Читать книгу Jesse James' Desperate Game; Or, The Robbery of the Ste. Genevieve Bank - William) Ward - Страница 6

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YOUNG ROZIER MAKES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

As the members of the posse who had been sent back to the Springs neared the village the clouds of dust kicked up by their horses were seen.

"Here they come! They've got the thieves!" shouted several of the more excitable loungers.

From lip to lip, the word was passed along that the posse was returning with the miscreants who had stolen Consollas' roan and when the horsemen drew rein in front of the merchant's store they were greeted by every man, woman and child who was able to get to the square, on which all the shops were located.

Throwing their reins over their ponies' heads, the volunteers leaped to the ground and ran into Consollas' place of business, never pausing to answer the bombardment of questions hurled at them by the crowd when it was discovered that only part of the posse had returned and without any prisoners.

But the merchant was not in his shop.

"Where's your boss?" snapped one of the men of the frightened clerks who were gathered in one corner, watching the search of the intruders.

"He hasn't been here for two hours or more," responded one of them.

"Don't lie!"

"That's the solemn truth," asserted another. "He has not come back since he left just after Fred."

Satisfied that the employes were not deceiving them, the spokesman of the posse ordered four of his men to remain in the store, against the return of the elder Consollas, telling the others to follow him to the tent where the merchant had made his accusation and had been knocked unconscious by Jesse's terrific blow.

Mystified by the actions of the men who had set out to apprehend the supposed horse thieves, the crowd surged about them as they emerged from the store, demanding enlightenment.

An effective barrier between the posse and their ponies, they resisted the attempts of the men to force their way through.

Flushing with anger, fearing that should he tell them the facts some of the shopkeeper's friends might warn him, giving him the chance to escape, the spokesman consulted with his fellows before replying:

"When we get Consollas we'll tell you everything. The sooner we lay hands on him, the sooner you'll know."

By making the one contingent upon the other, the leader of the posse had still further roused the curiosity of the sojourners at the Springs.

And the shrewdness of the move was quickly apparent.

"Everybody hunt for Consollas," cried a voice from the crowd.

Instantly men, women and children turned and scurried in all directions, bent on locating the storekeeper while the horsemen vaulted into their saddles and dashed for the campground.

But when they arrived at the spot where they had left the unconscious merchant he was nowhere to be seen.

With ejaculations of disappointment they began to question the occupants of the nearby tents.

One after another declared that they had not seen Consollas, explaining that they had either followed the crowd to see the posse start and had only just returned or had been too busy to notice.

In despair, the searchers gave up the task, going back to where they had left their mounts when a little girl ran up.

"I seen the man," she piped in her excited, childish voice, "he got up jes' as the mens rode away. He looked roun' 's though he was lost an' rubbed his head an' felt of his nose. He said an awful word an' got up. I was standin' watchin' him an' when he seen me, he asked what had happened. When I tole him he said some more bad words an' runned into the woods."

By the time the little girl had finished her story she was the centre of an excited throng.

"That settles all chance of getting the sneak for the present," declared the leader of the squad of man-hunters. "All we can do is to wait till he comes back—if he ever does, which I doubt."

"What's the trouble? Tell us what he did!" clamoured the crowd.

"You might as well, Jeff," chorused several of the posse.

Mounting his horse, that he might the better be heard, the man quickly narrated the meeting with the vanished merchant's son, his actions, the appearance of the roan and Fred's confession.

As each amazing statement in the story was made, the people expressed their opinions in no uncertain terms, breaking out into cries for vengeance at its completion.

"Let's sack the shop!" suggested some one.

Eagerly was the idea seized and with angry murmurings, like the growls of some gigantic beast of prey enraged, the crowd started toward the store.

"Hold on!" yelled the spokesman. "Don't do that! We're going to tar and feather Fred and old Consollas—if we can catch him! If you want to do anything, get feathers. We'll take out the tar and a cauldron."

Few of the men and women had ever witnessed such a punishment, and, inspired with the desire to be present, they rushed in all directions, some to get horses and teams to carry them to where the strangers with their prisoner were waiting, others to get feathers, but most of them to strike a short cut to the pasture.

Only one of the Roziers, the son, who bore the same name as his father, a chap about twenty years of age, swelled with the wealth and prestige of his family, had been in the crowd.

As it dispersed, he rushed to acquaint the others with the startling information of the plot and the penalty that was to be inflicted.

With characteristic assumption of prescience, the banker declared that he had always suspected there was a yellow streak in the merchant and set out to find a lawyer that he might attach the goods in the store immediately to protect some notes of Consollas that his bank held.

But to the dainty Sally, the punishment seemed cruel and unmerited.

"I'm going out to see if I can't save Fred," she announced, springing to her feet and arranging the habit she still wore, after which she gave a few deft touches to her hair.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," contradicted her mother, sharply. "The idea of the presumptuous clout thinking you would marry him!" And she gave a sniff more eloquent than words.

"That's just why I'm going. The poor fellow isn't all there in his head or he would never have thought of such a thing and it isn't right to do such dreadful things to a half-witted creature."

Mrs. Rozier, however, was firm in her refusal to allow her daughter to interfere in the business and her stand was endorsed by her son who protested that Fred had brought ridicule enough on the family without Sally's adding to it by interceding for him.

"Then if I can't go, I'll send a note to Mr. Howard. I don't think he'll refuse my request," she flashed, and, before either her mother or brother could prevent, darted from the house which they had rented in a location close to the square.

"You must go after her, Forman. I never heard of such a thing. If you don't catch her, ride out to where this horrible business is to take place. You can stand beside Mr. Howard and if anyone tries to give him Sally's note you can take it, telling him that it was written in a burst of impulse and that now Sally regrets it and wishes it back unread."

Bidding his mother not to worry, that he would intercept the missive, young Rozier ran to the barn to get his pony and was soon riding hard in the direction of the farm.

Rushing into a store, his sister had begged some paper, ink and an envelope and hurriedly wrote:

"My dear Mr. Howard:

A man so brave as you can afford to be generous to his enemies. Fred is only half-witted and isn't as much to blame as his father.

Won't you please, at the request of the girl whose life you saved, spare the poor fellow the awful punishment?

I'll do anything you ask in return.

Anxiously and gratefully,

Sally Rozier."

Little realizing the rash length to which her sympathetic nature had led her, the girl sealed the envelope, addressed it and darting onto the street, gave it to a man she knew, who was passing, with the request that he give it with his own hands as soon as possible to Mr. Thomas Howard.

Surprised at the entreaty, her acquaintance, nevertheless, promised to deliver it and urged his horse into a fast gallop.

Intent upon recovering the note, young Rozier asked every one whom he overtook if they bore a letter from his sister to Mr. Howard, apparently forgetting that by so doing he was but increasing the scandal he wished to avoid by making the existence of such a communication known.

Those to whom he put the surprising question could truthfully deny all knowledge of the note, which they did, for the messenger was behind the banker's son, and as he rode on, they discussed the latest development with their companions with great gusto.

Arrived at the scene of preparations, young Rozier quickly tied his pony and then took his place by the side of the world-famous outlaw masquerading as Tom Howard.

The members of the posse had returned with the cauldron and tar and each arrival seemed to be provided with a bag of feathers, so rapidly did the pile accumulate.

Standing by the tripod from which the kettle was suspended, Jesse and Frank superintended the melting of the tar while Clell stood guard over the sobbing victim in some underbrush where the bandit-chieftain had sent him that he might be spared the stares and comments of the crowd.

As those whom the banker's son had asked about the note arrived, they quickly informed the others already on the ground, embellishing the news as they saw fit and soon everyone was aware that some communication of importance was on the way concerning Fred Consollas.

Finding the time required for the heating of the tar irksome, the crowd fell to speculating on the contents of the mysterious letter. Some declared it was a plea for mercy, others that it advocated more drastic punishment. The adherents of the former idea offered to back their opinions with coin of the realm and those of the latter persuasion snapped up the money, announcing their willingness to wager more that, if it should prove to be a request for clemency, Howard would not heed it.

So excited did the factions become that they failed to see the messenger approach the outlaw and the banker's son and it was not till they heard the angry voice of the latter exclaim:

"As a member of the family I demand that note before you open it!" that they knew the document had arrived.

Instantly a hush fell on the assemblage and they craned their necks the better to hear and see all that transpired.

Jesse, Frank, the messenger and young Rozier were beside the smoking kettle.

The bearer of the note held it firmly in his hand, resisting the effort of the writer's brother to secure it.

"It was given to me to deliver to Mr. Howard and I shall do so unless he orders otherwise," declared the former.

"Tell him to give it to me," cried young Rozier. "Can't you understand it will com—"

"You'll do more harm by talking than by letting me receive it," interrupted the bandit-chieftain. "You've got everybody listening and watching now."

"I don't care. I will have that letter!" stormed the banker's son.

Angered at the tone of the remonstrant, Jesse quickly put an end to the wrangle by seizing him by the shoulder and sending him spinning into the bushes while with his other hand he took the note from the messenger.

Murmurs of excitement rose from the crowd but they died away as the famous desperado tore open the flap of the envelope.

Taking out the enclosure, Jesse read it carefully, refolded it, put it back in the envelope and placed both in the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

Breathlessly the throng watched Frank approach.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," returned his brother, with a slight quiver of his left eyelid that only Frank could see.

Young Rozier had been within earshot and as the stranger had made his reply, he shook with anger.

He had thought only of the ridicule to which his family would be subjected because of his sister's intercession, but that her appeal should be treated so lightly wounded his pride.

But this pride was destined to a more severe shock when Jesse called:

"Bring up Consollas. The tar's ready!"

"You mean that you refuse a Rozier's request?" snarled the fellow, his rage overcoming his discretion.

"Keep your tongue in your head or I'll give you a coat of feathers, too," snapped the great outlaw. And the expression on his face told the banker's son that he meant what he said and the youth subsided.

In such a state of terror that he could not walk, the victim was dragged to the cauldron by Clell.

The sharp breathing of the spectators proved intense excitement.

Looking over the crowd, Jesse frowned.

"There are so many women 'round that we can't strip him," he exclaimed as he took Consollas by the collar of his coat and swung him to the side of the kettle. "We'll give him a thin coat next his skin and lay it on thick over his clothes. Loosen 'em, Sam; Hal, get some feathers."

Quickly were his commands obeyed.

When all was ready, the world famous desperado, masquerading as Tom Howard, mine owner, reached out his right hand and lifted a ladle full of the redolent tar from the cauldron.

Barely melted, it was not hot enough to more than sting as it touched the skin.

But as Fred saw the black liquid thrust toward his shirt whose collar Clell held open, his terror lent him the strength of a wild man.

Twisting and squirming, he made a grab for Jesse's beard.

With a furious oath, the great outlaw let go the lad's collar and struck him a blow in the face that sent him sprawling into the embers of the fire beneath the kettle.

A gasp of dismay broke from the crowd.

But in a trice Jesse had his victim out of the coals and again brought the ladle to his neck.

Fearing a repetition of his struggle, Frank held him tight.

Quickly the bandit-chieftain poured the molten tar inside his clothes, repeating the movement three times.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, Consollas writhed.

"Close his mouth with feathers, then jam some down into the tar," snapped Jesse.

Quickly, Clell obeyed.

Fred's contortions redoubled. The soft fluffy things got down his throat and he spluttered frantically.

Again was the ladle thrust into the cauldron and the contents thrown on his clothes.

The writhings of the luckless youth amused the crowd and they howled and chuckled with glee.

"Duck him in the kettle," cried a score of voices.

Acting on the suggestion, the famous desperado lifted his victim from the ground and doused him in the tar.

But as he was thrust down into the cauldron, Consollas made a ferocious grab for his tormentor.

And this time his fingers clutched the hair in Jesse's false beard.

Releasing his hold of his coat, the bandit-chieftain seized his wrists in such a terrible grip, boring his spike like thumbs between the cords, that the lad let go with a shriek of agony.

The wires by which the whiskers were attached had held yet the sudden yank had drawn the beard from Jesse's face for an instant before he could bend forward and end the strain.