'Firebrand' Trevison
went away, but returned in a few minutes with a canteen, from which he
drank, deeply. The Judge had been without food or water since the night
before, and thirst tortured him. The gurgle of the water as it came out of
the canteen, maddened him.
"I'd like a drink, Trevison."
"Of course. Any man would."
"May I have one?"
"The minute you tell me where that record is."
The Judge subsided. A moment later Trevison's voice floated into the
chamber, cold and resonant:
"I don't think you're in this thing for money, Judge. Corrigan has some
sort of a hold on you. What is it?"
The Judge did not answer.
The sun climbed to the zenith. It grew intensely hot in the chamber. Twice
during the afternoon the Judge asked for water, and each time he received
the answer he had received before. He did not ask for food, for he felt it
would not be given him. At sundown his captor entered the chamber and gave
him a meager draught from the canteen. Then he withdrew and stood on the
ledge in front of the door, looking out into the darkening plains, and
watching him, a conviction of the futility of resisting him seized the
Judge. He stood framed in the opening of the chamber, the lines of his
bold, strong face prominent in the dusk, the rifle held loosely in the
crook of his left arm, the right hand caressing the stock, his shoulders
squared, his big, lithe, muscular figure suggesting magnificent physical
strength, as the light in his eyes, the set of his head and the firm lines
of his mouth, brought a conviction of rare courage and determination. The
sight of him thrilled the Judge; he made a picture that sent the Judge's
thoughts skittering back to things primitive and heroic. In an earlier day
the Judge had dreamed of being like him, and the knowledge that he had
fallen far short of realizing his ideal made him shiver with
self-aversion. He stifled a moan--or tried to and did not succeed, for it
reached Trevison's ears and he turned quickly.
"Did you call, Judge?"
"Yes, yes!" whispered the Judge, hoarsely. "I want--to tell you
everything! I have longed to tell you all along!"
An hour later they were sitting on the edge of the ledge, their feet
dangling, the abyss below them, the desert stars twinkling coldly above
them; around them the indescribable solitude of a desert night filled with
mystery, its vague, haunting, whispering voice burdened with its age-old
secrets. Trevison had an arm around the Judge's shoulder. Their voices
mingled--the Judge's low, quavering; Trevison's full, deep, sympathetic.
After a while a rider appeared out of the starlit haze of the plains below
them. The Judge started. Trevison laughed.
"It's Clay Levins, Judge. I've been watching him for half an hour. He'll
stay here with you while I go after the record. Under the bottom drawer,
eh?"
Levins hallooed to them. Trevison answered, and he and the Judge walked
forward to meet Levins at the crest of the slope.
"Slicker'n a whistle!" declared Levins, answering the question Trevison
put to him. "I mailed the damn letter an' come back on the train that
brought it to him!" He grinned felinely at the Judge. "I reckon you're a
heap dry an' hungry by this time?"
"The Judge has feasted," said Trevison. "I'm going after the record.
You're to stay here with the Judge until I return. Then the three of us
will ride to Las Vegas, where we will take a train to Santa Fe, to turn
the record over to the Circuit Court."
"Sounds good!" gloated Levins. "But it's too long around. I'm for
somethin' more direct. Why not take the Judge with you to Manti, get the
record, takin' a bunch of your boys with you--an' salivate that damned
Corrigan an' his deputies!"
Trevison laughed softly. "I don't want any violence if I can avoid it. My
land won't run away while we're in Santa Fe. And the Judge doesn't want to
meet Corrigan just now. I don't know that I blame him."
"Where's the record?"
Trevison told him, and Levins grumbled. "Corrigan'll have his deputies
guardin' the courthouse, most likely. If you run ag'in 'em, they'll bore
you, sure as hell!"
"I'll take care of myself--I promise you that!" he laughed, and the Judge
shuddered at the sound. He vanished into the darkness of the ledge,
returning presently with Nigger, led him down the slope, called a low
"So-long" to the two watchers on the ledge, and rode away into the haze of
the plains.
Trevison rode fast, filled with a grim elation. He pitied the Judge. An
error--a momentary weakening of moral courage--had plunged the jurist into
the clutches of Corrigan; he could hardly be held responsible for what had
transpired--he was a puppet in the hands of an unscrupulous schemer, with
a threat of exposure hanging over him. No wonder he feared Corrigan!
Trevison's thoughts grew bitter as they dwelt upon the big man; the old
longing to come into violent physical contact with the other seized him,
raged within him, brought a harsh laugh to his lips as he rode. But a
greater passion than he felt for the Judge or Corrigan tugged at him as he
urged the big black over the plains toward the twinkling lights of
Manti--a fierce exultation which centered around Rosalind Benham. She had
duped him, betrayed him to his enemy, had played with him--but she had
lost!
Yet the thought of his coming victory over her was poignantly
unsatisfying. He tried to picture her--did picture her--receiving the news
of Corrigan's defeat, and somehow it left him with a feeling of regret.
The vengeful delight that he should have felt was absent--he felt sorry
for her. He charged himself with being a fool for yielding to so strange a
sentiment, but it lingered persistently. It fed his rage against Corrigan,
however, doubled it, for upon him lay the blame.
It was late when he reached the outskirts of Manti. He halted Nigger in
the shadow of a shed a hundred yards or so down the track from the
courthouse, dismounted and made his way cautiously down the railroad
tracks. He was beyond the radius of the lights from various windows that
he passed, but he moved stealthily, not knowing whether Corrigan had
stationed guards about the courthouse, as Levins had warned. An instant
after reaching a point opposite the courthouse he congratulated himself on
his discretion, for he caught a glimmer of light at the edge of a window
shade in the courthouse, saw several indistinct figures congregated at the
side door, outside. He slipped behind a tool shed at the side of the
track, and crouching there, watched and listened. A mumbling of voices
reached him, but he could distinguish no word. But it was evident that the
men outside were awaiting the reappearance of one of their number who had
gone into the building.
Trevison watched, impatiently. Then presently the side door opened,
letting out a flood of light, which bathed the figures of the waiting men.
Trevison scowled, for he recognized them as Corrigan's deputies. But he
was not surprised, for he had half expected them to be hanging around the
building. Two figures stepped down from the door as he watched, and he
knew them for Corrigan and Gieger. Corrigan's voice reached him.
"The lock on this door is broken. I had to kick it in this morning. One of
you stay inside, here. The rest of you scatter and keep your eyes peeled.
There's trickery afoot. Judge Lindman didn't go to Dry Bottom--the agent
says he's sure of that because he saw every man that's got aboard a train
here within the last twenty-four hours--and Judge Lindman wasn't among
them! Levins was, though; he left on the one-thirty this morning and got
back on the six-o'clock, tonight." He vanished into the darkness beyond
the door, but called back: "I'll be within call. Don't be afraid to shoot
if you see anything suspicious!"
Trevison saw a man enter the building, and the light was blotted out by
the closing of the door. When his eyes were again accustomed to the
darkness he observed that the men were standing close together--they
seemed to be holding a conference. Then the group split up, three going
toward the front of the building; two remaining near the side door, and
two others walking around to the rear.
For an instant Trevison regretted that he had not taken Levins' advice
about forming a posse of his own men to take the courthouse by storm, and
he debated the thought of postponing action. But there was no telling what
might happen during an interval of delay. In his rage over the discovery
of the trick that had been played on him Corrigan might tear the interior
of the building to pieces. He would be sure to if he suspected the
presence of the original record. Trevison did not go for the help that
would have been very welcome. Instead, he spent some time twirling the
cylinder of his pistol.
He grew tired of crouching after a time and lay flat on his stomach in the
shadow of the tool shed, watching the men as they tramped back and forth,
around the building. He knew that sooner or later there would be a minute
or two of relaxation, and of this he had determined to take advantage. But
it was not until sound in the town had perceptibly decreased in volume
that there was any sign of the men relaxing their vigil. And then he noted
them congregating at the front of the building.
"Hell," he heard one of them say; "what's the use of hittin' that trail
_all_ night! Bill's inside, an' we can see the door from here. I'm due for
a smoke an' a palaver!" Matches flared up; the sounds of their voices
reached Trevison.
Trevison disappointedly relaxed. Then, filled with a sudden decision, he
slipped around the back of the tool shed and stole toward the rear of the
courthouse. It projected beyond the rear of the bank building, adjoining
it, forming an L, into the shadow of which Trevison slipped. He stood
there for an instant, breathing rapidly, undecided. The darkness in the
shadow was intense, and he was forced to feel his way along the wall for
fear of stumbling. He was leaning heavily on his hands, trusting to them
rather than to his footing, when the wall seemed to give way under them
and he fell forward, striking on his hands and knees. Fortunately, he had
made no sound in falling, and he remained in the kneeling position until
he got an idea of what had happened. He had fallen across the threshold of
a doorway. The door had been unfastened and the pressure of his hands had
forced it inward. It was the rear door of the bank building. He looked
inward, wondering at Braman's carelessness--and stared fixedly straight
into a beam of light that shone through a wedge-shaped crevice between two
boards in the partition that separated the buildings.
He got up silently, stepped stealthily into the room, closing the door
behind him. He tried to fasten it and discovered that the lock was broken.
For some time he stood, wondering, and then, giving it up, he made his way
cautiously around the room, searching for Braman's cot. He found that,
too, empty, and he decided that some one had broken into the building
during Braman's absence. Moving away from the cot, he stumbled against
something soft and yielding, and his pistol flashed into his hand in
sinister preparation, for he knew from the feel of the soft object that it
was a body, and he suspected that it was Braman, stalking him. He thought
that until he remembered the broken lock, on the door, and then the
significance of it burst upon him. Whoever had broken the lock had fixed
Braman. He knelt swiftly and ran his hands over the prone form, drawing
back at last with the low ejaculation: "He's a goner!" He had no time or
inclination to speculate over the manner of Braman's death, and made
catlike progress toward the crevice in the partition. Reaching it, he
dropped on his hands and knees and peered through. A wooden box on the