opinion was heavily in his
favor and many approving comments were heard.
"I ain't blamin' him a heap," said a man in the _Belmont_. "If things is
as you say they are, there ain't much more that a _man_ could do!"
"The laws is made for the guys with the coin an' the pull," said another,
vindictively.
"An' dynamite ain't carin' who's usin' it," said another, slyly. Both
grinned. The universal sympathy for the "under dog" oppressed by Justice
perverted or controlled, had here found expression.
It was so all over Manti. Admiring glances followed Trevison; though he
said no word concerning the incident; nor could any man have said, judging
from the expression of his face, that he was elated. He had business in
Manti--he completed it, and when he was ready to go he got on Nigger and
loped out of town.
"That man's nerve is as cold as a naked Eskimo at the North Pole,"
commented an admirer. "If I'd done a thing like that I'd be layin' low to
see if any evidence would turn up against me."
"I reckon there ain't a heap of evidence," laughed his neighbor. "I expect
everybody knows he done it, but knowin' an' provin' is two different
things."
A mile out of town Trevison met Corrigan. The latter halted his horse when
he saw Trevison and waited for him to come up. The big man's face wore an
ugly, significant grin.
"You did a complete job," he said, eyeing the other narrowly. "And there
doesn't seem to be any evidence. But look out! When a thing like that
happens there's always somebody around to see it, and if I can get
evidence against you I'll send you up for it!"
He noted a slight quickening of Trevison's eyes at his mention of a
witness, and a fierce exultation leaped within him.
Trevison laughed, looking the other fairly between the eyes. Rosalind
Benham hadn't informed on him. However, the day was not yet gone.
"Get your evidence before you try to do any bluffing," he challenged. He
spurred Nigger on, not looking back at his enemy.
Corrigan rode to the laborers' tents, where he talked for a time with the
cook. In the mess tent he stood with his back to a rough, pine-topped
table, his hands on its edge. The table had not yet been cleared from the
morning meal, for the cook had been interested in the explosion. He tried
to talk of it with Corrigan, but the latter adroitly directed the
conversation otherwise. The cook would have said they had a pleasant talk.
Corrigan seemed very companionable this morning. He laughed a little; he
listened attentively when the cook talked. After a while Corrigan fumbled
in his pockets. Not finding a cigar, he looked eloquently at the cook's
pipe, in the latter's mouth, belching much smoke.
"Not a single cigar," he said. "I'm dying for a taste of tobacco."
The cook took his pipe from his mouth and wiped the stem hastily on a
sleeve. "If you don't mind I've been suckin' on it," he said, extending
it.
"I wouldn't deprive you of it for the world." Corrigan shifted his
position, looked down at the table and smiled. "Luck, eh?" he said,
picking up a black brier that lay on the table behind him. "Got plenty of
tobacco?"
The cook dove for a box in a corner and returned with a cloth sack,
bulging. He watched while Corrigan filled the pipe, and grinned while his
guest was lighting it.
"Carson'll be ravin' today for forgettin' his pipe. He must have left it
layin' on the table this mornin'--him bein' in such a rush to get down, to
the explosion."
"It's Carson's, eh?" Corrigan surveyed it with casual interest. "Well,"
after taking a few puffs "--I'll say for Carson that he knows how to take
care of it."
He left shortly afterward, laying the pipe on the table where he had found
it. Five minutes later he was in Judge Lindman's presence, leaning over
the desk toward the other.
"I want you to issue a warrant for Patrick Carson. I want him brought in
here for examination. Charge him with being an accessory before the fact,
or anything that seems to fit the case. But throw him into the cooler--and
keep him there until he talks. He knows who broke into the dynamite shed,
and therefore he knows who did the dynamiting. He's friendly with
Trevison, and if we can make him admit he saw Trevison at the shed, we've
got the goods. He warned Trevison the other day, when I had the deputies
lined up at the butte, and I found his pipe this morning near the door of
the dynamite shed. We'll make him talk, damn him!"
* * * * *
Banker Braman had closed the door between the front and rear rooms, pulled
down the shades of the windows, lighted the kerosene lamp, and by its
wavering flicker was surveying his reflection in the small mirror affixed
to one of the walls of the building. He was pleased, as the fatuous
self-complacence of his look indicated, and carefully, almost fastidiously
dressed, and he could not deny himself this last look into the mirror,
even though he was now five minutes late with his appointment. The five
minutes threatened to become ten, for, in adjusting his tie-pin it slipped
from his fingers, struck the floor and vanished, as though an evil fate
had gobbled it.
He searched for it frenziedly, cursing lowly, but none the less viciously.
It was quite by accident that when his patience was strained almost to the
breaking point, he struck his hand against a board that formed part of the
partition between his building and the courthouse next door, and tore a
huge chunk of skin from the knuckles. He paid little attention to the
injury, however, for the agitating of the board disclosed the glittering
recreant, and he pounced upon it with the precision of a hawk upon its
prey, snarling triumphantly.
"I'll nail that damned board up, some day!" he threatened. But he knew he
wouldn't, for by lying on the floor and pulling the board out a trifle, he
could get a clear view of the interior of the courthouse, and could hear
quite plainly, in spite of the presence of a wooden box resting against
the wall on the other side. And some of the things that Braman had already
heard through the medium of the loose board were really interesting, not
to say instructive, to him.
He was ten minutes late in keeping his appointment. He might have been
even later without being in danger of receiving the censure he deserved.
For the lady received him in a loose wrapper and gracefully disordered
hair, a glance at which made Braman gasp in unfeigned admiration.