the trouble here shouting an order to the others. Do you recall anything peculiar about his voice?”
“Yes, I did,” Swivel-eye conceded. “Sorta unusual voice—sounded like it had bells in it.”
“Thank you,” Slade said and did not comment further.
“I’ll send over a snort,” said Swivel-eye and headed back to the far end of the bar.
“Well?” the sheriff asked, gazing curiously at El Halcón.
“It was Sosna, all right,” Slade said. “He has the kind of a voice that once you hear you never forget. Swivel-eye described it quite aptly when he said it sounded like it had bells in it. It does have bell tones. Yes, as I said before, that antic, if it’s the right word for it, had the Sosna touch.”
Just about that time, had the sheriff and Slade known it, another “antic” was building up that most certainly had the Sosna touch.
THREE
A STAGE COACH ran from Tascosa to Amarillo—Tascosa, the former “Cowboy Capital of the Plains,” before the hoped-for railroad bypassed it. A dying town that before many years would be little more than a memory.
But Tascosa wasn’t dead yet, quite a ways from it, and its shops and saloons still did plenty of business. In consequence, the stage often packed quite a considerable sum of money in a locked strongbox, bound for an Amarillo bank.
With the Canadian Valley, a terrain favorable to the depredations of outlaws, crossed without mishap, and Amarillo not many miles ahead, the stage rolled along blithely, approaching one of the few stands of thick chaparral, with occasional trees, that flanked the trail. Beyond the chaparral was the open, treeless prairie.
On the high seat, an alert guard sat beside the driver, shotgun across his knees. A rifle leaned against the driver’s knee. Both were conscious of the strongbox inside the locked coach; there were no passengers today, but that strongbox packed a hefty sum of dinero. Now, however, nearing Amarillo as they were, guard and driver relaxed a bit, conversing animatedly, their subject the anticipated night in town.
The stage entered the chaparral belt and a few minutes later careened around a bend.
“Look out, Prate!” the guard shouted.
The driver hauled back hard on the reins. Directly in front, the motionless body of a man lay face-downward across the middle of the trail. Nearby stood a saddled and bridled horse that gazed at the prostrate form and held up one foreleg.
The stage jolted to a halt, the prancing lead horses almost on top of the body. Overhead a tree arched its heavy branches and thick foliage across the trail.
“Cayuse has a busted leg—must have fallen and pitched the jigger on his head!” the guard exclaimed excitedly. “Looks like his neck’s busted. I’ll—” he glanced up as a slight rustling sounded over his head. An instant too late.
From the screen of leaves overhead whisked two tight loops. They encircled the shoulders of guard and driver and were instantly jerked taut. The unfortunate pair were snaked from the seat, shotgun and rifle clattering to the ground, and hung yelling and cursing and kicking, but helpless.
From the encroaching growth bulged three masked men. The “dead man” in the trail leaped erect and also proved to be masked.
“Stop your blasted kicking and be still if you don’t want to stay still forever,” boomed the taller of the group. The double click of a cocking gun emphasized the order.
The driver and the guard hung rigid, hardly daring to breathe, swaying gently back and forth like spiders on a web-thread. Two more masked men slid down the tree trunk, chuckling and casting derisive glances at the hogtied pair.
A couple of shots smashed the stage’s door lock. The strongbox was hauled out. A couple more shots opened it, revealing packets of bills and rolls of gold coin.
Two of the robbers dashed into the brush to return a few moments later with saddled and bridled horses. The money was transferred to saddle pouches. The “dead man” cut the thin cord that had held up his horse’s front hoof to simulate a broken leg. All six mounted and turned their horses west.
The tall leader lingered a moment, gazing speculatively at the shivering guard and driver and fingering his cocked gun. Then he uncocked and holstered the iron.
“Hang aound for a while, gents, and enjoy the scenery,” he said with sardonic humor and galloped after his companions.
It took the furious pair some little time to free themselves and drop to the ground. They retrieved their fallen arms, climbed onto the seat and, raving and cursing, sent their rifled vehicles roaring to Amarillo.
Slade and the sheriff were still sitting in the Trail End, discussing cups of steaming coffee, when the driver and guard stormed in and business came to a standstill.
“The blankety-blank-blanks!” howled the driver. The guard mouthed incoherent profanity.
“What the devil’s the matter with you two?” shouted the sheriff. “What’s wrong—what happened?”
The story came out, vividly spiced with cuss words. Sheriff Carter outs wore them both.
“Did you ever hear tell of such a pair of terrapin-brains?” he demanded of Slade, after he had caught his breath.
“An old trick, but it works,” the Ranger replied. He turned the full force of his cold gray eyes on the excited pair and they fell silent.
“How far from Amarillo were you when it happened?” he asked.
“Just a few miles,” replied Prate, the driver. “Took us less than half an hour to get here; we came fast.”
“But not fast enough so far as you’re concerned, I’d say,” Slade remarked to the sheriff. “If they headed west, they’re in Oldham County by now, the chances are. So I guess you’d better wire ahead and send word to Sheriff Davenport telling him what happened and to be on the lookout for the hellions. Not that it’s likely to do him much good; chances are they’ll slide into the Canadian Valley and make for a hole-up somewhere. Sosna knows the Valley like the palm of his hand.”
“I’m sure hoping for a chance to get my hands on him,” growled the sheriff, “It happened in my bailwick.”
“Maybe you will,” Slade comforted him.
“Any notion how much they got?” he asked the driver.
“I don’t know, but I figure it was plenty,” Prate replied.
“Shipment to the bank here?”
“That’s right.”
“Better notify the bank officials, too, without delay,” Slade said to Carter.
“I will,” replied the sheriff. “Come along with me?”
“If you wish me to,” Slade agreed, rising to his feet.
“Take care of you later, Swivel,” the sheriff said. They left the saloon
