Fires of Fate/Chapter 6

BUD knew there was no use of trying to get away just now. He could see that the upstairs was lighted, and he knew that those already outside the tunnel would see that he did not escape in that direction.

He could hear men shouting upstairs, as they questioned each other. A cold draught was blowing in the tunnel exit, but Bud did not move. Something seemed to tell him to keep still and wait. There seemed to be no one except himself left in the tunnel.

Then, out near the center of the room, a match flared up. Whoever lit the match was lying on the floor. As it grew brighter, Bud could see the saturnine features of Joe Burgoyne. He raised himself up and looked around. The room was a wreck. Just beyond him lay a man, flat on his face, and another was propped against the wall, his head flopped forward.

As Joe turned to look at this man the flame of the match scorched his fingers and he flung it aside.

A sheet of flame seemed to fairly lift from the floor around Joe and he sprang to his feet with a yelp of alarm.

He had dropped the match into the pool of oil from the smashed lamp. Joe backed away from it; backed almost into the bar before he turned and saw Bud. But Bud had risen to his haunches and launched himself straight into the surprised half-breed.

Joe was as lithe as a tiger, and, although Bud’s attack carried him almost into the flames, he twisted loose and bounded toward the stairway. A cloud of kerosene-laden smoke billowed up through the trap. Someone yelled a warning and before Joe could reach the top of the stairs the trap crashed down.

Bud had lost his gun and now he darted back to the bar, searching for it. Joe must have divined Bud’s misfortune, for, with a yelp of joy, he darted back from the stairs, knife in hand. It seemed as if the whole end of the room was in flames now and the black smoke was stifling.

Bud braced himself for the shock, but the half-breed did not come to close quarters. He stopped just out of reach, half crouched, the knife held point outward, as though he was using a rapier. The light glistened on the polished blade, but Bud did not retreat.

Joe’s face was scarred and bleeding from the fight in the dark, which had but increased the injuries inflicted by Bud in Beaudet’s store. Joe balanced on the balls of his feet and worked in closer and closer.

Bud was standing almost over his revolver, but did not dare to stoop for it. Behind Joe the flames roared upward, licking at the beamed ceiling, and the heat was growing intense.

“You finish queek now!” said Joe.

Bud began working slowly toward the bar, dragging the gun with his foot. Joe advanced inches at a time. He did not understand what Bud was trying to do. Then his eyes flashed to the bar—and he knew.

The keg, with its scarlet coat, had fallen to the floor, but the wide hat was still there, partly concealing the bottle, on which it had rested.

Quick as a flash Joe darted forward, but Bud, instead of reaching for the bottle, as Joe expected him to, dropped flat on the floor under Joe’s feet, rolling forward as he fell.

The move was so unexpected that Joe took a header into the bar, while Bud rolled away and sprang to his feet clutching the revolver in one hand.

The fall did not hurt Joe. He had lost his knife, but not his presence of mind. He scrambled to his feet and darted straight for the tunnel exit, but Bud blocked him with a swing of the heavy revolver and Joe went down in a heap.

The room was an inferno now. Bud grasped the limp half-breed, swung him up in his arms and staggered into the tunnel. There was less smoke in there, owing to a breeze outside, which drove the smoke up through the cracks on the room above.

Bud was traveling blindly, holding Joe in front of him and hoping against hope that there would be no one guarding the tunnel entrance. But his hopes were not realized.

He caught a glimpse of the lantern and could see that it was held in the hands of a man. There were other men out there, too. Bud halted.

“Nobody left in there,” argued a voice, which he knew belonged to Bull Cook. “Whatsa use of stayin’ here?”

“I’m be not so sure,” replied another. “Conley not get out ahead of us, and, ba gosh, he never get up de stairs. W’ere is Joe Burgoyne?”

“Must ’a’ gone up the other way. What’s all the yellin’ about?”

Bud knew that the yelling must be from those at the burning hotel.

“We stay here,” declared the man. “Dis be one damn bad night for Kingsburg, eh?”

“Yeah, I reckon we gotta drift, Frenchy. I hope that Joe nails that dirty spy.”

Bud knew that there was no time to lose, if he was going to get away. There were two men guarding the tunnel, but two men would be easier to handle than that whole mob, which might appear at any time.

He gripped Joe tightly in his arms, half burying his face in Joe’s back, and stumbled straight into the lantern light.

“De place be on fire,” he stated, imitating the language and tone of a French-Canadian.

“I’m save de boss, ba gar!”

"Mon dieu!” exclaimed one of them. “W’at happen to Joe? You say”

The man had placed his hands on Joe, when Bud let loose with his right hand, and, with a short swing of the heavy gun, struck the man across the head. He grunted softly and went to his knees, and Bud flung the limp body of Joe across him.

The other man sprang aside and threw up his rifle, but he was cramped in the narrow space and the rifle spouted fire across Bud’s breast. The concussion staggered him, but he dove into the man, trying to hit him with his revolver.

The rifle clanged to the floor and the husky cowboy flung Bud aside against the rocks, but instead of following up his advantage he ducked low; and ran into the tunnel.

Bud staggered away from the rocks, his breath almost knocked from his body. His lungs ached and a stream of blood was running into his mouth, but he managed to pick Joe up in his arms and stagger away from the tunnel.

The glow from the burning hotel seemed to light up the whole country. Men were yelling and running about, but Bud only staggered on, half-falling, laughing foolishly, swearing at himself, as he headed for the wagon and team, which must be somewhere out that way.

Several times he went down, falling over Joe, but he got back to his feet, picked up his unconscious captive and staggered on. He was hanging onto his gun all this time, and swearing at Joe for being a burden on him.