The Ferguson Rifle

His gaze leveled at me. "You got nerve, young feller." "It's not hard to be brave," I said, "when you just don't care." Lucinda came over to us. I gestured with my gun muzzle. "Lead us out of here, Van Runkle, and you walk ahead." He started to pick up the shotgun. "No... we've guns enough. You walk on." I picked up the shotgun. I still did not believe him a bad man. A dangerous one, yes. A man who might seek to take advantage of an opportunity that seemed to offer itself, but not a genuinely bad man. Nevertheless, while believing that, I was quite sure I was going to keep my eyes open and my gun handy so that no such opportunity should come upon him again. It was my job to see that he was not tempted.

The mountain was honeycombed with caves, as was the scarp where we now were. A thought occurred to me, and I mentioned it.

"Are the caves co

More'n likely it's all one big cave.

Miles of passages nobody ever looked into, not even me, and I seen more of these caves than even them old-time Injuns." We emerged on a ledge, higher up on the mountain and among some cedars, wind-barbered spruce, and the like. Just above us was the shelf of the plateau of which the escarpment was the edge, and below the country was laid out as on a map, a clear view of a magnificent stretch of country.

How to locate our people? Neither Ebitt nor Heath had any suggestions. All we could do was explore, carefully, and hope we came upon them.

"The key to the situation is Rafen Falvey," I commented, to no one in particular. "If he was out of the way, I think the rest of them would break up and scatter out." "You're dead right," Heath said grimly, "but how do you figure to be rid of him?" "If he were whipped, decisively whipped, I think he'd lose most of his men. I propose to challenge him." They stared at me, and I am quite sure they thought whatever good sense I'd had had abandoned me.

Isaac Heath cleared his throat. "Now see here," he spoke reasonably, "you've been doing well out here. For a scholar, you're an almighty good rifle shot, and you've stood up well to the life, but have you ever really looked at Rafen Falvey?" "That's quite a man," Cusbe commented. "He'll outweigh you forty pounds, he's a couple of inches taller, and I figure he's a whole lot meaner than you be." Lucinda was watching me, and it irritated me to be considered less than Falvey before her. She was nothing to me... simply a girl I was helping through a bad time... nonetheless I liked not the belittling.

"He's somewhat taller, but I'm more solid than I look, and I doubt if he's more than twenty pounds heavier. As for being meaner.

I'm not at all sure about that." "Lay off him," Cusbe advised. "He'll kill you. The man moves like a cat. You've seen him in action. He's swift, sure, and never at a loss. He's a dead shot and good with a knife. How do you figure you could match him?" "Knives, pistols, or fists," I said.

"He can choose the weapons." I touched the knife at my side. "This is the finest steel ever made." The fact that I was a bookish man led them to believe I might be less physical than they, but as a matter of fact I have always been uncommonly strong and agile. Strength of body was an inherited quality in my family, and my life had been an active one since boyhood. In Europe I had hiked, fenced, wrestled, and boxed, and had been considered an unusually skillful swordsman.

It was true that I had had few fights of any kind, but I came of a fighting stock, professional soldiers and fighting men, adventurers and seafaring men. If one is to judge from racehorses and hunting dogs, breeding counts for much.

"No use talkin' of it," Cusbe said.

"Even if you two fit an' you whopped him, there's no reason to believe he'd hold to his word. That's a dangerous, treacherous man yonder, and nobody for a schoolteacher to face up to." I was nettled... angry. "Many scholars have been men of uncommon strength," I said irritably. "Socrates, for example. He once threw Alcibiades and held him down, and Alcibiades was not only very strong, a noted athlete, but a young rowdy.

"Leonardo da Vinci could bend iron horseshoes with his hands, and Plato was a noted athlete before he became a teacher. Plato was actually a nickname, given him because of his broad shoulders." "We ain't talkin' of them," Cusbe replied. "You just forget any such nonsense.

That's a dangerous man, yonder. A fighter from wayback." Perhaps I was a fool, but their objections only made me angrier. To meet Falvey and destroy him seemed the only immediate answer.

How long we had been underground I had not realized, but the morning sun was bright, dancing on the ripples of the stream far below. No man could have dreamed a scene more lovely or more peaceful.

Looking up at the peaks, my heart felt good.

"You goin' down yonder?" Van Runkle asked.

"We are." "You got no call to take me. I got no use for them down there, but I surely ain't goin' to 'em without me a wee'-pon." "You've weapons enough in those caves," I said.

"Go get one of them. I've no wish to take a load of buckshot in the back." "I'd not shoot you," Van Runkle protested, "but I set store by that gun. That's a gen-you-ine Henry Nock scattergun.

They don't make them no better." "You're right, sir. I had the good fortune to meet Mr. Nock in England when he was developing this gun. I'll care for it, and with luck, I'll return it to you. Now crawl into your hole and be off." The Ferguson I slung on my back. For the moment the shotgun might be more useful. It was a powerful, double-barreled weapon, much superior to the long-barreled fowling pieces that preceded shotguns, some with barrels as much as six and one-half feet long, and cumbersome to handle.

We started forward. It was beautiful, it was serene, it was still, but somewhere down there, death awaited. Perhaps mine.

CHAPTER 20

Pride can be a dangerous associate, and a thinking man should beware of it, for it can lead him into risks and troubles he would not otherwise endure.

My friends as well as Lucinda doubted my ability to meet Rafen Falvey in anything like even combat, and the idea rankled.

Heretofore, I had considered myself a calm, intelligent human being, and all good sense told me that what I should now do would be to find the treasure, gather my friends about me, and get out of the country as fast as ever I could.

If we could get to our horses, there was a chance we might leave them completely behind, and reach the Mandan villages before they could come anywhere near.

My common sense assured me this course of action was best, and as my anger cooled, I started out to bring it to completion. Yet irritation remained with me.

Cautiously we scouted toward the area where I had last seen Davy Shanagan. We found blood upon the leaves, the marks left by his body, but he was gone.

Crouching in the trees, we considered the situation. Plainly visible was the former encampment of Falvey's men, now abandoned. One horse remained there, but I did not like the look of it.

"Bait," I said. "They must be waiting for us to come after it." "We better light out an' find our horses again. If them Falvey men ain't found them, they'll be where we hid them after you went off up the slope that night and we decided to scoot when we heard Falvey's men go by." "Where was that?" "Neat little hollow in the hills, yonder.