The Max Brand Megapack. Max Brand

all after blood.”

      “An’ my blood if they don’t get Haines!” broke in the deputy sheriff.

      Hardy grunted.

      “They sure are,” he said. “I’ve heard ’em talk, an’ they mean business. All of ’em. But how’d you answer to Jim Silent, Rogers? If you let ’em get Haines—well, Haines is Silent’s partner an’ Jim’ll bust everything wide to get even with you.”

      “I c’n explain,” said Rogers huskily. “I c’n show Silent how I’m helpless.”

      Footsteps went up and down the room.

      “If they start anything,” said Rogers, “I’ll mark down the names of the ringleaders and I’ll give ’em hell afterwards. That’ll soothe Jim some.”

      “You won’t know ’em. They’ll wear masks.”

      Dan opened the door and stepped into the room. Rogers started up with a curse and gripped his revolver.

      “I never knew you was so fond of gun play,” said Dan. “Maybe that gun of yours would be catchin’ cold if you was to leave it out of the leather long?”

      The sheriff restored his revolver slowly to the holster, glowering.

      “An’ Rogers won’t be needin’ you for a minute or two,” went on Dan to Hardy.

      They seemed to fear even his voice. The Wells Fargo agent vanished through the door and clattered down the steps.

      “How long you been standin’ at that door?” said Rogers, gnawing his lips.

      “Jest for a breathin’ space,” said Dan.

      Rogers squinted his eyes to make up for the dimness of the lamplight.

      “By God!” he cried suddenly. “You’re Whistlin’ Dan Barry!”

      He dropped into his chair and passed a trembling hand across his forehead.

      He stammered: “Maybe you’ve changed your mind an’ come back for that five thousand?”

      “No, I’ve come for a man, not for money.”

      “A man?”

      “I want Lee Haines before the crowd gets him.”

      “Would you really try to take Haines out?” asked Rogers with a touch of awe.

      “Are there any guards in the jail?”

      “Two. Lewis an’ Patterson.”

      “Give me a written order for Haines.”

      The deputy wavered.

      “If I do that I’m done for in this town!”

      “Maybe. I want the key for Haines’s handcuffs.”

      “Go over an’ put your hoss up in the shed behind the jail,” said Rogers, fighting for time, “an’ when you come back I’ll have the order written out an’ give it to you with the key.”

      “Why not come over with me now?”

      “I got some other business.”

      “In five minutes I’ll be back,” said Dan, and left the house.

      Outside he whistled to Satan, and the stallion trotted up to him. He swung into the saddle and rode to the jail. There was not a guard in sight. He rode around to the other side of the building to reach the stable. Still he could not sight one of those shadowy horsemen who had surrounded the place a few minutes before. Perhaps the crowd had called in the guards to join the attack.

      He put Satan away in the stable and as he led him into a stall he heard a roar of many voices far away. Then came the crack of half a dozen revolvers. Dan set his teeth and glanced quickly over the half-dozen horses in the little shed. He recognized the tall bay of Lee Haines at once and threw on its back the saddle which hung on a peg directly behind it. As he drew up the cinch another shout came from the street, but this time very close.

      When he raced around the jail he saw the crowd pouring into the house of the deputy sheriff. He ran on till he came to the outskirts of the mob. Every man was masked, but in the excitement no one noticed that Dan’s face was bare. Squirming his way through the press, Dan reached the deputy’s office. It was almost filled. Rogers stood on a chair trying to argue with the cattlemen.

      “No more talk, sheriff,” thundered one among the cowpunchers, “we’ve had enough of your line of talk. Now we want some action of our own brand. For the last time: Are you goin’ to order Lewis an’ Patterson to give up Haines, or are you goin’ to let two good men die fightin’ for a damn lone rider?”

      “What about the feller who’s goin’ to take Lee Haines out of Elkhead?” cried another.

      The crowd yelled with delight.

      “Yes, where is he? What about him?”

      Rogers, glancing down from his position on the chair, stared into the brown eyes of Whistling Dan. He stretched out an arm that shook with excitement.

      “That feller there!” he cried, “that one without a mask! Whistlin’ Dan Barry is the man!”

      CHAPTER XXIV

      THE RESCUE

      The throng gave back from Dan, as if from the vicinity of a panther. Dan faced the circle of scowling faces, smiling gently upon them.

      “Look here, Barry,” called a voice from the rear of the crowd, “why do you want to take Haines away? Throw in your cards with us. We need you.”

      “If it’s fightin’ you want,” cried a joker, “maybe Lewis an’ Patterson will give us all enough of it at the jail.”

      “I ain’t never huntin’ for trouble,” said Dan.

      “Make your play quick,” said another. “We got no time to waste even on Dan Barry. Speak out, Dan. Here’s a lot of good fellers aimin’ to take out Haines an’ give him what’s due him—no more. Are you with us?”

      “I’m not.”

      “Is that final?”

      “It is.”

      “All right. Tie him up, boys. There ain’t no other way!”

      “Look out!” shouted a score of voices, for a gun flashed in Dan’s hand.

      He aimed at no human target. The bullet shattered the glass lamp into a thousand shivering and tinkling splinters. Thick darkness blotted the room. Instantly thereafter a blow, a groan, and the fall of a body; then a confused clamour.

      “He’s here!”

      “Give up that gun, damn you!”

      “You got the wrong man!”

      “I’m Bill Flynn!”

      “Guard the door!”

      “Lights, for God’s sake!”

      “Help!”

      A slender figure leaped up against the window and was dimly outlined by the starlight outside. There was a crash of falling glass, and as two or three guns exploded the figure leaped down outside the house.

      “Follow him!”

      “Who was that?”

      “Get a light! Who’s got a match?”

      Half the men rushed out of the room to pursue that fleeing figure. The other half remained to see what had happened. It seemed impossible that Whistling Dan had escaped from their midst. Half a dozen sulphur matches spurted little jets of blue flame and discovered four men lying prone on the floor, most of them with the wind trampled from their bodies, but otherwise unhurt. One of them was the sheriff.

      He lay with his shoulders propped against