Hidden guns
Date: 2023-11-16T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Short stories; Criminals -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction

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Title: Hidden guns

Author: Henry W. Patterson

Release date: November 16, 2023 [eBook #72146]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: The Ridgway Company

Credits: Roger Frank and Sue Clark

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDDEN GUNS ***

HIDDEN GUNS

By Henry W. Patterson

Never within the memory of the oldest voyageur had there been such a snowfall in the Trois Lacs country. During the latter part of December and all through January the gray clouds hung low over the tree-tops, pouring down their load of fine crystals with sullen persistency, while the north wind, sweeping through the forest, piled the flying flakes high against all obstacles, driving them firmly into each crack and crevice.

The two trappers on Cañon Creek fought the drifts for many days in an effort to keep their lines clear. At last, however, when they woke one fearfully cold morning to find not only the north window but also the doorway on the other side of the little cabin covered with hard-packed drifts that rose clear to the peak of the squat roof, they laid aside their spruce-wood shovels with a sigh of resignation and relief.

Jim Henderson, gnarled and grizzled by years of life in the wilderness, dug a narrow tunnel to daylight. While he went to the creek and chopped the water-hole clear of ice, his partner, a young tenderfoot named Nick Hartley, cleared the snow from the wood-pile and sent a good number of dry logs down the slanting chute into the cabin. The men then made a final round of the traps and lifted those not already frozen and too deeply buried. Thereafter the daily trip for water and more infrequent attacks on the wood-pile were the only breaks in the dull routine of eating and sleeping.

During the first few days the partners loafed about, enjoying to the full the perfect relaxation that comes with the knowledge that work is for the time being not only futile but practically impossible.

Time passed slowly, however, and gradually the atmosphere of content began to change to one of restlessness. Nick, who had never before been snowed up, was the first to feel the irritability that generally accompanies a long period of enforced inactivity. One morning as he crept down the tunnel behind a pile of firewood he said—

“Seems to me you picked a punk place to build this cabin—right under a bank and only open on the south, where any fool ought to know a north wind’d drift worst.”

Henderson knew very well that he had made a mistake in picking the spot, but he did not care to have the fact called to his attention.

“Oh, I did, did I?” he flared in sudden heat. “Well, it’s comf’table, ain’t it? I ain’t noticed you packin’ up yet. Durned glad to come in here, you was, last Fall. If you don’t like it you know what you can do—an’ where you can go, too!”

“Who said anything about not likin’ it? I didn’t. You know you foozled it when you located here, or you wouldn’t holler like that before you’re hurt.”

“Shut up!” blustered the old man.

“You make me plum tired. If you had any backbone at all, you’d have kept your mouth shut in the first place, an’ not started whinin’ like a kid.”

Nick suppressed a surge of wrath and turned away, lest he rouse his partner’s temper any further. He did not know that this was Henderson’s method of weathering a long snowstorm—a hot argument every now and then to act as a sort of safety valve, relieving the pressure of the bile of boredom before it had accumulated to a dangerous degree.

Henderson made a few more attempts to rouse the younger man, but when he discovered that he could not do it, he too grew silent and increasingly angry. He resented Nick’s attitude, and Nick was quick to note the fact, and to feel a like resentment not unmixed with apprehension as Henderson, his pride forbidding him any longer to rage openly, took more and more to muttering and cursing under his breath.

Nick worried gloomily over the change in his partner, not realizing that a day or so of work on the trap-lines, and a few more pelts added to the pile in the corner, would serve to bring both men back to normal cheerfulness. He sulked and moped, and watched Henderson with hostile eyes.

Such a state of affairs could not continue for long. A belated thaw had at last set in. The snow was ceasing, and a few more days would see a resumption of outdoor work, when a final flare-up occurred. It was late afternoon. Henderson rolled out of his bunk to go to the creek for water and found Hartley gazing at the snow-bound north window. The old man laughed, a sneering, mirthless cackle.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he asked.

Nick had been thinking of digging away enough to let some light into the cabin, now that the snow had stopped drifting, but after that remark he would willingly have died first. He grew red and tried not to notice the question.

“Well, now,” went on Henderson, enjoying the situation, “I always liked that view myself. It’s so much better ’n gazin’ at your sour-bellied features.”

He picked up a pail and his snowshoes and added with elaborate politeness:

“Possibly you could tear yourself away long enough to git some wood? There ain’t any left, as you’ll see if you can wrench your eyes away from that soul-fillin’ picture of Nature at her best.”

This was a long and difficult speech for Henderson, and he felt that he had done a rather neat bit of work in getting it off so smoothly. He chuckled again as he opened the door and started up the tunnel.

When he heard that laugh, something snapped in Nick’s brain. He whirled in a frenzy and rushed to the door.

“By ⸺ I’ve stood all I’m goin’ to from you!” he cried wildly. “You keep out of here or I’ll beat the livin’ lights out o’ you.”

His voice rose to a shriek as he poured out his rage in a flood of vituperation. Henderson, standing at the top of the tunnel, went flaming hot with a fierce joy.

“Come out here an’ say that!” he yelled. “Come out, ⸺ you!”

At that moment Nick, frantically eager to obey the summons, dived into the tunnel. His head and shoulders struck its roof. A slight upward surge as he plunged, and the snow slumped in with a dull rumble. Nick was swept back into the cabin by a miniature avalanche, and Henderson stood staring at the tumbled groove where the tunnel had been.

In the next few instants the old man’s opinion of Nick underwent a radical change. His exhilarating wrath became red fury, born of the conviction that his partner was a coward—who had played a sneaking but effective trick that left Henderson ridiculously helpless. As this realization swept over him he grew dizzy and swayed on his feet, while the veins stood out on his purple neck. When he could control his limbs he floundered to the chimney and began to roar inarticulate masses of blasphemy at the man below. At last he managed to form a coherent sentence.

“Wait!” he bellowed, sobbing. “Great ⸺ just wait ’til I get you! If I don’t rid the earth o’ your ⸺ drivelin’ carcass. Coward! ⸺’s too good for the likes o’ you! Hangin’s too good! Shootin’s too— Oh, gimme my gun! I’ll shoot you down like a yeller dog! I’ll drill you like a sieve! Just wait!”

He surged back to the tunnel as the smoke from the fire strangled him and, snatching up a snowshoe, began to dig furiously.

Nick, listening to this tirade of abuse, began to feel a panicky terror. Henderson’s gasping, choking voice sounded perfectly demoniacal as it reverberated in the chimney, and the frightful threats were delivered with the frenzy of a raving maniac.

The long siege had been too much, thought Nick. The old man had gone suddenly crazy—crazy with the lust for blood. Weren’t the papers always full of stories of men who shot people in bursts of insanity and then grew sane again? If Henderson could get his gun now, he would surely do for him, unless he shot Henderson first— or unless—but he didn’t want to run. He must do something, though!

His partner’s snowshoe was crunching nearer and nearer the snow-filled doorway, while the digger gasped great lungfuls of air into his heaving chest. Nick stood hesitating for another moment, glancing about the dim-lit room while the candle on the mantel spluttered and wavered. Then he ran to the shelf by the bunks and with trembling hands gathered up the two revolvers, the rifle and all the cartridges.

Three minutes later Henderson burst in. Nick stood waiting for him with set face in front of the fire-place. The old man kicked the little pile of snow to one side and shut the door carefully. Then he whirled and charged across the cabin. His partner met him half-way.

The desperate rough-and-tumble fight that followed raged for an hour, all about the little room, under the bunks, almost in the fire. Stools flew everywhere, extra clothing fell from the walls and got tangled up with the writhing swelter of arms and legs, ashes swirled, while the men panted and tugged, punched gasping, short-armed punches, neither giving an inch, seemingly as strong and fresh as ever.

Then of a sudden as they rose together Nick made a terrific effort to hit the old man on the jaw. The old man dodged back sharply and the fist swished harmlessly past. Nick half-turned and stumbled forward, unable to overcome the momentum of the blow. He blundered heavily against Henderson, who had not regained his balance. They crashed to the floor, rolled apart, and lay flat in utter exhaustion.

Henderson at length drew himself with much grunting to a sitting posture. He sighed as his eyes took in the wreckage of the room.

“What a couple o’ durn fools we be, anyway,” he remarked heavily.

Nick rolled over and met his partner’s wry grin with a hoarse chuckle. He too sighed as he surveyed the hodge-podge of furniture and clothes sprinkled with ashes. The old man staggered to his feet and made for the door to let some fresh air into the reeking room. As he stepped over Hartley he stopped and reached down a sweaty hand.

“An’ I figgered you was a coward,” he remarked. “Man, you’re a wild cat!”

“Aw, heck,” said Nick as he grasped the hand and pulled himself erect, “you’d ’a’ done me up easy, if you hadn’t been all in from diggin’. An’ say, Jim,” he snickered again—“I thought you’d gone crazy! Honest I did. I was that scared I—”

Henderson had reached out to unlatch the door when the wooden handle lifted seemingly of its own volition. The heavy door swung inward with a rush, and three men leaped into the shack.

“Put ’em up!” said the leader, greasy-looking and fat.

“What—” began Henderson in utter bewilderment.

Then he caught the gleam of an automatic, and his hands rose reluctantly above his head. Nick, after a suddenly suppressed motion toward the shelf, followed suit dumbly.

The other invaders came forward, each with a snowshoe thong formed into a noose. They deftly slipped these over the upstretched hands, drew them tight with a jerk and tied them.

“Now, then, hands down—way down,” went on the fat man.

The thongs’ free ends were tied with painstaking care to their wearers’ ankles.

“Bring ’em over here where we can look at ’em.”

The fat man walked to the hearth. The prisoners were pushed after him.

“See here,” said Henderson, as his tall, dark jailer finished searching him and started a thorough investigation of the cabin. “What’s the meanin’ o’ this, anyway?”

“Why,” responded the fat man in a confidential tone, “we’re hungry, see? So we decided to ask ourselves to dinner with you and your buddy.”

Nick’s guardian came back from his inspection of the premises.

“Say, Cap,” he said, “there’s plenty of food, all right, but there ain’t no guns here.”

“Have you looked everywhere?”

“Sure, an’ so’s Tony. Why was you so leery o’ jumpin’ these holds?”

“What’d ye jump ’em for anyway?” grumbled Tony.

“I’ll answer both them questions while we rest a bit,” said the fat man indulgently. “As to jumpin’ ’em when they’re fightin’, Perry, you never want to do that. It’s takin’ a chance, because there’s generly a gun that both’s tryin’ to grab, an’ it may go off any time right in your face. An’ Tony, didn’t I give you my reasons for jumpin’ ’em at all before we got here? You’ll know when you’ve been workin’ at this work as long as I have that news can travel fast—mighty fast. How was we to know they wouldn’t recognize us, from a description or somethin’? How was we to know one of ’em wasn’t a bull? An’ lastly, how was we to know but what they might try to stick us up, if we didn’t get the hop on ’em—an’ us just oozin’ cash? We couldn’t answer a one of them questions ’til we seen what was what, could we? Play it safe, boys,” he ended, patronizingly conscious of his superior astuteness, ‘an’ you’ll always come out on top, even if you do make it unpleasant for the other feller sometimes. See?”

He teetered ponderously on the heels of his moccasins and drew forth a silver case.

“Have one?” he offered, holding it out to Henderson and Hartley. “No? Sorry.”

He lit a cigaret with a flourish. The old man paused in his snarling efforts to twist out of his bonds and coughed savagely, but his partner lay quiet, a scared look in his eyes.

“Now,” said the leader of the gang, “let’s rustle some grub. Here—” he stirred Henderson with his foot—“where’s the breadbox?”

“Get your foot off me!” burst out Henderson. “What kind of a game you tryin’ to pull off, anyway? Come into a man’s cabin with your hifalutin’ gabble an’ tie him up. Lemme go!”

“Will you rustle some grub if I do?”

“Not by a durn sight I won’t!” the old man roared. “I’d rustle you an’ your dirty gang to ⸺ out o’ here, if I had a gun!”

“Yeah—if,” taunted the fat man. Then, “Why ain’t you got one?” he snapped suspiciously.

“That young idiot lost it somewheres, that’s why,” gritted Henderson, while the “young idiot” gave fervent though silent thanks for his partner’s quick wit.

The fat man turned to Hartley, who shrank away.

“Well, you goin’ to act nice an’ sociable an’ cook us up some grub? We got to move on pretty quick, an’ it’ll be all for the best if you hustle about it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Nick eagerly. “I’ll do my best for you.”

“Blasted little slob,” muttered Henderson.

“There, that’s something like,” said the fat man heartily.

He was enjoying himself thoroughly. His manner became even more grand as he continued:

“It ain’t every man has the privilege o’ waitin’ on me. I cut quite a figure, down where I come from.” He gestured, his cigaret held jauntily between his pudgy fingers. “Why, me an’ my pals cleaned up a whole fortune in just two hours, not so many nights ago. Oh, it’s all right Perry,” he reassured his companion, who had turned with a warning oath from his task of loosening Nick’s bonds so he could move about. “I doubt if anybody’s goin’ to look for us up this way, an’ I know our friends here won’t squeal on us.”

He leered.

“Tony’s a good pard when it comes to disappearin’, eh Tony?”

He chuckled again, glowing more and more in the light of his own importance as Tony grinned in a pleased way.

“Say,” he said to Nick, who was digging out some meal from the food-box, “hustle that grub, you hear?”

“Yes, sir, I am, as fast as I can,” answered Hartley.

Henderson at this point made a furious effort to free himself, fairly bursting with rage.

“That’s right,” said the fat man, glancing at Henderson with a tolerant smile. “Now let’s fix the fire. Gettin’ a bit chilly, seems to me.”

Nick started toward the fire-place.

“There’s no more wood,” he said.

“Go get some, then, don’t stand there like a fool.”

“I’ll have to dig for it.”

“Better let me go, Cap,” said Perry.

Nick looked at him in ill-concealed relief.

“No!” snapped the fat man, noting the glance. “What the ⸺ are you buttin’ in here for? Let the boy go. He knows where ’t is, an’ I’ll bet my shirt he won’t try to run off in all this snow an’ cold. You bring in all the snowshoes an’ duffle while I turn him loose.”

As Perry came back with a load of packs and snowshoes the leader said to Nick:

“Now, then, young feller, don’t go tryin’ any monkeyshines. You bring that wood in peaceable, or—”

Quick as light his right hand fluttered and a bullet spat into the threshold of the door, so that Perry’s descending foot covered the hole.

Even Henderson, crouched against the wall and watching his partner with veiled speculation and anxiety, was impressed by this display. He drew in his breath sharply. Nick was frankly frightened.

“See?” said the fat man, replacing the automatic in his hip pocket. “An’ Perry an’ Tony are most as good as that, too. It’s easier to draw from a holster,” he added in explanation.

“Yes, sir,” answered Nick. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

His bonds were removed and he hurried out, rubbing his wrists.

“Shut that door!” roared the fat man.

Nick rushed back and closed it.

The fat man turned to Henderson.

“How long will it take him to get that wood?” he inquired. “No fooling, now!”

His hand flickered as Henderson hesitated.

“Not very long,” said the old man hastily. “’Bout five-ten minutes, I guess. He’s got to burrer down into the snow, that’s all.”

The fat man walked about the room restlessly, glancing here and there. The candle sputtered. The graying coals of the fire settled with a whispered crunch.

“What’ll ye do wid dese fellers, Cap?” inquired Tony after a while.

“Just wait till we’ve had some food, an’ we’ll decide,” answered the fat man. “Say, though, it’s lucky you knew about this place, Tony. I’m near starved.”

He grinned as he continued:

“If you birds hadn’t been fightin’ I dunno as we’d ’a’ found you at that, in all this ⸺ snow. Too dark to see much, but Tony heard a thumpin’ an’ crashin’ along the bank o’ the river somewhere, so we breezed over. We come away in a bit of a hurry from where we last was, an’ we’re in a bit of a hurry to git where we’re goin’, up to Tony’s place, so this makes it pretty nice. Where the ⸺’s that other guy? I’m gittin’ cold.”

Tony loosed his revolver in its holster and started silently for the door, but just then Nick’s voice was heard, asking them to open up. He stamped shivering into the room, covered with snow from head to heels, carrying a great load of logs.

“Easy does it, young feller,” said the fat man, watching like a cat as Hartley staggered to the hearth.

Tony and Perry closed in behind him, ready for anything.

Nick squatted down and dropped the logs carefully before the fire. He selected some small, dry splints and put them on the coals, blowing gently until they burst into flame. He gave one quick glance around him before he carefully reached forward and placed a larger piece on the blaze. Then with a sharp exclamation of pain he yanked his hands back from the scorching heat, to wipe them on his shirt front, and in the same instant leaped erect and whirled to one side. A revolver appeared in each of his hands, and before one could think two spurts of flame shot out. The fat man yelled and careened against the wall, clutching his right shoulder. Perry crooked his arm with a startled oath as his gun, holster and all, was torn from his numbed fingers.

“Up!” snapped Nick, and the bewildered Tony obeyed.

Henderson dived across the room, leaped prodigiously and sunk his head in the fat man’s stomach. The fat man, who was clawing wildly for his gun with his left hand, grunted and crumpled to the floor in agony. Perry at this instant recovered his wits and rushed forward, snarling, to stagger back, blinded by the impact of a gun-barrel across his eyes.

“Here!” yelled Henderson, squatting before his partner.

Nick lowered one gun, still covering Tony with the other. Henderson grasped the barrel between his wrists and held it against the rawhide thongs.

“Shoot!” he said, and Nick pulled the trigger.

The old man jumped up. His hands and moccasins were scorched, but he was free. He grabbed Tony’s gun and covered Perry before the cursing man had cleared his eyes of dizziness and blood.

A minute later the three invaders lay bound hand and foot. Nick and Henderson stood looking down at them.

“Of course,” said Nick, “it’s easier to draw from your shirt front than your pocket, but I’m pretty near as good as you, ain’t I?”

He bent to examine the fat man’s shoulder.

“Only a flesh wound,” he said to his partner. “I didn’t dare to try for his gun in this light. It was too far behind him. That was a good one you gave him, all right.”

“Yeah?” returned Henderson. “Why, I was all ready an’ waitin’ for that play. What about the one you give Perry, huh?”

The fat man groaned and eased over on his side.

“Say,” he wheezed craftily. “A man that can shoot like you can is wastin’ his time out in this ⸺ place. Why don’t you two come in with us? There’s forty thousand in bills amongst us three. We’ll split it five ways—eight thousand apiece. What about it?”

Henderson spat. Nick grinned.

“No,” he answered. “Not us, I guess. I seen your face in the papers too many times a couple o’ years ago, an’ I bet it’s there today, too. You’re wanted bad back in the States, old boy, an’ I know it.”

He turned to his partner.

“Jim, they’s no use us two tryin’ to take this gang out to the Poste. I’ll start off now an’ bring in the sheriff an’ a few others to help. I’ll be out there tomorrow night an’ back the next. All right?”

“All right, only hustle. We don’t want this place to be a pig-pen any longer ’n we can help. Besides, we got to get out on the lines pretty quick.”

“Listen.” The fat man saw it was no use to try to bribe his captors. “You got us, an’ I don’t say it wasn’t my fault, not takin’ Tony’s advice an’ comin’ in peaceable, instead o’ stagin’ a hold-up.” He gave a twisted smile as Tony cursed him heartily. “But you’d never ’a’ done it without pullin’ that hid gun stunt. I wish you’d tell me before you go just how in ⸺ you did that.”

This question was burning in Henderson’s mind as well, though he gave no sign, only smiled a superior, tolerant smile as if such a thing was of every-day occurrence.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 30, 1923 issue of Adventure Magazine.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDDEN GUNS ***

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