Chapter XII: Pecos Takes a Chance

"Was that story of yours a lie?" demanded Motor Matt.

"Well," drawled Pecos, "it wasn't exactly the truth, not as anybody knows of. I gave it to you jest as Murg give it to me, an' it certainly took fine!"

The astounded expression on Matt's face caused Siwash Charley to go into another roar of mirth. It was a very good joke--to Siwash and Pecos Jones. Pecos, riding over to Fort Totten, had claimed to be an honest homesteader, doing his utmost to help a neighbor in distress. The idea of Pecos Jones posing as an honest homesteader still further added to Siwash Charley's enjoyment.

"Isn't Mrs. Traquair at the homestead?" inquired Matt.

"Not onless she went thar o' her own accord--which I don't reckon possible."

"And your claim doesn't join the Traquair quarter section?"

"Oh, but that's rich!" whooped Siwash Charley, wiping his bleared eyes.

When Matt's amazement left him he felt a sense of relief. It was something to know that Mrs. Traquair wasn't in danger, something to feel that he had now only himself to think about.

"I'm hungry," said Pecos Jones, throwing himself down on the shelf. "Got any grub, Siwash?"

"Don't I allers have grub?" returned Siwash. "It's thar in the cupboard, Pecos. Help yerself."

Pecos helped himself to a chunk of beef and a handful of crackers.

"I reckon," he observed as he ate, "I ought ter have a good bit o' money fer what I done, eh, Siwash?"

Siwash Charley immediately grew cold and formal.

"Why, you little wart," he answered, "how much pay d'ye want fer goin 'ter Totten an' back? Ain't sixty dollars enough?"

"It was my work as done the trick," protested Pecos. "I'll bet Murg is givin' you a hull lot more'n sixty cases."

"That's my bizness an' Murg's. Sixty you got, an' sixty's all ye git."

Pecos looked at his diminishing piece of beef reflectively.

"Well," he remarked, "you an' me's allers been good friends, Siwash, so I reckon we needn't ter quarrel. Oh, I come purty nigh fergittin'. On my way here I rode past Jessup's shack. Murg come out an' hailed me an' said he wanted ye ter come over there, right away."

"Thunder! Why didn't ye tell me afore?"

"Ye ain't lost much time. Take yer own hoss, don't put a bridle on mine. My critter's all tired out. How long'll ye be?"

"It won't take me more'n an hour ter go an' come," answered Siwash, picking up his hat. "If Murg don't keep me long, I reckon I'll be back in an hour an' a half. What d'ye think he wants me fer?"

"Give it up. He ain't tellin' me any more o' his bizness than what he has ter."

"No more he ain't, an' I reckon it's a good plan, too. I suppose it's somethin' about that niece o' his. Don't let Motor Matt bamboozle ye. If he gits contrary, thar's Murg's rifle leanin' in the corner."

"I don't need no rifle while I got these," and Pecos patted the handles of two revolvers that showed at his hips.

"Waal, so long, Pecos," said Siwash, moving toward the door. "The ole man may be in a hurry, so I'll tear away."

He disappeared, and Pecos continued to munch his bread and crackers. A few minutes later, through the open door, Matt and Pecos saw Siwash pounding away across the prairie.

Immediately Pecos Jones' manner underwent a change. Stuffing what remained of his crackers and dried beef into his jacket pockets, he ran to the door and watched.

"He's gone," murmured Pecos, "an' I got an hour, anyway. Sixty cases, eh?" he snarled. "What I done's wuth more, an' if Murg won't give it I take it, anyhow."

Without paying the least attention to Matt, who was watching proceedings in amazement, Pecos ran to the wall and dropped down on his knees. Removing the big, flat stone, he threw it to one side and pushed his hand into the secret cache. Presently he drew out the leather pouch and gave a croaking laugh as he shook it over his head and listened to the jingle of gold.

"I'll l'arn 'em ter beat me out o' what's my due!" he cried. "I'll git on my hoss an' dodge away inter the hills. If Siwash kin find me, then he's welcome ter take his money back. Wonder if there's anythin' else in there?"

Again Pecos bent down, thrust his arm into the hole, and drew out a suitcase, mouldy and stained. Pecos weighed it in his hands, shook it, then cast it from him.

"Nothin' there!" he grumbled, and got to his feet.

A thrill shot through Matt. Pecos had seen Siwash counting his money and putting it away in the secret cache. Being a man of no principle, and believing that he had been poorly paid, he had made up his mind to steal all he could get his hands on and leave while Siwash was away at Jessup's.

While he was handling the suitcase Matt had seen, on one end of the mouldy piece of luggage, the letters, "G. F."

There was no doubt but that Siwash Charley was Cant Phillips! No doubt but that this satchel, drawn out of the earthen cache by Pecos, was the dishonored officer's luggage--the very receptacle which had contained the San Francisco plans!

"Pecos!" cried Matt, as the thief darted toward the door.

The man paused.

"I ain't got no time ter bother with you," he answered.

"You got me into this," begged Matt, "and why not set me at liberty?"

"I'm takin' enough from Siwash, I reckon," said Pecos.

"But if it hadn't been for you I wouldn't be where I am now."

"An' if ye wasn't where ye are now," answered Pecos, by a strange process of reasoning, "I wouldn't be entitled ter this!" He shook the jingling pouch.

"I've got money in my pocket----"

"Oh, ye have!" cried Pecos, with a complete change of front. "That's diff'rent."

He pushed the pouch into the breast of his coat and came to the side of the cot.

"I'll give it to you," said Matt, "provided you take the ropes off my hands."

"Ye don't have ter give, my buck, so long as I kin take! I'll not let ye go, but I'll take what ye got an' save Siwash the trouble."

Matt's personal property had not been tampered with by his captors--probably on orders issued by Murgatroyd, who seemed to have his own ideas about how the prisoner should be treated.

Pecos, in feverish haste, bent over Matt and tried to get at his pockets. The tightly drawn coils of the rope interfered. Swearing volubly, he grabbed up Siwash Charley's knife from the table and hacked one of the coils in half.

This cutting of one coil released all the others, and Pecos was free to pursue his search unhindered. With a grunt of exultation he drew a small roll of bills from Matt's pocket, stuffed it into his trousers, and was away like a shot.

Matt had the use of his feet, and, now that the coils securing him to the cot had been severed, he was able to rise to a sitting posture.

For a few moments his brain whirled dizzily. Just as it began to resume its normal condition, a thump of galloping hoofs sounded outside the door, and Matt struggled erect and reeled to the opening.

Pecos Jones was putting his tired horse to its best pace. Odd as it seemed to Matt, he was hurrying in the direction of Sykestown.

Perhaps that was the best course for Pecos to take if he wanted to avoid Siwash. He would not go into the town, but could give it a wide berth, and make for regions to the southward.

Weak and tortured with his numbed limbs, Matt sank down on the earthen shelf.

Bound though he was, Matt knew he could escape. Siwash, as yet, had not been gone half an hour. He would certainly be back in an hour, full of wrath and eager for revenge.

Matt did not believe that Murgatroyd had sent for Siwash, but that Pecos had told the story simply to get the other out of the way while the robbery was being perpetrated. If this was true--and Matt felt positive that it was--the fury of Siwash would pass all bounds.

It would be better for Matt not to be there when Siwash returned, but there was Goff Fortescue's suit case. Matt felt that he was in duty bound to take it with him, and this he could not do unless he had the use of his hands.

How was he to free himself? The knife lay on the floor where Pecos had dropped it--and the knife suggested possibilities.

Getting up from the shelf, he walked over to the knife and knelt with it between his feet; then, with his numbed fingers, he fumbled for the blade, lifted it upright, and shoved his feet together with the knife between his heels, edge side out.

This manoeuvre took time, for Matt had to try again and again, but at last the blade had a fairly rigid support, with the handle between his heels and the back of the knife against his body.

After resting a moment--for the work, so trifling in the telling, had brought into torturing play every muscle--he pushed the wrist cords up and down the sharp edge. He cut himself slightly--it was impossible to avoid that--but the cords were severed, and, with a groan of relief, he drew his swollen hands around in front of him.

Almost fagged, he fell over upon the floor, feebly rubbing his arms to restore circulation. While he was thus engaged, the beat of hoofs, coming swiftly and the sound rapidly growing in volume, reached him.

Siwash Charley! was the thought that darted through his brain. It did not seem possible that the man had been gone an hour.

It was too late, now, to leave the dugout, and Matt got up and staggered to the door. For a moment he stood there, looking. He was seen, and a furious yell came echoing across the prairie. There was no doubt of the approaching horseman being Siwash Charley.

The crack of a revolver was heard, and a bullet thumped spitefully into the woodwork of the door frame.

Matt drew back, closed the door, and shoved the bolt.

Right then and there he and Siwash Charley would have out their little differences. But Siwash was not the only one of the two who was armed.

Matt remembered the rifle which belonged to Murgatroyd, and to which Siwash had called Pecos Jones' attention. Pecos, in his haste, had left without it, and Matt now hurried to the corner and picked it up; then, returning to the door, he crouched there and waited.