HELL STARTS
Between twilight and dark Whistling Dan entered Elkhead.
He rose in the stirrups, on his toes, stretching the
muscles of his legs. He was sensing his strength.
So the pianist before he plays runs his fingers up
and down the keys and sees that all is in tune and
the touch perfect.
Two rival saloons faced each other at the end of the
single street. At the other extremity of the
lane stood the house of deputy sheriff Rogers, and
a little farther was the jail. A crowd of horses
stood in front of each saloon, but from the throngs
within there came hardly a sound. The hush was
prophetic of action; it was the lull before the storm.
Dan slowed his horse as he went farther down the street.
The shadowy figure of a rider showed near the jail.
He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely.
Another, another, another horseman showed—four
in sight on his side of the jail and probably as many
more out of his vision. Eight cattlemen guarded
the place from which he must take Lee Haines, and
every one of the eight, he had no doubt, was a picked
man. Dan pulled up Satan to a walk and commenced
to whistle softly. It was like one of those sounds
of the wind, a thing to guess at rather than to know,
but the effect upon Satan and Black Bart was startling.
The ears of the stallion dropped flat on his neck.
He began to slink along with a gliding step which
was very like the stealthy pace of Black Bart, stealing
ahead. His footfall was as silent as if he had
been shod with felt. Meantime Dan ran over a plan
of action. He saw very clearly that he had little
time for action. Those motionless guards around
the jail made his task difficult enough, but there
was a still greater danger. The crowds in the
two saloons would be starting up the street for Haines
before long. Their silence told him that.
A clatter of hoofs came behind him. He did not
turn his head, but his hand dropped down to his revolver
butt. The fast riding horseman swept and shot
on down the street, leaving a pungent though invisible
cloud of dust behind him. He stopped in front
of Rogers’s house and darted up the steps and
through the door. Acting upon a premonition, Dan
dismounted a short distance from Rogers’s house
and ran to the door. He opened it softly and
found himself in a narrow hall dimly lighted by a
smoking lamp. Voices came from the room to his
right.
“What d’you mean, Hardy?” the deputy
sheriff was saying.
“Hell’s startin’!”
“There’s a good many kinds of hell.
Come out with it, Lee. I ain’t no mind
reader.”
“They’re gettin’ ready for the big
bust!”
“What big bust?”
“It ain’t no use bluffin’.
Ain’t Silent told you that I’m on the
inside of the game?”
“You fool!” cried Rogers. “Don’t
use that name!”
Dan slipped a couple of paces down the hall and flattened
himself against the wall just as the door opened.
Rogers looked out, drew a great breath of relief,
and went back into the room. Dan resumed his
former position.
