BILL JUSTIFIES HIS CREATION
BILL HOWLAND along the stage route, Ford’s Station in his rear. He rolled through the on of wheels, through the Limping Water, it and muddy, and up the opposite bank with a rush. Before him was a of a dozen miles, level as a table, and then the a country and and through and and around of formation. This for ten miles, and the last cut through a of rock, called the Backbone, which in from twenty to feet, smooth, and on its face. This and from the big twenty miles the to a branch of the Limping Water, fifteen miles above. And in all the thirty-five miles there was but a single opening, the one used by Bill and the stage.
61In the level plain Bill see for miles to either of him, but when once in the country his view was restricted to yards, and more often to feet. It was here that he trouble if at all, and he through it with a speed which was reckless, to say the least.
He had just the possibility of meeting with Apaches as he into the last long defile, which he was pleased to call a cañon. As he the turn he nearly from his seat in at what he saw. Squarely in the center of the ahead of him was a horseman, who the which had to Jimmy of the Cross Bar-8, and across the cut a piece of timber, one of the trees which were occasionally at that altitude, and it the of the stage. The his on his and a across his saddle, while two Winchesters were on either of his horse. One look the to the driver–The Orphan, the terrible Orphan him!
“Don’t choke–I’m not going to eat you,” the with a smile. “But I’m going to of your tobacco–and you can 62bring me a when you come from Sagetown. Just it up yonder,” pointing to a ledge, “and keep going right ahead.”
Bill looked very much relieved, and in his pocket, which was a most thing to do in a hurry; but The Orphan didn’t move at the play, having the man him and having in his judgment. The hand came out again with a of tobacco, which its owner to the outlaw. After of it in his own and a coin to pay for his pound, The Orphan it again and then moved the tree until it to the road, when he and rolled it aside.
“You right now that you have me or you’ll have some day in this place,” the horseman, moving aside. Bill that at times his memory was too to his own name, and he his sextet. As he out on the plain again he over his and a of when he that the was not in sight. He then a in his so as to be sure to to a half-pound of 63tobacco. A new responsibility, and one which he had before, upon him. He must keep silent–and what a rich for conversations! Talking material which would last him for years must be sealed his memory on of death if he failed to keep it secret.
After an across the open plain, which passed so of his that he it, he into Sagetown with a of speed and the at the station agent, after which he to the his throat.
When he met his Sagetown friends he had to his secret, and his to create a and him.
“You her than usual, Bill,” the casually. “Yore half-an-hour ahead of time,” he added in a as he a bottle and the new arrival.
“Yes, and I had to stop, too,” Bill replied, and then his to save himself.
“That so?” asked old Pop Westley, an habitué of the saloon. Pop Westley had through 64the Civil War and to tell of his experiences, which must have been numerous, for four years of hard campaigning, if one may judge from the that he had to repeat, and yet used them as his d’état in many bouts. “What was it, Injuns?” he asked, at the as if in as to what the driver would choose for his next lie.
“Oh, no,” Bill, for an idea to him out of trouble. “Nope, just had to twenty minutes rollin’ out of the cañon–they must have been a little since I through her the last time. Some of ’em was big, too.”
“I you might a had to kill some Injuns, like you did when they out four years ago,” the gravely. “Tell us about that time you them dozen Apache warriors, Bill,” he requested. “That was a good from what I can remember.”
“Oh, I’ve told you about that so much I’m to tell it again,” the driver, that he just what he had said about it, and sorry that his memory was so to his imagination.
65“Bet you goin’ back,” Johnny Sands, who had not in the Civil War, but who often he had when old Pop Westley was telling of how Mead took Vicksburg, or some other such of history. Pop must have been to a regiment, for he had under every on the Union side.
“You’re on for the drinks, Johnny,” answered Bill promptly, that it would be a to win. “The war-whoops who Bill Howland, and don’t it, neither,” he as he for the door, very to away from that to open their wide about his experience.
“Then The Orphan will you, shore,” came from Pop Westley. Bill jumped and the door so hard that it the building.
He saw that his was being properly and for the return trip, which would not take place until the next day. But a like twenty-four hours had no on Bill under his present of excitement, and he about the coach as if it was his possession, 66the king-bolt, running-gear and with eyes. He wanted no break-down, the Apaches might be north than was their custom. That done he took his and and it, that the magazine was full to the end. Then he had his supper and to bed, not to again meet his friends for of his promise to The Orphan.
At he up the small station and waited for the of the train, which then was a at the meeting place of the rails on the horizon.
The station agent over to him and grinned.
“I I will that line after all, Bill,” he happily. “I that the wanted to word to me in a the other day, and the when he couldn’t. I’ve been for a wire to for three years, and now I she’ll come.”
“I always said you ought to have a line out here,” Bill replied. “Suppose that train should off the some day, what would they do, hey?”
67“Huh, that train goes fast to off of anything,” the station agent. “She’d stop if she a coyote–by gosh! Here she comes now! What do you think of that, eh? Half-an-hour ahead of time, too! Must be trying to up a than she’s had for the last year. She’s three hours late,” he added in bewilderment. “She the world about a month–must have left the day by mistake.”
“Johnny Sands says he her once for ten miles, and it a mile,” Bill, his and yawning. Then he one of his talks, and the agent and left him to himself.
When the train stopped at its destination, after past the station and having to to the platform, three and looked around. Seeing the stage, they ordered their transferred to it and gave Bill a by their appearance.
“Is this the stage which to Ford’s Station?” the asked of Bill.
Bill at his and it from his as he replied.
68“Yes, sir, er–ma’am!” he said, confusedly. “Are you Sheriff’s sister, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Why do you ask? Has anything to him in this country?” she asked in alarm.
“No, ma’am, not yet,” Bill in confusion. “He just didn’t you ’til the next train, ma’am, that’s all. He was going to meet you then.”
“Now, isn’t that just like a man?” she asked her companions. “I that I him I would come on the twenty-fourth. How of him!”
“Yes, ma’am, you did,” Bill, eagerly. “But this is only the twenty-first, ma’am.”
She to notice the and her hand toward the coach.
“Get in, dears,” she said. “I do so it isn’t dirty and uncomfortable, and we have so to go in it, too. Thirty miles–think of it!”
Bill of it, but from correction. If Shields had said it was thirty miles when he it was eighty that was Shields’ affair, and he didn’t to have any unpleasantness. He had offered about the date, and that was for him. Clambering he 69opened the door of the vehicle and then helped the station agent put the and and boxes on the the coach and saw that they were into place. Then he the upon his seat, after it and started on his with a and rush, for this was to be a record-breaker. Shields had said it was thirty miles, and it the driver to make it as as possible.
The of the had else from his mind, The Orphan, and after he had a mile he had a to smoke. Giving his a he it along the top of the coach and the under his arm. Then he for his pouch, and as his closed upon it he and gasped. He had The Orphan’s pound! Swearing and at the close call he had from the anger of a man like the outlaw, he on the with a which the to their ears and in a kicks. But the peace and he around and returned to town.
As he past the station Mary Shields, the 70sheriff’s sister, her out of the door and called to him.
“Driver!” she exclaimed. “Driver!”
Bill his and looked down.
“Yes, ma’am,” he anxiously.
“Are we there already?” she asked.
“Why, no, ma’am, it’s ei–thirty miles yet,” he as he to the ground.
“Then where are we, for goodness’ sake?”
“Back in Sagetown, ma’am,” he replied. “I something,” he added in of the return as he ran toward the saloon.
She to her with a of despair:
“Isn’t it awful,” she asked, “what a terrible thing is? A most habit! Here we are to where we started from and just our driver must have a drink of liquor! Why, we would have been there by this time. I will most speak to James about this!”
“Well, I we may go on now!” she as Bill into again, a in his two hands. “I he of now.”
71Bill, of the he had called forth, the tobacco upon the and to his seat again. The long and as he to the team, and once more they started for Ford’s Station.
The had all they do to keep their seats of the of the stage. Bill, who had always in how near he come to missing and who was at the of over the parts of the with speed, that this was a and most occasion to just what he do in the way of driving. The return to town had his for a record, but he still do some high-class work with the reins. The weight of the on the tail-board him until he that it as a to his Concord kite, and when he learned that he which he had long of doing. The result was by the who, with the which its way in to them, only fast to came to their and pray that they would survive.
As he passed a of organ 72cacti, which he as being his half-way mark, he to behind, and his in a which his in an grasp.
He to his feet, the about his wrists, and the “blacksnake” and and hissed. Its reports like those of a gun, and every time it out a a of and skin. Both of the had and ears, and a terror through the team, their to and red. The driver’s voice, and full, out in blood-curdling whoops, which ended in the of a coyote, well imitated. The of voice and was too much, and the six horses, by the terrible of the and the frightful, howl, and bolted.
Braced on the footboard, and with just the right on the reins, the driver the him, as best he the and ruts, and for a stumble. His had him and his long him in the wind. Bill was frightened, but not for himself 73alone. With all his he was of good timber, and his one was for the under his care. He prayed that they might not be to with the of what them; that they would not learn why the coach so terribly; that the which the window of the coach would not shift and give them a of the danger. Oh, that the held! That the king-bolt, new, thank God, proved the of the to be true! He soon came to the of a three-hundred-yard of perfect road and he a quick glance. Instantly his were to the again, but his brain the picture he had seen, it perfectly and in clearness. He saw that the Apaches were no longer a mile away, but that they had upon him a very little, so very little that only an to have noticed the difference. And he also saw that the group was no longer compact, but that it was already out into the dreaded, crescent, a with the best at the horns, which would to and past the 74coach, closer together until the circle was complete, with the stage as the center.
Another from him, and again and again the and and cracked, and a new of speed was the reward. Well it was that the were the best and most to be on the range. He was on his team, he and his passengers. He not to take up his until the last stand. Oh, if he only had the sheriff, the cool, laughing, with him to against the seat and shoot for his sisters! Already the were him, but he did not know of it. They dropped, as yet, many yards too short, and he not the reports. The wind which and past his ears him that.
A stumble! But up again and without injury, for a master hand the reins, a hand as as the were calculating. Could Bill’s friends see him now their would freeze on open in astonishment. If he nothing more in his life he was his creation. He was doing his best, and doing it well. Long since had left him. He was now only a superb driver, an alert, quick-thinking 75master of his trade. He with a elation, for was he not playing his hand against death? A hand and with no of a lucky draw. All he for was that he be not unlucky and the game of the of a wheel, or the traces, or that new king-bolt; that the splendid, ugly, of his would last until he had the cañon, where the stage would nearly the narrow opening, and where he for rifle!
Within the coach three were in a on the floor. Two would be more proper, the third, a girl of nineteen, was out of her misery, having fainted, which was a to her companions. Thrown from to as if they were in weight, they into one and then into the other, from the of the seat to that of the one. Bruised and and terrified, they prayed for from the up above them.
The driver’s of the turn, which ten miles of the cañon–then he had passed it.
76“Only ten miles more, bronchs!” he shouted, imploringly, beseechingly. “Hold it, boys! Hold it, pets! Only ten miles more!” he until the left-hand leader and its footing. Another of of the saved it from going down, and again the out in all of its acute, quavering, hair-raising mournfulness. The again and again and struck, and another of speed him.
His out to his horses, as he what speed they were making and had been for so long a time, and he to them than they had if they him safely to the mouth of the cañon.
A second glance, from him of the at his back, if it was the last thing he did he must look him as a child looks into the of the room, his to be with smiles, and sincere. He in his at what he saw, dancing up and of his footing, his with a almost criminal, as he the high up in the air. 77Again and again the whistling, length of and and cracked, and until the reports almost merged. He his and laughed wildly, hysterically, and as only a man can when of a terrible tension; the of the icy, of Death along his ceased, and there came to him of life and vengeance. Turning again he the length of his at the Apaches, the rifle-like reports at their faces, them in words; hot, joyous, cynical, fresh from the of him, with his hatred; venomous, contemptuous, scathing, too to be over-profane.
“Come on, d––n you! Your to h–l is now! Come on, you wolves! You cheap, vultures! Come on! Come on!!” he yelled, well out of his from the reaction. “Yes, yell! Yell, d––n you!” he as they to his taunts. “Yell! Shoot your while you can, for you’ll soon be so full of lead you’ll stop forever! Come on! Come on!”
They came. All their were toward the that them. They 78not catch his words, but their at what they see. Dust in huge, low clouds them, and they for a time, but only for a time, for their had many miles in the last days and were and without their of food. But they to their on the coach, although at the they were was their skill.
Puffs of from the plain in of the team and it, and a of past the driver’s ear. A long, appeared in the end of the seat and to in the of the stage. One bullet, closer than the others, almost the from the driver’s hands as it the end of leather which in the air. Its him to turn again and his cautery, in his from the of his madness.
“Hi-yi! Whoop-e-e!” he at his straining, sextet. “Keep it up, bronchs! Hold her for ten minutes more, boys! We’ll win! We’ll win! We’ll laugh them into h–l yet! We’ll on their painted faces! Keep her steady! 79You’re all right, every d––d one of you! Hold her steady! Whoop-e-e!”
A new had cards, and the new play his cards than any two men under that washed-out, sky.
