Chapter IV: Part 4

Stella was watching Bonn, her face white. She was afraid that Bonn might turn, and she knew that Dusty was overdoing his part of it to be sure that Bonn would not look. Shirey had found his gun now, but his arm muscles were uncertain, which made it dangerous for both Dusty and Stella. He weaved on his legs, looking around dazedly, as though not exactly sure of himself. Bonn’s face was distorted with wrath and his knuckles were white in the firelight, as he gripped the heavy Colt pistol.

“---- you!” snapped Bonn. “You fool, do yuh think----”

Came a harsh cackle from Shirey’s lips. He had heard Bonn’s voice and the mists had been swept away from his numbed mind. Bonn jerked forward, as though from an electric shock, but he did not dare to turn. He was as a man paralyzed. Death was behind him--and to turn was to give Dusty a chance for a quick draw. And he knew that Dusty was swift.

“He, he, he, he!” cackled Shirey. “Palo was m’ bunkie, Bonn. Do yuh want to take it in the back or the front?”

From the outside came the thud of another shot.

“Back or the front?” cackled Shirey, “He, he, he! Yo’re a dead man, Bonn. You’ve killed a-plenty--now take yours.”

Bonn whirled, stumbled against the uneven floor, while Shirey’s six-shooter spouted flame in the dim light. Dusty flung Stella aside and dove into Shirey, flinging him back against the wall, where he collapsed.

Came the thud of another shot, and two men seemed to fairly hurtle in sight down the ladder, crashing together at the bottom, fighting, striking. It was young Rand and Wharton. Dusty caught a whirling glimpse of them, as he sprang away from Shirey, and then came the third body, dropping feet first into them.

“Yee-o-o-ow!” came Weary’s yell. “Hookum cow!”

Weary was trying to do a war-dance on Wharton and young Rand and trying to bounce his pistol barrel off their heads at the same time. Dusty ran over to him and grasped Rand by the legs, yanking him out of the mix-up, while Weary confined his attentions to putting Wharton _hors de combat_.

Dusty dragged Rand over near the fire. Rand’s gun had been lost in the scuffle and he looked dazedly up at Dusty, as if not understanding what had happened.

“I kinda hoodled ’em, didn’t I?” crowed Weary, dragging the unconscious Wharton over to the fire.

“One of ’em musta seen me out there and snuck up on me.”

Weary glanced around over the victims and rubbed his chin.

“I reckon it was papa, after e-liminatin’ the rest. Anyway, he tackled me out there on that slidin’ stuff, and I kicked his feet out from under him and took a wing-shot at him as he went over the edge.

“These other two got kinda numerous and I drove ’em back into the hole. Why didn’t yuh come on up the rope? I felt yuh yank hard on it and in a minute yuh let loose of it.”

Rand sat up dazedly and looked around. Realization was coming back to him, and it was not pleasant. Dusty looked at Stella and pointed at Rand.

“Was he the one yuh meant, Stell?”

Stella stared at Dusty, as if not understanding.

“Yuh said yuh loved one of the Sticky Ropes, Stell,” reminded Dusty.

“--I don’t know,” faltered Stella wearily. “They said they were going to kill me. He--” pointing at Rand--“was one of them, Dusty.”

“You don’t love him, do yuh?” queried Weary.

“No! Love that man?”

“Well, yuh never can tell about a woman,” said Weary.

Shirey lifted himself to a half-sitting position and looked around. He was very weak, and his hands groped around, as though searching for something.

“Whatcha want, Snag?” asked Dusty.

Snag looked up vacantly at him.

“M’ gun,” he whispered, “I’ve gotta shoot Bonn. Palo was m’ bunkie.”

“You got him, Snag,” said Dusty. “You got Bonn.”

Snag mouthed a jumble of words--

“Dreamin’--I--shot--Bonn--where’s--gun?”

“You got him,” repeated Dusty.

“Yeah?” Shirey grinned vacantly. “Did I? Good!”

Shirey’s eyes lifted and focused on Stella. The vacant look had vanished now and he seemed to recognize them.

“H’lo, li’l girl! Sheriff! End of the Sticky Ropes, eh? We’re all here, gentlemen. Li’l girl, we lied to you. Your pa ain’t one of us. We lied to git yuh to come here peaceable!”

Then Dusty knew that Stella had not been protecting a sweetheart, but her father; and a warm glow came over him, in spite of his dripping, clammy clothes.

“Yo’re wise in comin’ clean about it, Snag,” he stated.

Snag looked up at Dusty.

“Ol’ Snag ain’t goin’ t’ hang, sheriff. Got m’ ticket to a hotter place than Big Bear. Ain’t goin’ t’ be no cold Winter f’r ol’ Snag. Bonn was the killer, and he’s gone. Ol’ Rand paid the freight. Do the best yuh can with the rest. We thought yuh was a fool, sheriff; but you’re alive and we--ain’t. S’--long.”

The practical Weary picked up a coil of rope and proceeded to hog-tie the captives, but Dusty had seemed to have lost interest in the Sticky Ropes. He was looking at Stella, and for once in his life he was not making faces at her.

“I--I wasn’t no hero, Stell,” he said softly. “I thought yuh loved young Rand, but I didn’t go away and give yuh up.”

Stella looked into the light of the fire for a moment and back into Dusty’s serious face, as she took him by both hands.

“No, you wasn’t a hero, Dusty. You’re just a ---- of a sheriff--and that’s hero enough for me!”

“Aw-w-w-w!” growled Weary disgustedly, but nobody heard him, except Wharton and Rand, and they were not interested.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 20, 1923 issue of Adventure magazine.]