The gentleman was there.
"All right?" asked Perrine, thrusting his head through the door.
"Come in."
"Nobody saw me," volunteered Perrine, standing in front of Woolfridge. As tough a character as he was, he never ventured to sit down in the presence of Woolfridge unless the latter asked him, which was seldom.
"I am relaxing my precautions," replied Woolfridge. "It becomes less important—secrecy. Very shortly now this country will know just exacty where I stand."
"Well, then, let me take charge of this party to-night. Yuh been holdin' me off long enough. Chaffee's my game."
"I see his friends have come to town. What for?"
"To get him out," said Theodorik Perrine, his great jowls snapping. "But we got 'em stopped. Outnumbered. If they start a play they're sunk."
Woolfridge absorbed the news. "Any idea how they'll go about getting him free?"
"No, I ain't. But they can't make a move without exposin' themselves."
"Then," said Woolfridge, biting into the words, "why not let them try?"
"Never thought about it."
"I have." Woolfridge rose, smoothing the lapels of his coat carefully. The chubby cheeks squared, the businesslike blandness fell away. There was a queer, shuttering light in his normally expressionless eyes. "I have thought of it a great deal. It is much better to let the gentleman break jail and be shot down than to take him out and hang him. In the former case he is legally killed. In the latter we are going pretty strong. It might trip us up later. Stirrup S is working nicely into the whole thing. Are you sure you can control the situation?"
"You bet."
"Chaffee is a dangerous man. He knows entirely too much. More to the point, he is the kind of a free agent I don't want on my trail. He possesses more initiative and imagination than I care about. I repeat, he is dangerous, both for what he has found out and for what he will find out if he gets clear."
"He won't," said Perrine, shutting his massive jaws on the words.
"Then let them try to make the jail break. And take care of Chaffee when he shows himself outside the cell. That is all."
"Now have you birds got this all clear?"
Mack Moran and the rest of the Stirrup S crew stood in the deep darkness of the rodeo stands, rehearsing the event about to take place. Horses moved restlessly behind them, long lengths of rope lay on the ground. "We can't afford to have any mistakes. One horse here. One horse down the alley by Tilton's. Spec, you take care of that. Gil climbs the eatin' place, crosses the Red Mill room, and swarms up the courthouse turret dingbat, draggin' ropes behind. Got it all straight, Gil?"
"Yeah. Some harder to do than that time in Arizona. Roof is crooked. But I'll make it."
"All right Lin Tavish, you follow Gil along the roofs to keep the ropes from kinkin' up. McDermitt is on the ground, holding to the loose ends of said ropes, ready to dally 'em. I'm busy with the horses. McDermitt and me does the business of jerkin' the bars loose. Rufus, Baldy, and Ed Wing go along back there with us to do any necessary shootin' that comes to a head. Which leaves thirteen to ride hell bent down the street to the front of the courthouse when the time comes and draw everybody's attention thataway. You gents wait right here until the signal goes. Gil does his job, eases back from the roofs, and walks out to the middle of the street. And howls like he's poisoned. That's the signal for all of us. You come in, make a lot of noise, and bluff the sheriff. We do our duty at the back. Jim gets out. And him and me breaks for the brush. You boys stick around to cover us while we get a head start. There's the dope."
Somebody came into the field afoot, breathing hard. "Its Chitty," said the arrival, identifying himself.
"What'd yuh find?" asked Mack.
"Them fellows is movin' around town like they smelled a skunk," replied Chitty.
"Which is natural," observed Mack. "They know we're up to somethin'. We can't hide that. Only they don't know which way we aim to bust. What else?"
"Far as I can make out," proceeded Chitty, "they's about four- five back there guardin' the winda. Must be a whole dozen hangin' around the courthouse steps. And about the same number just moochin' here and there. All over the premises."
Mack drew a breath, speaking quietly. "I guess we're set. Let's go."
He moved away, trailed by the six who were to do the main job in back of town. They made a wide detour of the street end, going a quarter mile into the open desert and cautiously closing in upon the south side of Roaring Horse. Past a corral, past sagging sheds and around all the junk and litter of twenty years' making. A light sprang suddenly out of a hotel window and nearly transfixed them; they fell away and skirted a mountain of dry- goods boxes. Directly against the malodorous rear porch of the restaurant they came to a halt. Mack bent. Gil Daugherty stepped on Mack's cupped hands. A small "hup" exploded from Mack, and Gil shot upward, twisted across shingled eaves, and was lost in the velvet shadows. Rope payed out with a soft snoring murmur. "Goin' back now," whispered Mack and disappeared.
He had elected to make the trip twice in order to keep in touch with both groups and see that nothing went wrong. The bulk of the Stirrup S crew waited with an increasing skittishness in the rodeo field. "I'm takin' my horse, and I want Spec's buckskin. It's the best of the lot, and Jim'll need it. Correct?"
Evidently it was correct. One of the bunch wanted to know what to do if the whole gang got split up following the fireworks. "Every man for himself," decided Mack. "But figger to meet on the road home at about Chickman's creek. And stay home. They might come there and try to burn the outfit. I'm goin'." He took the horses and followed a still wider detour around to the south side. This time he avoided the back of the hotel entirely and left the ponies standing a good fifty yards distant, himself closing on McDermitt and the others. McDermitt was softly cursing. "Damn' rope fouled once. Lin come all the way back to clear it. He's got all I can give him now." This much in a pungent, nervous whispering. Mack moved off, crawling along the end wall of the Red Mill. A hundred yards farther, cloaked in darkness and silence, were the guards. It seemed to him they were unusually silent. That worried him. He returned to McDermitt.
"Think it's done," was the latter's sibilant whisper. "Judas, I'm wringin' wet!"
Lin Tavish dropped down from the roof. Another minute and old Gil Daugherty followed, badly winded. "Fixed."
"Wait." Mack groped to the horses and brought them in. McDermit dallied a rope end to each horn. "All right."
Mack had trouble in keeping his words muffled. "Ed, Rufe, Baldy—yore turn now. Inch around to the far side of the courthouse. When the boys larrup down the street you start shootin' high. Draw the attention of them guards offen the window. Yuh got three minutes to make it."
Those three minutes dragged interminably. The night seemed to be full of extraordinary sounds, yet nothing emerged from the area around the window. Mack sighed. McDermitt swore. Gil muttered, "Time now?"
"Yeah." More waiting while Gil threaded the alley. Yet as they swung into the saddles they heard the wild Apache yell of Gil Daugherty ringing like a trumpet over the housetops and sounding down the street. The echoes of it were still alive when the main body of Stirrup S came thundering in. Guns were out; the beat of shots surged one into another. The clamor rose; those dark shadows pulsed to shrill cries of defiance launched along with the fusillade. All this swirled and smashed along the street and back through the alleys; then gathered into a whirlpool of fury in front of the courthouse.
"Now!" breathed Mack.
"Let's go!"
The three men over at a corner of the courthouse opened fire in unison, waking an immediate and vicious response. The horses walked five yards before the rope set a tension on the horns. "Now," repeated Mack. "Into 'er!" Spurs sank. Beyond, the gun reports spat and crashed, wood popped, and Luis Locklear was shouting angrily. Behind the courthouse a pitched battle seemed to be in session.
"She's