The horse stopped suddenly and her rider came to his senses with a jerk, his hand streaking to a six-gun, while he muttered a profane inquiry at he swiftly scrutinized his surroundings. Had it been any horse but Pepper he would have directed his suspicions at it, but he knew the animal too well to do it that injustice. The valley before and below him was heavily grassed, and throughout its entire length wandered a small stream. Grazing cattle were scattered along it, and riding up the farther slope were three men, who appeared to be peaceful and innocent of wrong intent. These his eyes swept past, and they passed a small cluster of bowlders down on the slope below him, but instantly returned to them, a puzzled look appearing upon his face. In that nest of rocks a woman lay prone, peering at the distant horsemen, and she slowly brought a rifle to her shoulder, cuddling its stock against her cheek. What he did not see, and could not, at that angle, was the menacing head of a rattlesnake not twenty feet from her, the instinctive fear of which put a chill in her heart and urged her to shoot it, even at the risk of being heard by the men she was watching. Johnny Nelson unconsciously estimated the range and shook his head. He could do it with his Sharp's single-shot, a rifle of great power; but he had yet to see any repeater that could. Knowing the futility of a shot, he coughed loudly, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flurry below him, and a rifle muzzle at the same instant. Slowly he raised his hands level with his shoulders, spoke to the horse and, mustering all the dignity possible under the circumstances, rode slowly down the slope.
That's far enough, said a crisp voice, pleasant in timbre even though business-like and angry. "Haven't I told you punchers to keep off this ranch?"
Never to my knowledge, Ma'am, he answered.
Have you the brazen effrontery to sit there and calmly tell me that?
I don't know, Ma'am; but I never heard about no such orders.
Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?
Johnny smiled apologetically. "Fifteen hundred shore would strain that gun. Ma'am. An' mostly a shot wasted is worse than none at all. I'm here to offer you one that bites hard at that distance, 'though I can't say I generally recommend it for ladies—it kicks powerful hard, heavy as it is."
Answer my questions. Who are you?
A stranger, Ma'am; a pilgrim, seekin' what I can devour. But now it's nearer sixteen hundred, he suggested, lowering a hand to get the Sharp's from its sheath under his leg.
That will do! she warned. "The range which interests me is ten yards. You may rest them on your hat," she conceded.
He locked his fingers over his head and grinned. "Why, I'm a rollin' stone from Montanny, Ma'am. So far I've rolled into trouble all th' way, an' it looks like I'm still a-rollin'. I want to apologize for bustin' up your party—they've done faded."
'Done faded' never was born in Montana, she retorted, suspicion glinting in her eyes. She lowered the gun until it rested on her knees, but its muzzle still covered Johnny.
Neither was I, Ma'am, he replied, smiling. "I was born in Texas, an' grew up there. My greatest mistake was goin' north—but now I'm tryin' to wipe that out. It's a long trail. Ma'am; an' I've wasted a powerful lot of time."
You shall waste some more; after that the speed of your departure will doubtless largely compensate you. How do I know you are telling the truth?
As to that, not meanin' no offense, I ain't none interested. An', Ma'am, neither are you. I might say, as a general proposition, that no stranger has any business askin' me personal questions; an', also, that in such cases I reserve th' right to lie as much as I please, 'though I ain't admittin' that I'm doin' it here. Pepper warned me that somethin' was wrong, which it was by several hundred yards—an', Ma'am, shootin' across a valley is shore deceivin'. Also I saw that one young lady was goin' to mix up serious with three growed-up men—pretty craggy individuals, from what I know of punchers. That was not th' right thing for a lady to do—but I'm allus with th' under dog, I'm sorry to say, so I horned in an' offered you a gun that would fill them fellers with righteous indignation, homicidal yearnin's, an' a belief in miracles. I knowed they wouldn't get hurt at that distance—you see, there's little things like windage, trigger pull, an' others. But, Ma'am, th' sound of that lead an' th' noise of that gun shore would pester 'em. They'd get most amazin' curious, for men, an' look into it. An' when they found me with a gun on 'em they'd get more indignant than ever. Now, Ma'am, I've busted up yore party, which I had no right to do. If you wants them fellers right up close so you can look 'em over good an' ask 'em questions, say so, an' I'll go get 'em for you. I owe you that much. But I don't aim to be no party to a murder, he finished, smiling, and slowly and deliberately lowered his hands and rested them on his belt.
She was staring at him with blazing eyes, a look on her white face such as he never had seen on a woman before; and he realized that never before had he seen an angry woman. His smile changed subtly. It softened, the cynicism faded from it and kindly lines crept in; and there was something in his eyes that never had been there before. He looked out across the valley, at the few cows, where there should have been so many in a valley like that. Then he gazed steadily at the point where the three horsemen had become lost to sight—and the smile gave way to a look hard and cold. Pepper moved, and Johnny drew a deep breath, squaring his shoulders in sudden resolution. Swinging from the saddle he walked slowly forward toward the threatening rifle muzzle, took the weapon from its owner's knees, lowered the hammer, and placed the gun against the rock at her side. Straightening up, he whistled softly. Pepper, advancing with mincing steps, shoved her velvety muzzle against his cheek and stopped. He swung into the saddle, wheeled the horse and rode around a near-by thicket, soon returning with a saddled SV pony, which he led to its owner. Mounting again, he backed Pepper away and, removing his sombrero, wheeled and sent the horse up the slope without a backward glance, sitting erect in the saddle as a figure of bronze until hidden by the crest and well down on the other side. Then he pulled suddenly at the reins with unthinking roughness and dashed at top speed to the left until the crest was again close at hand. With his head barely on a level with the top of the hill, he sat staring across the little valley at the point where the horsemen had disappeared; and there was a look on his face which, had they seen it, would have turned their conversation to subjects less trivial.
The sun was near the meridian when Johnny rode into Gunsight, a town which he took as a matter of course. They were all alike, he reflected. If it were not for the names they scarcely could be told apart—and it would have been just as well to have numbered them. A collection of shacks, with the over-played brave names. The shack he was riding for was the "Palace," which only rubbed it in. Out of a hundred towns, seventy-five would have their Palace saloon and fifty would have a Delmonico hotel. Dismounting before the door, he went in and saw the proprietor slowly arising from a chair, and he was the fattest man Johnny ever had seen. The visitor's unintentional stare started the conversation for him.
Well, don't you like my looks? bridled the proprietor.
Johnny's expression was one of injured innocence. "Why, I wasn't seein' you," he explained. "I was thinkin'—but now that you mention it, I don't see nothin' th' matter with your looks. Should there be?"
The other grunted something, becoming coherent only when the words concerned business. "What's yourn?"
A drink with you, an' some information.
Th' drink goes; but th' information don't.
I take it all back, soliloquized Johnny. "This town don't need a number; it don't even need a name. It's different. It's th' only one this side of Montanny where the barkeeper was hostile at th' start. I'm peaceful. My han's are up, palm out. If you won't give me information, will you tell me where I can eat an' sleep? Which of th' numerous hotels ain't as bad as th' rest of 'em?"
Davis Lee Beauregard Green slid a bottle across the bar, sent a glass spinning after it, leaned against the back bar and grinned. "Gunsight ain't impressin' you a hull lot?" he suggested.
Why not? It's got all a man needs, which is why towns are made, ain't it? Johnny tasted the liquor and downed it. "I allus size up a town by th' liquor it sells. I say Gunsight is a d—d sight better than I thought from a superficial examination."
Dave Green, wise in the psychology of the drinking type, decided that the stranger was not and never had been what he regarded as a drinking man; and even went so far in a quick, spontaneous flash of thought, as to tell himself that the stranger never had been drunk. Now, in his opinion, a hard-drinking, two-gun man was "bad;" but a coldly sober, real two-gun man was worse, although possibly less quarrelsome. He was certain that they lived longer. Dave was a good man with a short gun, despite his handicap; but a stirring warning instinct had told him that this stranger was the best who ever had entered his place. This impression came, was recognized, tabbed, and shoved back in his memory, all in a mechanical way. It was too plain to be overlooked by a man who, perhaps without realizing it, studied humanity, although he could not lay a finger on a single thing and call it by name.
Dave put the bottle back and washed the glass. "Well," he remarked, "every man sizes things up accordin' to his own way of thinkin', which is why there are so many different opinions about th' same thing." Letting this ponderous nugget sink in, he continued: "I reckon th' bottom of it all is a man's wants. You want good liquor, so a town's good, or bad. Which is as good a way as any other, for it suits you. But, speakin' about eatin'-houses, there's a hotel just around th' corner. It's th' only one in town. It butts up agin' th' corner of my rear wall. Further than sayin' I've et there, I got no remarks to make. I cook my own, owin' to th' pressure of business, an' choice."
It ain't run by no woman, is it? asked Johnny.
No; why?
Johnny grinned. "I'm ridin' clear of wimmin. It was wimmin that sent me roamin' over th' face of th' earth, a wanderer. My friends all got married, an'—oh, well, I drifted. Th' first section I come to where there ain't none, I'll tie fast; an' this country looks like a snubbin' post, to me."
You lose, chuckled Dave. "There's one down here, an' some folks think she's considerable. What's more, she's lookin' for a good man to run her dad's ranch, an' get an outfit together, as will stay put. But if you don't like 'em, that loses th' job for you. An' I reckon yo're right lucky at that."
Shore; I know th' kind of a 'good' man they want, said Johnny, reminiscently. "'Good,' meanin' habits only. A man that don't smoke, chew, drink, cuss, get mad, or keep his hat on in th' house. Losin' th' job ain't bendin' my shoulders. I ain't lookin' for work; I'm dodgin' it. Goin' to loaf till my money peters out, which won't be soon. You'd be surprised if you knowed how many people between here an' Montanny think they can play poker. Just now I'm a eddicator. I'm peddlin' knowledge to th' ignorant, an' I ain't no gambler, at that!"
Dave chuckled. "There's some around here, too. Now, me; I'm different. I can't play, an' I know it; but, of course, I'll set in, just for th' excitement of it, once in a while, if there ain't nothin' else to do. Come to think of it, I got a deck of cards around here some'rs, right now."
The rear door opened and closed. Johnny looked up and saw the worst-looking tramp of his experience. The newcomer picked up a sand-box cuspidor and started with it for the street.
Hi, stranger! called Johnny. "Ain't that dusty work?"
The tramp stiffened. He hardly could believe his ears. The tones which had assailed them were so spontaneously friendly that for a moment he was stunned. It had been a long time since he had been hailed like that—far too long a time. He turned his head slowly and looked and believed, for the grin which met his eyes was as sincere as the voice. It made him honest in his reply.
No, he said, "this here's sand."
But ain't yore throat dusty?
Two-Spot put the box down. "Seems like it allus is. If these boxes get dusty, I'll know how it come about, me bendin' over 'em like I do, an' breathin' on 'em."
Johnny laughed. "I take it we're all dusty." He turned to Dave. "Got three left?"
Two-Spot walked up to the bar. Usually he sidled. He picked up his glass and held it up to the light, and drank it in three swallows. Usually it was one gulp. Wiping his lips on a sleeve, he pushed back the glass, dug down into a pocket and brought up a silver dollar, which he tossed onto the bar. "Fill 'em again, Dave," he said, quietly.
At this Dave's slowly accumulating wonder leaped. He looked at the coin and from it to Two-Spot. Sensing the situation, Johnny pushed it farther along towards the proprietor. "Our friend is right, Dave," he said, "two is company. Make mine th' same."
Two-Spot put down his empty glass and grinned. "I'll now go on from where I was interrupted, Gents," and, picking up the box, went towards the door. As he was about to pass through he saw Pepper, and he stopped. "Good, Lord!" he muttered. "What a hoss! I've seen passels of hosses, but never one like that. Midnight her name oughter be, or Thunderbolt." He turned. "Stranger, what name do you call that hoss?"
Johnny looked around. "That's Pepper."
Two-Spot grinned. "Did you see that?" he demanded, tilting the box until the sand ran out. "Did you see it? She knows her name like a child. Well, it's a good name—a fair name," he hedged. "But, shucks! There ain't no name fit for that hoss! How fur has she come today?"
Near forty miles, answered Johnny.
I say it ag'in—there ain't no name fit for that hoss. She looks like she come five, and he passed out.
Don't mind him, said Dave. "But where did he git that dollar? Steal it? Find it? Reckon he found it. I near dropped dead. Pore devil—he come here last winter an' walks in, cleans my boxes an' sweeps. Then he goes 'round to th' hotel an' mops an' cleans th' pans better than they ever was before. He was so handy an' useful that we let him stay. An' I've never seen him more than half drunk—it's amazin' th' liquor he can hold."
Sleep here?
No; an' nobody knows where he does sleep. He's cunnin' as a fox, an' fooled 'em every time. But wherever it is, it's dry.
Johnny produced a Sharp's single-shot cartridge. "Where can I get some of these Specials?" he asked.
Dave looked at it "'.45-120-550'—you won't get none of 'em down in this country."
Post office in town?
Not yet. Th' nearest is Rawlins, thirty mile east, with th' worst trail a man ever rode. Th' next is Highbank, forty mile south. We use that, for th' trail's good. We get mail about twice a month. Th' Bar H an' th' Triangle take turns at it.
Then I'll write for some of these after I feed. I'll tell 'em to send 'em to you, at Highbank. What name will I give?
Dave Green, Highbank-Gunsight mail. But you better write before you eat. This is goin' away day, an' th' Bar H will be in any minute now.
Johnny arose. "Not before I eat. I ain't had nothin' since daybreak, an' it's afternoon now. I hate letter writin'; an' if I don't eat soon I'll get thin."
Then don't eat—'though I wasn't thinkin' of you when I spoke, growled Dave. "Wish I was in danger of gettin' thin."
What you care? demanded Johnny. "Yo're healthy, an' yore job don't call for a man bein' light."
That's th' way you fellers talk, said Dave. "I'm short-winded, I'm in my own way, an' the joke of th' country. I can't ride a hoss—why, cuss it, I can't even get a gun out quick enough to get a hop-toad before he's moved twenty feet!"
Pullin' a gun has its advantages, I admits, replied Johnny, who had his own ideas about Dave's ability in that line. Dave, he thought, could get a gun out quick enough for the average need—being a bartender, and still alive, was proof enough of that. He walked toward the door. "If you was to get a big hoss—a single-footer, you could ride, all right."
He went around and entered the hotel, mentally numbering it. Arranging for a week's board and bed for himself and Pepper, he hurried out to the wash bench just outside the dining-room door, where he found two tin basins, a bucket of water, a cake of yellow soap, a towel, and two men using them all. Taking his turn he in turn followed them into the dining-room and chose the fourth and last table, which was next to a window. The meal was better than he had expected but, hungry as he was, he did not eat as hurriedly as was his habit. Fragments of the conversation of the two punchers in the corner reached and interested him. It had to do with the SV ranch, as near as he could judge, and helped him to build the skeleton upon which he hoped to hang a body by dint of investigation and questioning. The episode of that morning had occurred on the SV ranch if the brands on the cattle he had seen meant anything. The woman's name was Arnold, and she had a father and a brother, the latter a boy. There was a fragment about "th' Doc," but just what it was he did not hear, except that it was coupled to the Bar H. Also, something was afoot, but it was so cautiously mentioned that he gained no information about it. Finishing before him, the two men went out, and soon rode past the window, mounted on Triangle horses.
He rattled his cup and ordered it refilled, and when the waiter slouched back with it, Johnny slid a perfectly good cigar across the table and waved his hand. "Sit down, an' smoke. You ought to rest while you got th' chance."
The waiter lost some of his slouch and obeyed, nodding his thanks. "Are you punchin'?" he asked.
When I'm broke, answered Johnny. "Just now I'm ridin' around lookin' at th' scenery. Never knowed we had any out here till I heard some Easterners goin' mad about it. I've been tryin' to find it ever since. But, anyhow, punchin' is shore monotonous."
If you can show me anythin' monotoner than this job, I'll eat it, growled the waiter. "It's hell on wheels for me."
Oh, this whole range is monotonous, grunted Johnny. "Reckon nothin' interestin' has happened down here since Moses got lost. But there's one thing I like about it—there ain't no woman in thirty miles."
You foller Clear River into Green Valley, which is SV, an' you'll change yore mind, chuckled the waiter. "She'll chase you off, too."
I'll be cussed. An' she's suspicious of strangers?
Don't put no limit on it like that; she's suspicious of everythin' that wears pants.
How's that?
Well, her cows has been wanderin' off, lookin' for better grass, I reckon, an' she thinks they're bein' drove.
Johnny pictured the valley, but hid his smile. "Oh, well; you can't blame the cows. They'll find th' best. Any ranches 'round here run by men?"
Shore; three of 'em. There's th' Bar H, an' th' Triangle, an' over west is th' Double X, but it's ranchhouse is so fur from here that it's a sort of outsider. It's th' biggest, th' Bar H is next, an' then comes th' Triangle. Th' Triangle don't hardly count, neither 'though it's close by.
What about th' SV you mentioned? An' what's yore name?
My name's George. Th' SV has gone to th' dogs since it was sold. It ain't a ranch no more. Of course, it's got range, an' water, an' some cows, an' a couple of buildin's—but it ain't got no outfit. Old Arnold, his gal, an' his kid—all tenderfeet—are tryin' to run it.
But they've got to have punchers, objected Johnny.
They can't keep 'em, though I ain't sayin' why, replied George mysteriously.
Does th' Doc own th' Bar H? asked Johnny.
Lord, no! It owns him—but, say; you'll have to excuse me. I got work to do. See you at supper. So long.
Johnny left and rode back the way he had come that morning, lost in meditation. Reaching the rim of the valley he looked down over the rolling expanse of vivid green, here and there broken by shallow draws, with their brush and trees. He noticed an irregular circle of posts just south of him and close to the river. Experience told him what they meant, and he frowned. Here was a discordant note—that enclosure, small as it was, was a thing sinister, malevolent, to him almost possessing a personality. Turning from the quicksands he sat and gazed at the nest of rocks below him until Pepper, well trained though she was, became restless and thought it time to move. Stirring, he smiled and pressed a knee against her and as he rode away he shook his head. "Yes, girl, I'm still a-rollin'—an' I don't know where to."
After supper he talked with George until they heard the creaking of wheels and harness. Looking up they saw four heavy horses slowly passing the window, followed by a huge, covered wagon with great, heavy wheels having four-inch tires. A grizzled, whiskered, weather-beaten patriarch handled the lines and talked to his horses as though they were children.
Now I got to make a new fire an' cook more grub, growled George, arising. "Why can't he get here in time for supper? He's allus late, goin' an' comin'."
Who is he, an' where's he from?
Ol' Buffaler Wheatley from Highbank. He's goin' up to Juniper an' Sherman.
He come from Highbank today? demanded Johnny, surprised.
Shore—an' he must 'a' come slow.
Slow? Forty miles with that in a day, an' he come slow? retorted Johnny. "He was lucky to get here before midnight. If you'd 'a' done what that old feller has today, you'd not think much of anybody as wanted you on hand at supper time."
Mebby yo're right, conceded George, dubiously, as he went into the kitchen.
Johnny arose and went out to the shed where the driver was flexing his muscles. "Howd'y," he said. "Got th' waggin where you want it?"
Howd'y, friend, replied Buffalo, looking out from under bushy brows. "I reckon so. 'Most any place'll do. Ain't nothin' 'round'll scratch th' polish off it," he grinned.
Johnny laughed and began unhitching the tired, patient horses, and his deft fingers had it done before Buffalo had any more than started. "Fine hosses," he complimented, slapping the big gray at his side. "You must treat 'em well."
I do, said Buffalo. "I may abuse myself, sometimes, but not these here fellers. They'll pull all day, an' are as gentle as kittens."
How do you find freightin'? asked Johnny, leading his pair into the shed.
Pickin' up, an' pickin' fast, answered Buffalo, following with the second team. "It's gettin' too much for one old man an' this waggin. An' top of that I got th' mail contract I been askin' for for years. So I got to put on another waggin an' make th' trip every week 'stead of only when th' freight piles up enough to make it worth while. Reckon I'll break my boy in on th' new waggin."
I'll leave th' feedin' to you, said Johnny, leaning against the wall. "You know what they need."
All right, friend; much obliged to you. I just let 'em eat all th' hay they can hold an' give 'em their measures of oats. I have to carry them with me—can't get none away from Highbank, everythin' up here bein' grass fed.
I feed oats when I can get 'em, replied Johnny. "I allus reckon a corn-fed hoss has more bottom."
Shore has—if they're that kind, agreed Buffalo.
Travel th' same way all th' time?
Yes. I won't gain nothin' goin' t'other way 'round, answered Buffalo, busy with his pets. "You see I allus come north loaded. Th' first stop, after here, is Juniper, where I loses part of th' load. That's thirty miles from here, an' th' road's good. Then I cross over to Sherman, lose th' rest of th' load, an' come back from there light—it's fifty mile of hard travelin'. Goin' like I do I has th' good, short haul with th' heavy load; comin' back I have a light waggin on th' long, mean haul. If I went to Sherman first, things would just be turned 'round."
What do you do when you have passengers for Sherman?
Don't want none! snorted Buffalo. "Wouldn't carry 'em to Sherman, anyhow. Anybody with sense that can sit a hoss wouldn't crawl along with me in th' heat an' dust on that jouncin' seat. But sometimes I has a tenderfoot to nurse, consarn 'em. They ask so many fool questions I near go loco. But they pays me well for it, you bet!"
Anythin' else I can give you a hand with? asked Johnny, following the old man out of the shed.
No, thankee; I'm all done. Th' only man that can give me a hand now is that scamp, George. I'm goin' in to eat, friend. Got to be up an' be on my way before th' sun comes up. I get th' cool of th' mornin' for my team, an' give 'em a longer rest when she gets hot. If you see Jim Fanning, tell him I'm buyin' hides as a side line now. I pays spot cash for 'em, same price as Ol' Saunders would pay, less th' freight. He has quit th' business an' went to live with his married da'ter, ol' fool!
Fanning sell hides?
No; I just want him to know so he can tell th' Bar H an' th' Triangle an' mebby th' Double X. I want to have a good load goin' back from here. There ain't no profit in goin' all th' way back with an empty waggin. Well, good night, friend! I'm much obliged to you.
That's all right, smiled Johnny. "I'll tell him. Good night; an' good luck!" he added as an after-thought, and then drifted around to the saloon, where he found several men at the bar.
Dave performed the introductions, and added: "Nelson, here, says he ain't goin' back punchin' cows as long as his money lasts. He's a travelin' eddicator in th' innercent game of draw—or was it studhoss, Nelson?"
Draw is closer to my heart, laughed Johnny. "My friend, Tex, told me I might learn draw if I lived long enough; but I'd have to have a pack of cards buried with me an' practice in th' other world if I aimed to learn studhoss."
It grieves me to see a young man wastin' his time in idleness, said Ben Dailey, the storekeeper. "Th' devil is allus lookin' for holts. Young men should keep workin'. Might I inquire if you feel like indulgin' in a little game of draw? You'll find us rusty, though."
We don't play oftener than every night, an' some afternoons, said Fanning.
I'm a little scared when a man says he's rusty, replied Johnny. "But I reckon I might as well lose tonight as later. I hope Dave is too busy to cut in—he said he don't know nothin' about it."
Dave's still cuttin' his teeth, chuckled Jim Fanning; "but he uses my silver to cut 'em on. When he learns th' game I'm goin' to drift out of town while I still got a cayuse."
Two punchers came stamping in and Dave nodded to them. "Here's yore victims; here's them infants from th' Double X. Boys, say 'Howd'y' to Mr. Nelson. Nelson, that tall, red-headed feller is Slim Hawkes; an' that bowlegged towhead is Tom Wilkes. They ain't been in here in three months, an' they've rid twenty miles to rob us."
An' we might walk home, retorted Wilkes. "Let's lay th' dust before we starts anythin'. Nelson, yo're in bad company. This gang would rob a church. You want to get a kneehold an' hang onto th' pommel after this game starts. Here's how!"
As the game progressed the few newcomers who straggled in felt their interest grow. As each finished his drink, Dave would lean forward and whisper: "There's what I call a poker game. Four highway-men playin' 'em close. To listen to 'em you'd think they never saw a card before."
Johnny was complaining. "Gents, I know I'm ignorant—but would you advise me to draw to a pair of treys? Shall I hold up an ace, or take three cards? I'll chance it; I never hold a sider. Gimme three."
Ain't that just my luck, sighed Ben. "An' me with three of a kind."
A little later Johnny picked up another hand and frowned at it "Well, seein' as I allus hold up a sider, I'll have two, this time."
Hoofbeats drummed up and stopped, and a voice was heard outside. Dave looked at the calendar. "Big Tom's a day ahead—he ain't due for his spree till pay-day. Hello, Huff! What you doin' so fur from home?"
Hello, Dave! Hello, boys! said the newcomer. "I feel purty good tonight. Just got word that McCullough wants two thousand head from us fellers up here. He'll be along with his reg'lar trail outfit in a few weeks. Sixteen men, a four-mule chuck waggin, an' nine saddle hosses to th' man. I'm sendin' word that I can give him a thousand head, an' th' Triangle is goin' to give him five hundred; so he'll want five hundred from th' Double X, which Slim an' Tom can tell Sherwood."
Shore, growled Slim, and his ranch mate nodded.
Goin' up to Dodge again? queried Dailey.
He didn't say, answered Big Tom. "Who's doin' the scalpin'?" he asked, going over to the table, where he gradually grew more restless as he watched.
Some of these days, when I grows up, grinned Wilkes, "I'm goin' up th' trail with a herd, like a reg'lar cow-puncher. Dodge may be top-heavy with marshals, but I'd like to see it again, with money in my pockets."
Slim grunted. "Huh!" He looked over his hand, and drawled: "Th' last time you went up you put on too many airs. Just because Cimarron let you play segundo once in a while when he went on ahead to size up th' water or some river we would have to cross, you got too puffed up. I'm aimin' to be th' second boss th' next trip, an' I'll hand you a few jobs that'll keep you out of mischief."
Big Tom watched the winner rake in the chips and could stand it no longer. "Say," he growled, "anybody gettin' tired, an' want to drop out?"
Dailey looked up. "I only won two dollars in two hours, an' I got some work to do. Everybody bein' willin', I'll go out an' bury my winnin's."
Big Tom took his place. "I'm shore of one thing: I can't lose th' ranch, for I don't own it."
A round or two had been played when Big Tom drew his first openers. Johnny raised it and cards were drawn. After it had gone around twice, the others dropped out. Big Tom raised and Johnny helped it along. The betting became stiffer and Big Tom laughed. "I hope you keep on boostin' her."
You can't get me out of this pot with dynamite, replied Johnny, pushing out a raise.
Big Tom's gun was out before he left his seat. His chair crashed backward and he leaned over the table. "Meanin'?" he snarled.
Johnny, surprised, kept his hand on the chips. "What I said," he answered, evenly.
Tom! yelled Dave. "He don't mean nothin'! He's a stranger down here."
Big Tom's scowl faded at the words. "I reckon I was hasty, Nelson," he said.
Johnny spoke slowly, his voice metallic "You was so hasty you come near never gettin' over it. Put down th' gun."
I'm a mite touchy at——
If you has anythin' to say, put—down—that—gun.
No offense?
For th' third time: Put—down—that—gun.
Big Tom shook his head and appeared to be genuinely sorry. He slid the gun back and picked up his chair. "You raised?"
I did. I advise you to call—and end it.
She's called. Five little hearts, said Big Tom, lying down his cards.
They're hasty, too. Queen full, count 'em. Let's liquor.
The foreman paused in indecision. "Nelson——"
We all get touchy, interrupted Johnny, scraping in the winnings. "Will you drink with me?"
I'll take the same, said Big Tom, and he bought the next round, nodded his good night and went out.
Johnny turned to Dave. "Will you oblige me by tellin' me what Mr. Huff got huffy about?"
Dave hesitated, but Slim Hawkes laughed and answered for him, his slow drawl enhancing the humor of his tale, and wrinkles playing about his eyes and lips told of the enjoyment the picture gave to him. "Clear River crossed our range, flowed through Little Canyon, made a big bend on th' Bar H, passed out of East Canyon, an' flowed down the middle of th' SV. Three years ago a piece of Little Canyon busted loose an' slid down, blockin' th' river, which backed up, getting' higher an' higher, an' began to cut through its bank about three miles above. Big Tom got busy, pronto. He sends for a box of dynamite, sticks it around in th' débris an' let's her go—all of it. When th' earthquake stopped there was a second one in th' dust an' smoke—we all thought it was a delayed charge. It wasn't. It was a section of th' canyon wall, near a hundred feet long an' almost two hundred feet high. There was a shale fault runnin' down from th' top, back about forty feet. Everythin' in front of that was jarred loose an' slid. Th' canyon was choked so hard an' fast that it won't never get open again. Clear River kept right on a-cuttin', an' it now flows on th' other side of Pine Mountain, which means th' Bar H ain't got no water of its own, except a few muddy holes south an' west of th' ranch buildings. That's why he's touchy. But that's a long speech, an' a dry one. Let's all liquor again."The sun was near the meridian when Johnny rode into Gunsight, a town which he took as a matter of course. They were all alike, he reflected. If it were not for the names they scarcely could be told apart—and it would have been just as well to have numbered them. A collection of shacks, with the over-played brave names. The shack he was riding for was the "Palace," which only rubbed it in. Out of a hundred towns, seventy-five would have their Palace saloon and fifty would have a Delmonico hotel. Dismounting before the door, he went in and saw the proprietor slowly arising from a chair, and he was the fattest man Johnny ever had seen. The visitor's unintentional stare started the conversation for him.
Well, don't you like my looks? bridled the proprietor.
Johnny's expression was one of injured innocence. "Why, I wasn't seein' you," he explained. "I was thinkin'—but now that you mention it, I don't see nothin' th' matter with your looks. Should there be?"
The other grunted something, becoming coherent only when the words concerned business. "What's yourn?"
A drink with you, an' some information.
Th' drink goes; but th' information don't.
I take it all back, soliloquized Johnny. "This town don't need a number; it don't even need a name. It's different. It's th' only one this side of Montanny where the barkeeper was hostile at th' start. I'm peaceful. My han's are up, palm out. If you won't give me information, will you tell me where I can eat an' sleep? Which of th' numerous hotels ain't as bad as th' rest of 'em?"
Davis Lee Beauregard Green slid a bottle across the bar, sent a glass spinning after it, leaned against the back bar and grinned. "Gunsight ain't impressin' you a hull lot?" he suggested.
Why not? It's got all a man needs, which is why towns are made, ain't it? Johnny tasted the liquor and downed it. "I allus size up a town by th' liquor it sells. I say Gunsight is a d—d sight better than I thought from a superficial examination."
Dave Green, wise in the psychology of the drinking type, decided that the stranger was not and never had been what he regarded as a drinking man; and even went so far in a quick, spontaneous flash of thought, as to tell himself that the stranger never had been drunk. Now, in his opinion, a hard-drinking, two-gun man was "bad;" but a coldly sober, real two-gun man was worse, although possibly less quarrelsome. He was certain that they lived longer. Dave was a good man with a short gun, despite his handicap; but a stirring warning instinct had told him that this stranger was the best who ever had entered his place. This impression came, was recognized, tabbed, and shoved back in his memory, all in a mechanical way. It was too plain to be overlooked by a man who, perhaps without realizing it, studied humanity, although he could not lay a finger on a single thing and call it by name.
Dave put the bottle back and washed the glass. "Well," he remarked, "every man sizes things up accordin' to his own way of thinkin', which is why there are so many different opinions about th' same thing." Letting this ponderous nugget sink in, he continued: "I reckon th' bottom of it all is a man's wants. You want good liquor, so a town's good, or bad. Which is as good a way as any other, for it suits you. But, speakin' about eatin'-houses, there's a hotel just around th' corner. It's th' only one in town. It butts up agin' th' corner of my rear wall. Further than sayin' I've et there, I got no remarks to make. I cook my own, owin' to th' pressure of business, an' choice."
It ain't run by no woman, is it? asked Johnny.
No; why?
Johnny grinned. "I'm ridin' clear of wimmin. It was wimmin that sent me roamin' over th' face of th' earth, a wanderer. My friends all got married, an'—oh, well, I drifted. Th' first section I come to where there ain't none, I'll tie fast; an' this country looks like a snubbin' post, to me."
You lose, chuckled Dave. "There's one down here, an' some folks think she's considerable. What's more, she's lookin' for a good man to run her dad's ranch, an' get an outfit together, as will stay put. But if you don't like 'em, that loses th' job for you. An' I reckon yo're right lucky at that."
Shore; I know th' kind of a 'good' man they want, said Johnny, reminiscently. "'Good,' meanin' habits only. A man that don't smoke, chew, drink, cuss, get mad, or keep his hat on in th' house. Losin' th' job ain't bendin' my shoulders. I ain't lookin' for work; I'm dodgin' it. Goin' to loaf till my money peters out, which won't be soon. You'd be surprised if you knowed how many people between here an' Montanny think they can play poker. Just now I'm a eddicator. I'm peddlin' knowledge to th' ignorant, an' I ain't no gambler, at that!"
Dave chuckled. "There's some around here, too. Now, me; I'm different. I can't play, an' I know it; but, of course, I'll set in, just for th' excitement of it, once in a while, if there ain't nothin' else to do. Come to think of it, I got a deck of cards around here some'rs, right now."
The rear door opened and closed. Johnny looked up and saw the worst-looking tramp of his experience. The newcomer picked up a sand-box cuspidor and started with it for the street.
Hi, stranger! called Johnny. "Ain't that dusty work?"
The tramp stiffened. He hardly could believe his ears. The tones which had assailed them were so spontaneously friendly that for a moment he was stunned. It had been a long time since he had been hailed like that—far too long a time. He turned his head slowly and looked and believed, for the grin which met his eyes was as sincere as the voice. It made him honest in his reply.
No, he said, "this here's sand."
But ain't yore throat dusty?
Two-Spot put the box down. "Seems like it allus is. If these boxes get dusty, I'll know how it come about, me bendin' over 'em like I do, an' breathin' on 'em."
Johnny laughed. "I take it we're all dusty." He turned to Dave. "Got three left?"
Two-Spot walked up to the bar. Usually he sidled. He picked up his glass and held it up to the light, and drank it in three swallows. Usually it was one gulp. Wiping his lips on a sleeve, he pushed back the glass, dug down into a pocket and brought up a silver dollar, which he tossed onto the bar. "Fill 'em again, Dave," he said, quietly.
At this Dave's slowly accumulating wonder leaped. He looked at the coin and from it to Two-Spot. Sensing the situation, Johnny pushed it farther along towards the proprietor. "Our friend is right, Dave," he said, "two is company. Make mine th' same."
Two-Spot put down his empty glass and grinned. "I'll now go on from where I was interrupted, Gents," and, picking up the box, went towards the door. As he was about to pass through he saw Pepper, and he stopped. "Good, Lord!" he muttered. "What a hoss! I've seen passels of hosses, but never one like that. Midnight her name oughter be, or Thunderbolt." He turned. "Stranger, what name do you call that hoss?"
Johnny looked around. "That's Pepper."
Two-Spot grinned. "Did you see that?" he demanded, tilting the box until the sand ran out. "Did you see it? She knows her name like a child. Well, it's a good name—a fair name," he hedged. "But, shucks! There ain't no name fit for that hoss! How fur has she come today?"
Near forty miles, answered Johnny.
I say it ag'in—there ain't no name fit for that hoss. She looks like she come five, and he passed out.
Don't mind him, said Dave. "But where did he git that dollar? Steal it? Find it? Reckon he found it. I near dropped dead. Pore devil—he come here last winter an' walks in, cleans my boxes an' sweeps. Then he goes 'round to th' hotel an' mops an' cleans th' pans better than they ever was before. He was so handy an' useful that we let him stay. An' I've never seen him more than half drunk—it's amazin' th' liquor he can hold."
Sleep here?
No; an' nobody knows where he does sleep. He's cunnin' as a fox, an' fooled 'em every time. But wherever it is, it's dry.
Johnny produced a Sharp's single-shot cartridge. "Where can I get some of these Specials?" he asked.
Dave looked at it "'.45-120-550'—you won't get none of 'em down in this country."
Post office in town?
Not yet. Th' nearest is Rawlins, thirty mile east, with th' worst trail a man ever rode. Th' next is Highbank, forty mile south. We use that, for th' trail's good. We get mail about twice a month. Th' Bar H an' th' Triangle take turns at it.
Then I'll write for some of these after I feed. I'll tell 'em to send 'em to you, at Highbank. What name will I give?
Dave Green, Highbank-Gunsight mail. But you better write before you eat. This is goin' away day, an' th' Bar H will be in any minute now.
Johnny arose. "Not before I eat. I ain't had nothin' since daybreak, an' it's afternoon now. I hate letter writin'; an' if I don't eat soon I'll get thin."
Then don't eat—'though I wasn't thinkin' of you when I spoke, growled Dave. "Wish I was in danger of gettin' thin."
What you care? demanded Johnny. "Yo're healthy, an' yore job don't call for a man bein' light."
That's th' way you fellers talk, said Dave. "I'm short-winded, I'm in my own way, an' the joke of th' country. I can't ride a hoss—why, cuss it, I can't even get a gun out quick enough to get a hop-toad before he's moved twenty feet!"
Pullin' a gun has its advantages, I admits, replied Johnny, who had his own ideas about Dave's ability in that line. Dave, he thought, could get a gun out quick enough for the average need—being a bartender, and still alive, was proof enough of that. He walked toward the door. "If you was to get a big hoss—a single-footer, you could ride, all right."
He went around and entered the hotel, mentally numbering it. Arranging for a week's board and bed for himself and Pepper, he hurried out to the wash bench just outside the dining-room door, where he found two tin basins, a bucket of water, a cake of yellow soap, a towel, and two men using them all. Taking his turn he in turn followed them into the dining-room and chose the fourth and last table, which was next to a window. The meal was better than he had expected but, hungry as he was, he did not eat as hurriedly as was his habit. Fragments of the conversation of the two punchers in the corner reached and interested him. It had to do with the SV ranch, as near as he could judge, and helped him to build the skeleton upon which he hoped to hang a body by dint of investigation and questioning. The episode of that morning had occurred on the SV ranch if the brands on the cattle he had seen meant anything. The woman's name was Arnold, and she had a father and a brother, the latter a boy. There was a fragment about "th' Doc," but just what it was he did not hear, except that it was coupled to the Bar H. Also, something was afoot, but it was so cautiously mentioned that he gained no information about it. Finishing before him, the two men went out, and soon rode past the window, mounted on Triangle horses.
He rattled his cup and ordered it refilled, and when the waiter slouched back with it, Johnny slid a perfectly good cigar across the table and waved his hand. "Sit down, an' smoke. You ought to rest while you got th' chance."
The waiter lost some of his slouch and obeyed, nodding his thanks. "Are you punchin'?" he asked.
When I'm broke, answered Johnny. "Just now I'm ridin' around lookin' at th' scenery. Never knowed we had any out here till I heard some Easterners goin' mad about it. I've been tryin' to find it ever since. But, anyhow, punchin' is shore monotonous."
If you can show me anythin' monotoner than this job, I'll eat it, growled the waiter. "It's hell on wheels for me."
Oh, this whole range is monotonous, grunted Johnny. "Reckon nothin' interestin' has happened down here since Moses got lost. But there's one thing I like about it—there ain't no woman in thirty miles."
You foller Clear River into Green Valley, which is SV, an' you'll change yore mind, chuckled the waiter. "She'll chase you off, too."
I'll be cussed. An' she's suspicious of strangers?
Don't put no limit on it like that; she's suspicious of everythin' that wears pants.
How's that?
Well, her cows has been wanderin' off, lookin' for better grass, I reckon, an' she thinks they're bein' drove.
Johnny pictured the valley, but hid his smile. "Oh, well; you can't blame the cows. They'll find th' best. Any ranches 'round here run by men?"
Shore; three of 'em. There's th' Bar H, an' th' Triangle, an' over west is th' Double X, but it's ranchhouse is so fur from here that it's a sort of outsider. It's th' biggest, th' Bar H is next, an' then comes th' Triangle. Th' Triangle don't hardly count, neither 'though it's close by.
What about th' SV you mentioned? An' what's yore name?
My name's George. Th' SV has gone to th' dogs since it was sold. It ain't a ranch no more. Of course, it's got range, an' water, an' some cows, an' a couple of buildin's—but it ain't got no outfit. Old Arnold, his gal, an' his kid—all tenderfeet—are tryin' to run it.
But they've got to have punchers, objected Johnny.
They can't keep 'em, though I ain't sayin' why, replied George mysteriously.
Does th' Doc own th' Bar H? asked Johnny.
Lord, no! It owns him—but, say; you'll have to excuse me. I got work to do. See you at supper. So long.
Johnny left and rode back the way he had come that morning, lost in meditation. Reaching the rim of the valley he looked down over the rolling expanse of vivid green, here and there broken by shallow draws, with their brush and trees. He noticed an irregular circle of posts just south of him and close to the river. Experience told him what they meant, and he frowned. Here was a discordant note—that enclosure, small as it was, was a thing sinister, malevolent, to him almost possessing a personality. Turning from the quicksands he sat and gazed at the nest of rocks below him until Pepper, well trained though she was, became restless and thought it time to move. Stirring, he smiled and pressed a knee against her and as he rode away he shook his head. "Yes, girl, I'm still a-rollin'—an' I don't know where to."
After supper he talked with George until they heard the creaking of wheels and harness. Looking up they saw four heavy horses slowly passing the window, followed by a huge, covered wagon with great, heavy wheels having four-inch tires. A grizzled, whiskered, weather-beaten patriarch handled the lines and talked to his horses as though they were children.
Now I got to make a new fire an' cook more grub, growled George, arising. "Why can't he get here in time for supper? He's allus late, goin' an' comin'."
Who is he, an' where's he from?
Ol' Buffaler Wheatley from Highbank. He's goin' up to Juniper an' Sherman.
He come from Highbank today? demanded Johnny, surprised.
Shore—an' he must 'a' come slow.
Slow? Forty miles with that in a day, an' he come slow? retorted Johnny. "He was lucky to get here before midnight. If you'd 'a' done what that old feller has today, you'd not think much of anybody as wanted you on hand at supper time."
Mebby yo're right, conceded George, dubiously, as he went into the kitchen.
Johnny arose and went out to the shed where the driver was flexing his muscles. "Howd'y," he said. "Got th' waggin where you want it?"
Howd'y, friend, replied Buffalo, looking out from under bushy brows. "I reckon so. 'Most any place'll do. Ain't nothin' 'round'll scratch th' polish off it," he grinned.
Johnny laughed and began unhitching the tired, patient horses, and his deft fingers had it done before Buffalo had any more than started. "Fine hosses," he complimented, slapping the big gray at his side. "You must treat 'em well."
I do, said Buffalo. "I may abuse myself, sometimes, but not these here fellers. They'll pull all day, an' are as gentle as kittens."
How do you find freightin'? asked Johnny, leading his pair into the shed.
Pickin' up, an' pickin' fast, answered Buffalo, following with the second team. "It's gettin' too much for one old man an' this waggin. An' top of that I got th' mail contract I been askin' for for years. So I got to put on another waggin an' make th' trip every week 'stead of only when th' freight piles up enough to make it worth while. Reckon I'll break my boy in on th' new waggin."
I'll leave th' feedin' to you, said Johnny, leaning against the wall. "You know what they need."
All right, friend; much obliged to you. I just let 'em eat all th' hay they can hold an' give 'em their measures of oats. I have to carry them with me—can't get none away from Highbank, everythin' up here bein' grass fed.
I feed oats when I can get 'em, replied Johnny. "I allus reckon a corn-fed hoss has more bottom."
Shore has—if they're that kind, agreed Buffalo.
Travel th' same way all th' time?
Yes. I won't gain nothin' goin' t'other way 'round, answered Buffalo, busy with his pets. "You see I allus come north loaded. Th' first stop, after here, is Juniper, where I loses part of th' load. That's thirty miles from here, an' th' road's good. Then I cross over to Sherman, lose th' rest of th' load, an' come back from there light—it's fifty mile of hard travelin'. Goin' like I do I has th' good, short haul with th' heavy load; comin' back I have a light waggin on th' long, mean haul. If I went to Sherman first, things would just be turned 'round."
What do you do when you have passengers for Sherman?
Don't want none! snorted Buffalo. "Wouldn't carry 'em to Sherman, anyhow. Anybody with sense that can sit a hoss wouldn't crawl along with me in th' heat an' dust on that jouncin' seat. But sometimes I has a tenderfoot to nurse, consarn 'em. They ask so many fool questions I near go loco. But they pays me well for it, you bet!"
Anythin' else I can give you a hand with? asked Johnny, following the old man out of the shed.
No, thankee; I'm all done. Th' only man that can give me a hand now is that scamp, George. I'm goin' in to eat, friend. Got to be up an' be on my way before th' sun comes up. I get th' cool of th' mornin' for my team, an' give 'em a longer rest when she gets hot. If you see Jim Fanning, tell him I'm buyin' hides as a side line now. I pays spot cash for 'em, same price as Ol' Saunders would pay, less th' freight. He has quit th' business an' went to live with his married da'ter, ol' fool!
Fanning sell hides?
No; I just want him to know so he can tell th' Bar H an' th' Triangle an' mebby th' Double X. I want to have a good load goin' back from here. There ain't no profit in goin' all th' way back with an empty waggin. Well, good night, friend! I'm much obliged to you.
That's all right, smiled Johnny. "I'll tell him. Good night; an' good luck!" he added as an after-thought, and then drifted around to the saloon, where he found several men at the bar.
Dave performed the introductions, and added: "Nelson, here, says he ain't goin' back punchin' cows as long as his money lasts. He's a travelin' eddicator in th' innercent game of draw—or was it studhoss, Nelson?"
Draw is closer to my heart, laughed Johnny. "My friend, Tex, told me I might learn draw if I lived long enough; but I'd have to have a pack of cards buried with me an' practice in th' other world if I aimed to learn studhoss."
It grieves me to see a young man wastin' his time in idleness, said Ben Dailey, the storekeeper. "Th' devil is allus lookin' for holts. Young men should keep workin'. Might I inquire if you feel like indulgin' in a little game of draw? You'll find us rusty, though."
We don't play oftener than every night, an' some afternoons, said Fanning.
I'm a little scared when a man says he's rusty, replied Johnny. "But I reckon I might as well lose tonight as later. I hope Dave is too busy to cut in—he said he don't know nothin' about it."
Dave's still cuttin' his teeth, chuckled Jim Fanning; "but he uses my silver to cut 'em on. When he learns th' game I'm goin' to drift out of town while I still got a cayuse."
Two punchers came stamping in and Dave nodded to them. "Here's yore victims; here's them infants from th' Double X. Boys, say 'Howd'y' to Mr. Nelson. Nelson, that tall, red-headed feller is Slim Hawkes; an' that bowlegged towhead is Tom Wilkes. They ain't been in here in three months, an' they've rid twenty miles to rob us."
An' we might walk home, retorted Wilkes. "Let's lay th' dust before we starts anythin'. Nelson, yo're in bad company. This gang would rob a church. You want to get a kneehold an' hang onto th' pommel after this game starts. Here's how!"
As the game progressed the few newcomers who straggled in felt their interest grow. As each finished his drink, Dave would lean forward and whisper: "There's what I call a poker game. Four highway-men playin' 'em close. To listen to 'em you'd think they never saw a card before."
Johnny was complaining. "Gents, I know I'm ignorant—but would you advise me to draw to a pair of treys? Shall I hold up an ace, or take three cards? I'll chance it; I never hold a sider. Gimme three."
Ain't that just my luck, sighed Ben. "An' me with three of a kind."
A little later Johnny picked up another hand and frowned at it "Well, seein' as I allus hold up a sider, I'll have two, this time."
Hoofbeats drummed up and stopped, and a voice was heard outside. Dave looked at the calendar. "Big Tom's a day ahead—he ain't due for his spree till pay-day. Hello, Huff! What you doin' so fur from home?"
Hello, Dave! Hello, boys! said the newcomer. "I feel purty good tonight. Just got word that McCullough wants two thousand head from us fellers up here. He'll be along with his reg'lar trail outfit in a few weeks. Sixteen men, a four-mule chuck waggin, an' nine saddle hosses to th' man. I'm sendin' word that I can give him a thousand head, an' th' Triangle is goin' to give him five hundred; so he'll want five hundred from th' Double X, which Slim an' Tom can tell Sherwood."
Shore, growled Slim, and his ranch mate nodded.
Goin' up to Dodge again? queried Dailey.
He didn't say, answered Big Tom. "Who's doin' the scalpin'?" he asked, going over to the table, where he gradually grew more restless as he watched.
Some of these days, when I grows up, grinned Wilkes, "I'm goin' up th' trail with a herd, like a reg'lar cow-puncher. Dodge may be top-heavy with marshals, but I'd like to see it again, with money in my pockets."
Slim grunted. "Huh!" He looked over his hand, and drawled: "Th' last time you went up you put on too many airs. Just because Cimarron let you play segundo once in a while when he went on ahead to size up th' water or some river we would have to cross, you got too puffed up. I'm aimin' to be th' second boss th' next trip, an' I'll hand you a few jobs that'll keep you out of mischief."
Big Tom watched the winner rake in the chips and could stand it no longer. "Say," he growled, "anybody gettin' tired, an' want to drop out?"
Dailey looked up. "I only won two dollars in two hours, an' I got some work to do. Everybody bein' willin', I'll go out an' bury my winnin's."
Big Tom took his place. "I'm shore of one thing: I can't lose th' ranch, for I don't own it."
A round or two had been played when Big Tom drew his first openers. Johnny raised it and cards were drawn. After it had gone around twice, the others dropped out. Big Tom raised and Johnny helped it along. The betting became stiffer and Big Tom laughed. "I hope you keep on boostin' her."
You can't get me out of this pot with dynamite, replied Johnny, pushing out a raise.
Big Tom's gun was out before he left his seat. His chair crashed backward and he leaned over the table. "Meanin'?" he snarled.
Johnny, surprised, kept his hand on the chips. "What I said," he answered, evenly.
Tom! yelled Dave. "He don't mean nothin'! He's a stranger down here."
Big Tom's scowl faded at the words. "I reckon I was hasty, Nelson," he said.
Johnny spoke slowly, his voice metallic "You was so hasty you come near never gettin' over it. Put down th' gun."
I'm a mite touchy at——
If you has anythin' to say, put—down—that—gun.
No offense?
For th' third time: Put—down—that—gun.
Big Tom shook his head and appeared to be genuinely sorry. He slid the gun back and picked up his chair. "You raised?"
I did. I advise you to call—and end it.
She's called. Five little hearts, said Big Tom, lying down his cards.
They're hasty, too. Queen full, count 'em. Let's liquor.
The foreman paused in indecision. "Nelson——"
We all get touchy, interrupted Johnny, scraping in the winnings. "Will you drink with me?"
I'll take the same, said Big Tom, and he bought the next round, nodded his good night and went out.
Johnny turned to Dave. "Will you oblige me by tellin' me what Mr. Huff got huffy about?"
Dave hesitated, but Slim Hawkes laughed and answered for him, his slow drawl enhancing the humor of his tale, and wrinkles playing about his eyes and lips told of the enjoyment the picture gave to him. "Clear River crossed our range, flowed through Little Canyon, made a big bend on th' Bar H, passed out of East Canyon, an' flowed down the middle of th' SV. Three years ago a piece of Little Canyon busted loose an' slid down, blockin' th' river, which backed up, getting' higher an' higher, an' began to cut through its bank about three miles above. Big Tom got busy, pronto. He sends for a box of dynamite, sticks it around in th' débris an' let's her go—all of it. When th' earthquake stopped there was a second one in th' dust an' smoke—we all thought it was a delayed charge. It wasn't. It was a section of th' canyon wall, near a hundred feet long an' almost two hundred feet high. There was a shale fault runnin' down from th' top, back about forty feet. Everythin' in front of that was jarred loose an' slid. Th' canyon was choked so hard an' fast that it won't never get open again. Clear River kept right on a-cuttin', an' it now flows on th' other side of Pine Mountain, which means th' Bar H ain't got no water of its own, except a few muddy holes south an' west of th' ranch buildings. That's why he's touchy. But that's a long speech, an' a dry one. Let's all liquor again."
Johnny looked forward eagerly to the coming of the outfits for their monthly celebration, and he was not certain that he would not make enemies before the night was over, which impelled him to visit the Bar H and the Triangle while he would be welcome. He had familiarized himself with the SV valley and the country close to the town. Therefore he mounted Pepper after an early breakfast and rode south, passing the shack occupied by the Doc, about two miles south of Gunsight. The Doc was squatting on SV land, had a small corral, a hitching post, and a well. Johnny stopped at the latter and had a drink while he mentally photographed everything in the immediate vicinity. When he started on again he had the choice of two trails. One wound up over Pine Mountain, a high, wooded hill, and was the more direct route to the Bar H; the other followed the river bed around the base of the mountain, and was the trail used by the Triangle. Deciding on the shorter, if more difficult route, he gave Pepper her head and started up the slope. The trail was fair, following, as it did, the line of least resistance and threading through rocky defiles, rocky clefts, and skirting steep walls.
Riding down on the south side he found himself in a deep ravine and when he left it he came to the old bed of the river, and a grin came to his face as he pictured the episode of the dynamiting. Following the dried-up bed he entered East Canyon and found its north wall to be perpendicular and remarkably smooth; the other side sloped more, showed great errosion and was scored by clefts and wooded defiles running far back. Emerging from the canyon he rode over a hilly, rolling range and some time later recrossed the old river bed and arrived at the Bar H ranchhouses. Two men were in sight, one mending riding gear and the other had just fixed the fence around the wall. They nodded, and he asked for Big Tom.
He's around some'rs, said "Squint" Farrell, whose name had been well bestowed.
Git off an' set down, invited the other. "He won't be long. Ridin' fur?"
Gunsight, answered Johnny.
Bill Fraser's eyes were on Pepper. "Ever think of swappin' cayuses?" he asked.
Not this one, smiled Johnny. "She's too dumb—won't learn nothin'. But I had her since she could stand up, an' she's rapid for short distances."
Meanin' several short distances hooked together, suggested Squint. "I can see she's dumb—it's writ' all over her."
I don't care, said Fraser. "I'm a great hand with th' dumb ones. I'm doin' wonders with Squint."
Shore, grunted Squint. "He owes me so much money I got to do what he says. Here comes Tom, now. He's some touchy this mornin'. Must 'a had a session with them poker deacons last night."
He holds 'em too long, chuckled Fraser. "He figgers that if three little deuces are worth a dollar, why two aces an' two kings is worth a hull lot more."
Does sound reasonable, said Squint, "three deuces makin' only six, an' th' others makin'—a king is thirteen—twenty-six, an' two more is twenty-eight. That the way you been figgerin' all these years, Tom?"
Big Tom smiled. "Howd'y, Nelson. What brings you down here so early?"
Curiosity, mostly, answered Johnny. "That an' not havin' nothin' to do. An' I'm grievin' about them two dollars Dailey took away from me last night."
Nobody that wiggles away from Dailey an' only leaves two dollars behind can associate with me steady, objected Fraser. "I got my rights."
Mebby we'll see him get two more tonight, said Squint. "We're ridin' in with money in our pockets."
An' you'll travel light returnin', said Big Tom.
An' most amazin' noisy, laughed Squint.
After a little more idle conversation Johnny pulled his hat more firmly down on his head. "Well, I just thought I'd drop in an' say hello. Any place else to go?"
Don't be in no hurry, said Big Tom. "But if yo're set, you might get acquainted with th' Triangle—it's only an hour's ride. They'll be in town, too, tonight."
Johnny nodded all around and rode off the way they pointed. He looked carefully at the brands of the cattle he passed, stopped at the Triangle for a drink and a few minutes conversation with a puncher who was saddling a fresh horse and returned by the trail around the eastern end of Pine Mountain, to Gunsight, where he spent the afternoon playing seven-up with Dave, with indifferent success.
Night had scarcely fallen when a whooping down the trail heralded the approach of an outfit. It was from the Triangle and they stamped in eagerly. Dailey, Fanning, and several more of the townsfolk followed them, and it was not long before liquor and cards vied with each other for the honors of the evening.
Johnny, declining cards, and going easy with the liquor, watched the games and became better acquainted all around.
I'm losin' my holt, mourned Dailey. "Reckon I'm sick."
When you get so sick you can't move, grunted Hank Lewis, foreman of the Triangle, "I'm comin' in an' take yore clothes. You'll be left like you was born."
You ain't got a chance, Hank, asserted Fanning. "I live next door to him, an' I'll get him first. Here's a little more to freeze him out."
No man with three jacks ought to sit in this here game at all, muttered Gardner, sorrowfully. "But I'm trailin'."
Now that I know what Sam's got, I'll trail, too, grinned George Lang. "Here comes Huff an' his angels."
The Bar H arrived tempestuously. Big Tom's voice could be heard above the noise and he was the first to enter, followed closely by his outfit. He nodded to the crowd and ordered drinks all around. Exchanging a few words with Dave, he approached Johnny.
Reckon you can hold onto that last pot, Nelson? he asked.
I'll do my best, replied Johnny. "I'll have a better chance with Dailey out of our game."
Let's make up another table, said Big Tom, looking around.
Fraser joined them, followed by Lefty Carson. "I'm after more'n two dollars," he laughed. "Dailey allus did play a kid's game."
Somebody else is pickin' on me, came Dailey's voice. "If that Fraser'll come in some evenin' I'll try to suit him. Hey, Dave! What's th' matter? Somebody tie you to th' bar?"
Dave's retort was not what fiction attributes to a fat man. He was not genial; he was stirred up. "You go hang! I'm so cussed busy I can't see. I ain't no jack rabbit!"
He says so hisself! shouted Squint, roaring with laughter. "If I ever sees a jack rabbit lookin' like Dave, I'll give him all th' trail!"
Hey, Two-Spot! yelled Dave, with a voice which shook the bottles. "He's allus around when there's nobody here—but when there's a crowd to be waited on, he flits. Hey! Two-Spot!"
Dahlgren held his hand over the bar. "Gimme a glass of liquor, Dave, an' I'll trap him," he laughed, looking at his foreman, who had forgotten all about cards and was drinking steadily.
Dave looked at him, grinned, and complied. Dahlgren turned, glass held up. "Order, Gents! Order! Less noise! I'm goin' to trap a bum-bum an' have him on show right before you for two bits a head."
The crowd took it as a wager and would not let him explain. "All right, you coyotes; let it go that way, then: Two bits apiece that I do," he cried, and, the cynosure of all eyes, pranced to the door where he placed the glass on the sill and then lay down along the wall, his hand raised to grasp his quarry. Laughing, he faced the crowd. "They are 'lusive animals. Gents; but they can't—oh! ho!—resist th' enticin' smell of——"
Another roar went up as a hand stole around the glass and whisked it from sight. All oblivious to this, Dahlgren took the shout as a tribute to his humor, and when he could be heard, continued: "They can't resist th' smell of liquor, Gents. When th' wary bum-bum scents this here glass of fire water," pointing—he stopped as another roar went up. "Well, I'm d—d!" he grunted. Scrambling to his feet, he plunged out into the night as Two-Spot entered the rear door, carrying the liquor at arm's length. Two-Spot stopped, gulped down the fiery liquid and, placing the glass on the bar, started to serve the card players, his face grave and serious.
The place was in an uproar when Dahlgren returned and he was met by a howling mob of creditors. Shaking his fist at Two-Spot he exhausted his change as he bobbed around in the crowd, got more from Dave and at last managed to pay off. Emitting a yell, he jumped for Two-Spot, grabbed him and began to manhandle him playfully. Others joined in and the sport grew fast and furious, rougher and rougher. Johnny, seeing how things stood, and thinking that Two-Spot was in danger of being hurt, plunged headfirst into the mass of merrymakers, grabbed Two-Spot and, at the first opportunity, threw him reeling toward the door. Leaping after him, he grasped the confused tramp, whispered: "Vamoose!" and then yelled out: "I can't, huh? We'll see!" There was a flurry and Two-Spot shot out of the door as though he had left a bow. Johnny turned and faced the crowd. "Did you hear him?" he demanded. "I showed him if I could, or not. Blast his nerve, to talk like that to me!"
Wish he'd said it to me, growled Big Tom, whose liquor was making him surly and uncertain. "I'd 'a' busted his cussed neck. This here country is gettin' too d—d independent. That's it—too independent. Th' Bar H runs this country, an' I run th' Bar H," he boasted, resting against the bar. "That's it, an' it's got to learn it. It's got to learn that th' Bar H runs this country, an' I run th' Bar H. Anybody say I don't?" he demanded, looking around.
Just at this auspicious occasion, Squint was unfortunate enough to step on the foot of a man who had little use for him and who, several times in the last few years, had been restrained only by force from carrying out his thinly veiled threats. Wolf Forbes, the deadliest man on the Bar H, more than disliked Squint, and only their common interests had averted bloodshed. Now he snarled and reached for his gun, but found it held in the holster by Little Tom Carney, who hung to Forbes' arm like a leech until others came to his and succeeded in taking the killing edge from Wolf's anger.
Wolf struggled, gradually getting free. "I don't want him now," he panted. "Let go of me! I'll get him when he's sober." He wrestled free and went over to his foreman. "You heard what I said?" he demanded. "There won't be no interference this time!"
Big Tom rocked back on his heels and scowled down at his gunman. "I heard you," he replied. "An' I says yo're makin' a fool of yoreself. I'm runnin' this ranch, an' I'm tellin' you that I'll see that he is good an' sober an' gets an even break, if it ever comes to gunplay between you two. Take my advice, an' forget about it." He pushed Forbes to one side and waved his arm. "Everybody have a drink with Big Tom Huff, th' boss of th' Bar H. Set 'em out, Dave."
They responded, but the soberer heads began to feel uneasy. Dave looked at Dailey, who exchanged glances with him; and at Johnny who, lounging against the further wall near the card players, was missing nothing. Johnny allowed a faint smile to show, and winked at the proprietor, a knowing, significant wink. If it was meant to bring ease to Dave's troubled mind, it failed utterly. Worse than that, it acted the other way.
D—n it! thought Dave. "He's sober as a hoss an' cold as h—l" which anomaly did not strike Dave's too-busy mind. "Is he aimin' to get Huff? Is he nursin' last night's play? Here I was hopin' none of th' Double X would ride in, an' Trouble was campin' under my fat nose all th' time! H—l will shore pop at the first shot—they'll shoot him to pieces, an' no tellin' who else!"
The card game died gradually and the players nearest the crowd shoved their chairs back. Dave noticed it and shook his head imploringly, trying by sheer will-power to force them back to the game. He failed, and his fears looked to be justified. Big Tom, turning ponderously, looked at them and then stared as their strange inactivity slowly impressed itself on his befuddled mind.
Go on an' play! he roared. "I run th' Bar H—an' Bar H runs th' country."
Dave leaped into the breach. "They can't. Dailey's got all th' money."
Dailey's got—Ha! Ha! Ha! roared Big Tom. "He's th' ol' fox. Goin' to shake han's with th' ol' fox!" He weaved across the floor and shook Dailey's hypocritical hand. "An' he's got Nelson's two pesos! Me an' Nelson's goin' to play a two-hand game for th' limit—an' th' winner'll tangle up with Dailey."
That plan did not suit Dave at all. He refilled a glass and slid it across the bar. "Hey, Tom!" he called. "Hey, Tom!" As the foreman turned clumsily and stared at him, Dave held up the glass. "I never thought you was so stuck up as to ask th' boys to drink with you, an' then throw 'em like that!"
Who's stuck up?
Then why didn't you drink with 'em? demanded Dave, severely.
Huff looked at him and lurched forward. "Beg boys' pardon. I'm with th' boys. I allus drink with th' boys, an' I ain't stuck up!" He gulped the liquor and, spreading his feet, leaned against the bar. "Th' Bar H runs this country, an' I run th' Bar H. I'll learn 'em, too!" He threw off two of his men who tried to quiet him, fearing he would say too much. "I'm all right," he assured them. "I'll learn 'em," he continued. "There's that minx on th' SV. I'll learn her, too. I've been layin' low; but I'll learn her. I'm not stuck up; but she is. First night I called she tried to sneak out an' leave me holdin' th' sack. But I showed her who was runnin' this country. She's a wiry minx, but I kissed——"
That'll do! snapped Johnny, the words sounding like the crack of a whip. He leaned forward, away from the wall, his hands hanging limply at his sides. The crowd jumped, and Dave's heart was severely taxed. "I don't know th' woman, but I objects. The Bar H may run this country, an' you may run th' Bar H; but if I hears any more about wimmin I'll take th' job of runnin' you, an' th' Bar H, an th' country, besides, if I has to! I've got some rights an' I ain't goin' to have my evenin' spoiled by wimmin! An' that goes as she lays!"
Big Tom had pushed away from the bar and swung around unsteadily. He blinked, and focused his eyes on the man who had interrupted him, and who spoke about running him. Steadily the meaning of the words hammered at the liquor-paralyzed brain cells, and at last was recognized and understood. His blood-red face wrinkled like the muzzle of an angry dog and the red eyes blazed with murder. Memory tried to inflame him further, and succeeded. He snarled an oath and reached for his gun.
There was a flash, a roar, and a cloud of smoke at Johnny's hip and before the crowd could move they were facing two guns, from one of which trailed a thin wisp of smoke. Big Tom, holding his benumbed hand against his body, looked from it to his gun, which slowly ceased sliding and came to a stop on the floor at the other end of the bar. He appeared to be stupefied.
I didn't touch him! snapped Johnny. "I hit his gun. You all saw him draw first. I'm aimin' to make this personal between him an' me—an' so far's I'm concerned, it's over now. But if anybody has any objections, I'll hear 'em." Receiving no reply, he continued, looking out of the corner of his eye at the Bar H foreman:
"Tom, I don't aim to do you no injury, an' you can palaver all you wants, an' have all th' fun you wants, regardless. That is yore right. But I've got rights, too. An' so has all th' boys. An' we ain't goin' to hear nobody talk about wimmin. Wimmin is barred all th' way to th' ace. I ain't goin' to listen about 'em, at all. They lost me th' best job I ever had, on the best ranch I ever saw. They drove me clean out of Montanny, to h—l an' gone. All my troubles have been caused by wimmin—an' you hear me shout that there ain't goin' to be no palaverin' about 'em where I got to hear it. That's flat; an' I got two six-guns that says it is. I ain't holdin' no grudge ag'in' you—no more'n yo're holdin' ag'in' me for my mistake last night. We all of us make 'em, not meanin' to. This is a man's town, a man's saloon, an' we're all of us men. We ain't goin' to be follered around by no wimmin in talk or otherwise. All in favor of barrin' wimmin, have a drink with me.""
"The invitation was accepted, and Dave followed it by a treat on the house. Then he mopped his head and wearily let his hands hang down at his side. He looked at Johnny and heaved a sigh. "D—d if you ain't a he-wizard!" he muttered. "A reg'lar sheep-herder!"
Johnny walked over, picked up the gun and handed it to its owner, slapping him on the back at the same time. "Here, Ol' Timer," he grinned, "take yore gun. She's a beauty an' ain't hurt a bit. Don't it beat all how me an you get all mixed up without meanin' to? I says it's funny—cussed if it ain't!"
Big Tom fumbled at the holster, slid the gun into it, and a grin crawled across his face. "Seems like we are allus buttin' our fool heads together," he replied. "I'm with you, Nelson. I'm with th' boys. Th' h—l with wimmin. They're barred, an' I won't listen about 'em, We're all men—ain't we, boys?"
I reckon so, said Dave. He motioned to Squint and Fraser, nodding at Big Tom, and then at the door.
Hey, Tom, called Fraser, "let's go home!"
Won't—won't go home! objected Big Tom, lurching forward. Reaching a chair in a corner he fell into it and in a few minutes was snoring sonorously.
Dave slid his elbow on the bar and rested his head in his hand. His pose bespoke great weariness. He looked at Johnny and shook his head in bewilderment. Johnny dragged a chair up to the unused second table, made a face at the fat proprietor, and piled up a sizable stack of coins in front of him.
Any Bar H or Triangle hombre think they can get any of this? he demanded, grinning. Four men thought so at the same time; and soon a third game was going on beside them.
Two-Spot poked his face up to the window again and looked in. Then he came in with an air of non-chalant confidence. Having seen all that had happened he believed the stormy weather to be over and if it wasn't, why Nelson seemed to be a friend of his, which sufficed. Dave slid him a partly filled bottle.
Take it away and don't bother me, said the proprietor. "I'm restin' up for th' next storm."
Two-Spot looked around. "You can go to sleep, Dave," he said. "I'll tend bar for you. There won't be no more. My friend over there is like his black cayuse—everythin' in this country is hid back in his dust." Turning away, he glanced quickly around, stuck out his tongue at the snoring Mr. Huff, put his bottle on a chair, sat down on another one, rested his feet on the recumbent form of Squint, who snored tenor to his boss' bass, and appeared to be well pleased with himself.
The following morning was a quiet one in Gunsight and a stranger entering the town would have thought an epidemic of sleeping sickness had raided it, for yawns would have met him wherever he turned, and quite some headaches, the owners of which were short of temper and ugly in words. Dave dozed in his chair and his countenance was not a smiling one. He opened his eyes from time to time and fell asleep again with a scowl. Ben Dailey petulantly cursed everything his clumsy fingers bungled, and it can be said that clumsiness was not the normal condition of those digits. Art Fanning, whose hired man could run the routine affairs of the hotel as well without him, turned and tossed on his bed, finally getting up and poking his head out into the hall. Thinking he heard a noise in Nelson's room, he went to the door and hammered on it.
House afire? demanded Johnny, sleepily.
No; but my head is, growled Fanning. "What you say about a bucket of roarin' strong coffee for us sinners?"
I say yo're shoutin'. Comin' in?
Naw; I got to put on some clothes—an' find some socks; these here are roundin' my heels an' climbin' up my laigs. I'm shore hard on socks, he growled. Leaning over the stairs he let out a bellow, "Hey, George!"
I'll swear he heard you, said Johnny. "Mebby th' Bar H did, too. I never saw nobody go under so quick from liquor as Big Tom an' Squint."
Hey, George! yelled Fanning. "Oh, they was well ribbed before they hit town. Where th'——"
What you want? asked a voice from below.
What you think I want! retorted Fanning. "Yore gran'mother's aunt? You brew us a quart of coffee apiece, and brew it my way. I been bit by a snake."
I don't want none of that paint, objected George, surprised.
Who said you did? snapped Fanning. "Who cares what you want? Nelson an' I'll handle that. Jump lively or I'll shoot down th' stairs."
Shoot, if you wants. They don't belong to me. You can shoot down th' house, if you wants! George slammed the door with vim. "'Bit by a snake!' Bet it was a hydrophoby skunk. I'll brew him some coffee that'll stunt his growth, blast him!"
After breakfast, during which his companion found fault three times with everything in sight, Johnny wandered around and dropped in to see Jerry Poole, the harness-maker. Jerry's mouth tasted of burnt leather and alum from his night's indiscretions and he was so unendurably ugly that his visitor, twiddling his fingers at him, dodged a chunk of wax and departed, going into Dailey's.
Hello, yoreself! growled Dailey. He fumbled a ball of cord, dropped it, and kicked it through a window. "Now look what you done!" he yelled.
Johnny wheeled, slammed the door, and wandered to the Palace. Peering in, he assayed a test of Dave's hospitality.
How do you feel? he asked, loudly. "You was goin' too fast with th' juniper."
Dave straightened up, glared at him for a moment and found a more comfortable position. "You can go to Juniper, or h—l, for all I care!" he grunted, and went off to sleep again.
Johnny leaned against the wall in momentary indecision. Hearing shuffling steps, he looked up to see Two-Spot rounding the corner. His face brightened. Here was someone with whom he could talk.
Howd'y, Ol' Timer, he said, cheerily.
Howd'y, grunted Two-Spot, and passed into the Palace. There was a noise within, a crashing of chair legs, and a thunder of words. Two-Spot came out again in undignified haste, crossed the street in three leaps and, turning, shook his unwashed fist at Dave, Johnny, Gunsight, and Creation, and told his opinion of them all.
Johnny shook his head and went around the corner. "Pepper's th' only company fit to 'sociate with; an' a ride won't do me no harm. Reckon I'll go down an' wander around that hill between th' SV an' th' Triangle. I ain't been south of that valley yet." He looked up at the sun. "Cussed if it ain't noon already!"
While Gunsight slept or swore, the day's work was going on as usual on the SV. Arnold had finished a hurried breakfast and ridden out to the north boundary of his ranch, at that point not more than a mile from the house, to continue setting posts for a fence. His boundary ran along the foot of hills heavily covered with brush and timber and he had grown tired of turning his cattle from them. Having found several rolls of wire left by the former owner of the SV, he determined to use them and make them go as far as they would. If they reached no farther than across the Devil's Gulch section and the creek, he would be repaid for his labor.
Reaching the gulch, he started to work and found the task disheartening. The ravine was rocky and bowlder-strewn and he had difficulty in finding places for the posts. More than half of the morning had passed when he reached the bottom of the gulch and began to look for a place where his shovel would do more than scratch rock. After a fruitless search he abandoned the idea of digging and determined to build a cairn around the post. Taking a crowbar, he attacked the side of the gulch and sent several rocks rolling down. He was prying at a small bowlder with indifferent success when the rock under it, giving way unexpectedly in a small slide of gravel and shale, freed the bowlder suddenly and sent it crashing downward before he could get out of its way. It passed over his left leg and he dropped in agony, the leg broken below the knee. There was only one thing for him to do and he tried it, despite the excruciating pain. He had to drag himself to his horse and get into the saddle somehow. There was no way to call for help with any chance of being heard, for he did not pack a gun, believing himself safer without one. Not being able to use a six-gun well, he knew he would have no chance against men who used them as though they were an integral part of themselves; and to carry a weapon under those circumstances would be suicidal, for he then would become an armed man and have to assume the responsibilities of one.
After what seemed to be an age, he finally reached the top of the gulch, and saw his horse. Resting for a few minutes, he again dragged himself forward. The horse wheeled, pricked up its ears and stared at him in panicky fear. Snorting, the animal dashed away at top speed, the injured man calling after it in despair.
Back in the ranchhouse Margaret set the table for the noon meal. The dinner was nearly cooked when she glanced out of the window and saw her father's saddled horse standing at the corral. Going to the door, she called out that dinner was ready, well knowing her father's habit of not coming until the food was nearly spoiled. Her brother appeared from the tool shed and splashed with the wash basin, which he firmly believed was all that was necessary; but his sister, wise in the ways of boyhood, thought otherwise.
Don't you dare to touch that towel, she warned. "If you want any dinner, wash your hands and face with soap—get them wet, anyway. Charley, for a ten-year-old boy you are hopeless!"
An' for a twenty-year-old woman you are a nuisance, retorted Charley. "You women don't do nothing but find fault. Where's dad?"
I don't know. When you have washed go tell him that dinner will be spoiled if he doesn't hurry.
Charley growled something, made a creditable effort at revealing his face, and departed to find his father. After a short but fruitless search, he returned and reported his failure. "Wonder where he went?" he demanded.
Margaret felt a chill of apprehension. Fears of this kind were not strangers to her, for she had felt many of them in the last two years. "Perhaps Lazy wandered home without him," she suggested. "It wouldn't be the first time. You would better saddle Pinto, and go see. Take Lazy with you."
Go yourself.
If you want any dinner you'd better be starting. The sooner you return, the sooner you will eat, she declared, with vexation. "You know that I cannot leave now."
All right! growled Charley. He slouched to the corral, saddled Pinto, caught Lazy, and loped toward the gulch.
Margaret's impatience gave way to a nameless fear as the minutes passed without sign of the "men." Going to the door again, she looked out, caught her breath, and then ran toward the corral. Her father, supported in the saddle by her brother, was riding slowly toward the house.
Dad's broke his leg, Peggy; a big rock come down on it, said Charley, gloomily. "Help me get him into the house."
Between them they soon had him on his bed and Margaret told her brother to ride to Gunsight for the doctor.
He won't come, groaned the injured man. "If he wouldn't come when you needed him, he won't come for me. Don't waste any time with Reed—I wouldn't have the blackguard if he would come! Charley, you'll have to make that ride to Highbank again. I hate to ask it of you, but there is nothing else to be done. Forty-five miles is too long a ride for Peggy, and besides, I need her here. Eat your dinner, sonny, and then start as soon as you can. I only hope Doctor Treadwell is sober enough to sit a horse when you get there."
Gee, Dad! I can do it! Charley asserted. "I did it before in five hours—I'll do it in less this time. Pinto can run all day, for she's a good little horse. Take good care of him, Sis; I'm off."
Grabbing a chunk of meat, and stuffing his pockets with bread, Charley dashed out of the house, climbed into the saddle, and rode off. "Come on, Pinto!" he pleaded. "It's goin' to be a long, hard wait for dad!"
Fording the river, he took the slope of the hill beyond at a walk and, reaching the crest, shot down the other side. Soon he came to a better trail, where the Triangle punchers rode when they went out to their north line. He had not gone far along it before he saw a horseman ahead of him, and when the rider turned and looked back, Charley felt a thrill of fear. It was Squint Farrell.
Squint was still going home from Gunsight and he was not yet sober. Worse than that, he was in a savage mood. When his outfit had started for the ranch, in the early, dark hours of the morning, he had fallen behind them, stupid with drink. At the end of one of his spells of mental oblivion he suddenly realized that he was alone, and urged his horse forward in hope of overtaking his friends. If left to itself the animal would have followed the trail to the ranch; but in his sodden frame of mind the rider knew better. "G'wan!" he ordered, pulling savagely on the reins, and barely managing to ride out the ensuing bucking. "Where you—goin'? I'm boss of this—here outfit an' I'm goin' home. I'll—point this here herd. G'wan!" The result was that when day broke and Squint aroused himself and looked around he had no idea of where he was. "It's further'n I reckoned," he muttered. "Don't care: I'm goin' to sleep." He dismounted, made the horse fast to a sapling, and soon was asleep. When he awakened he looked around in bewilderment and began to take note of his surroundings. Mounting his horse, he rode around and finally got his bearings. He was miles east of the ranchhouse and, with a savage burst of profanity, he turned the horse and started for home. As he crossed the SV-Triangle trail he heard the rapid drumming of a horse's hoofs and, drawing rein, waited to see who it was.
Wonder if he got lost, too? he muttered, and then the hard-riding horseman turned the corner and shot into the narrow defile. "Cussed if it ain't that brat from th' SV!" he exclaimed, and became instantly though hazily suspicious. "Here, you!" he shouted. "What you doin' on this range? Where you goin' so fast?" He turned his horse across the narrow trail, effectually blocking it. "You speak up, an' don't give me none o' yore lip! Where you goin'?" He reached for the pinto's bridle, but missed it as Charley pulled the pony back on its haunches and backed away.
I'm going to Highbank for the doctor; dad's broken his leg, answered the boy, trying to get past.
Oh, are you? snarled Squint "Wish he'd busted his neck! Go 'round an' git on th' trail where you oughter; you can't cross this ranch."
You don't belong to it, argued the boy. "This is the Triangle; and I haven't got time to go back now. Please, Mr. Farrell, let me past I can't waste any time!"
Can't you? sneered Squint "I say yo're goin' 'round th' way you should. G'wan, now! Turn 'round, an' d—d quick, before I does it for you! D—d brat!"
Please, Mr. Farrell, pleaded the boy. "Let me past. Dad's suffering, and I've got to hurry."
'Please, Mr. Farrell,' mimicked Squint, savagely. "You goin' to do what I say?" he demanded, drawing his Colt and waving it menacingly. "I got a notion not to let you go at all, no way. You turn that cayuse, an' move fast. Hear me?"
In his desperation Charley forgot his fear. There was only one way to save the precious miles, and he took it. The sides of the defile were steep, and studded with bowlders, but he dug his heels into the pony's sides and sent him scrambling like a goat up the left-hand bank. He was ten feet above Squint before that surprised individual realized what had occurred; but with the realization came a burst of drunken rage. The heavy gun chopped down and flamed. Pinto rose straight up on his quivering hind legs, stood poised for an instant, and then crashed backward and rolled down to the trail, his rider barely having time to throw himself from the saddle.
Now you can hoof it! shouted Squint, brandishing the gun. "Next time you'll listen, an' do what yo're told. G'wan home, now!"
D—n you! blazed Charley, groping his way down the bank, and kneeling at the side of the little horse. Realizing what was at stake, he flung himself down on the dead pony and sobbed as though his heart would break.
Squint kneed his horse forward. "Don't you cuss me!" he warned. "Don't you do it, you brat! Serves you right: now you can hoof it!" He urged his horse into a lope and rode down the trail, arguing with himself, and finally burst into uproarious laughter at the trick he had played.
Johnny, riding as quietly as possible along the side of the big hill, just below and south of the SV-Triangle boundary, looking for rebranded cattle and other signs of range deviltry, pulled up short at the sound of a distant shot. It fitted in very nicely with his suspicious frame of mind and, thinking that he might catch some one red-handed in some of the things he had been searching for, he sent Pepper tearing down the slope and arrived at the trail shortly after Squint had departed. Rounding a turn, he saw the defile and the pitiful scene it held, and he pulled Pepper to her haunches and leaped from the saddle.
Well, sonny, he said, cheerfully, "yo're in tough luck, but cryin'—" then he saw the wound in the horse and his eyes narrowed. "Who shot that cayuse?" he demanded.
Charley told him between sobs.
Tell me all about it, demanded Johnny, but when the tale was half over he sprang into the saddle and started down the trail at top speed. "Stay there, sonny," he shouted over his shoulder. At the speed he was making he did not have to ride long before he caught sight of his quarry and he loosened his rope, shook it free, and leaned forward in the saddle.
Squint, still arguing, had a Colt in his upraised, waving hand, and was making so much noise with his mouth, and was so interested in and spellbound by his own eloquence that he failed to hear the rolling hoofs behind him until too late. As he turned, the sailing loop dropped over his upraised arm, tightened and pulled him from his horse which, slowing down, soon stopped and fell to grazing. Squint landed on his back, the gun exploding and flying from his hand, his sombrero going to the other side. Johnny came up along the taut rope, swung down, and scooped up the gun, and then released the lariat, recoiling it for future use. Squint opened his eyes, considerably more sober than he had been for twelve hours, and sat up, dazed and angry.
What th'— he began.
Shut yore face! snapped Johnny. "Pick up yore hat an' hoof it to yore cayuse. You was headed wrong, so I stopped you. Move rapid, or I'll provide some dance music!"
Squint tried his legs and arms, found them still to be working, and sullenly plodded to his horse. Mounting, he surrendered his rifle in compliance to orders, and then loped back the way he had come, Johnny riding one length in his rear.
Squint, said his captor in a hard, level voice, "if you give me the least excuse I'll blow you apart. I've seen some mangy humans, but I never run across a two-laigged polecat like you. I hate to tell you anythin' that'll save yore life, an' I'm hopin' you'll forget it. I'll tell you just once: You behave yoreself like you never did before, an' move lively when I speak. Keep looking ahead! You don't have to look around to hear, do you?"
Squint preserved an unbroken silence and soon they reached the scene of his outrage and stopped. Johnny ordered him to ride on for a hundred feet.
That's him, Mister! excitedly cried Charley. "That's th' big bum!"
I agree with you, buddy, answered Johnny. "Now you tell me all of it, over again." He listened in grave silence until the pitiful tale was told and then pointed to Pepper's back, behind him. "Climb up, sonny. Squint an' me are passin' close to yore house an' we'll take you as far as we can. You don't mind walkin' a few miles, do you?"
But I can't go! protested Charley. "I got to go to Highbank for th' doctor. I only hope he ain't drunk when I get there."
How you goin'? quizzically demanded Johnny.
Don't know; but that don't make no difference—I just got to go, somehow! Mebby I could take Squint's horse, he suggested, emboldened by desperation.
Johnny shook his head. "You don't never want to ride a Bar H cayuse; 'tain't healthy. But, say, bud, we don't have to go to Highback at all—we can get th' Doc at Gunsight. You been eatin' loco weed?"
He won't come, said the boy, whispering, and looking at Squint.
Did you ask him? asked Johnny in a low voice, taking the cue.
No; but he wouldn't come when Peggy was sick—an' dad says to get Dr. Treadwell from Highbank.
He wouldn't come when—when Peggy was sick? demanded Johnny.
No, sir; he said he'd treat cows an' horses, but he wouldn't sling a leg across a saddle if the whole SV was dying.
Johnny sat up very straight. "Climb up here, sonny. I'll get th' doctor for you—I can get to Highbank on this cayuse so quick you'd be surprised. First, I'll take you nearer home. Pronto, buddy! Yo're holdin' up th' drive. That's th' way; up you come!" He picked up the reins. "Squint," he called, "lead th' way, an' don't stay too close. We travel along th' foot of th' hill, on th' other side, goin' east after we get there."
That ain't th' way to Highbank, said the boy.
I know, replied Johnny. "When you grow up an' ride around th' country as long as I have, you'll find there's lots of ways gettin' to places. I'll have th' doctor at yore house by ten o'clock tonight, which is some hours before you could get him there. Now, don't you tell anybody who it was that helped you out. Plumb forget what me an' Pepper looked like. An' one thing more—if you say anything about what happened to that drunken coyote ahead, be sure an' tell 'em that he wasn't goin' to be killed, an' that they'll do th' stranger a great favor if they says nothin' about th' whole thing to nobody, nobody at all. Will you do that?"
Shore, Mister, assured Charley. "Ain't he gettin' pretty far ahead?"
Not as far as I'm hopin' he'll try to get. But he's got a most unpleasant memory, he don't forget nothin'—not nothin' you tell him.
Reaching the edge of the valley, they turned east and soon afterward Johnny checked his horse. "Here's where you get down, buddy. I hate to make you hoof it, but it won't be near as hard as ridin' down to Highbank an' back. Tell your sister to look for th' doctor at ten o'clock: I can't get him there any sooner. So-long, buddy."
Thanks, Mister, but my name's Charley. I'm Charley Arnold.
Glad to meet you, Charley, gravely replied Johnny. "I'll see you again some day, I hope. So-long, an' don't forget nothin'."
No, sir. Thank you.
Johnny pushed forward until he was close behind his prisoner. "Hit it up, you!" he ordered. "Nice, easy lope; I ain't got all day, if I'm goin' to Highbank. That's something else I owe you for, you coyote. An' I'll have to wear out my cayuse, an' come back on a strange one. Oh, if you'll only make a break, or give me half an excuse to throw lead!"
The trail grew slowly but steadily worse, and when they finally reached the bottom of a long, rough slope Johnny ordered a halt.
I figger we're twenty miles from Gunsight, near as I can judge, he said, "which leaves only ten to Rawlins. Get off that cayuse. You heard me. Yes; get off! Now, any man as shoots a fine little pinto pony an' tells a kid to walk, ought to do some of that walkin' hisself. Rawlins is ten miles; it's twenty to th' Triangle, an' with a lot of hills, an' a bad trail. Also, there's my six-guns. If I ever hear of you comin' back, or see you this side of Rawlins I'll get you. I want to make that plain. If it's th' last thing I do on earth, I'll—get—you! I ain't got no love for th' SV, but h—l ain't good enough for th' man that'll shoot a fine hoss to keep a kid from gettin' a doctor. Thinkin' as mebby you forgot last night, I'll give you another sample of my gunplay." He jerked out a gun and a hole appeared in the crown of Squint's hat. "When I say I'll get you, you know what it means. Turn around, an' keep yore shadow before you. Vamoose!"
Watching the hurrying Squint until satisfied that he intended to keep on in the right direction, Johnny turned back, leading the Bar H horse. He had watched the animal closely while driving Squint, and believed it to be in good enough condition to answer the demand he wished to make upon it. He could tell better when he got back to the SV range, in a certain woody draw near the main trail. This point was reached at dusk and he examined the horse, nodded his head, and picketed the animal to a tree with Squint's lariat. The two hours would do wonders for it. Leaving the Bar H horse, he led his own farther back in the draw and tied it to a tree with his lariat. Returning to Squint's mount, he took the slicker from behind the saddle and unrolled it, picking up the worn gloves which rolled out of it. Finishing his preparations, he went on a reconnaissance on foot, smiled as he saw the dim light in the Doc's house, and quickly returned to the horse.
Doc Reed, finding his tobacco pouch nearly empty, led his horse around to the door and went in to replenish the pouch. He plunged his hand into the big tobacco jar—and let it remain there, the tobacco slipping from his fingers, for a guttural, muffled voice suddenly said:
Hands up! Shut up! Come here, backwards!
An argument in one's own mind can be exhaustive and reach a conclusion in a very short space of time. It took the Doc about a second to weigh matters and abandon the idea of hurling the jar, and with the decision his hand came slowly out and went up, with the other, above his head. While he was doing this his eyes had not been idle and they saw everything there was to be seen, for he was trained in observation. They saw: A man of his own height, dressed in an old, well-worn, yellow slicker; a sombrero so covered with gray dust as to resemble a hat only in shape and function, its brim pulled well down in front; a pair of common black trousers reaching from the slicker down to common boots, so thickly covered with gray dust as to resemble the hat in everything but the above-mentioned characteristics; a common cotton kerchief, of a pattern found on half of the kerchiefs on the range, was tied across the caller's face, hiding it from chin to eyes; a narrow strip of the intruder's face, so indistinct in the shadow of the hat brim as even to hide the color of the eyes; a pair of gloved hands, the right of which was held in front of the intruder and on a level with his eyes; and last, but emphatically not least, a heavy, common-calibered Colt, with ivory grips yellowed by use and age, which weapon was firmly gripped by the upraised hand. The hammer was up, and a crooked, gloved finger lay in the trigger guard. As the Doc moved to obey, as he turned around, he caught a glimpse of a heavy, black line running from the lower edge of the ivory grip uncovered by the curling fingers. It looked as though it was a crack filled with dirt, which was a little thing, but not too small a thing to be forgotten.
Whoa! growled the man in the door.
The Doc obeyed. "What do you want?" he asked coolly.
Nothin' you can lose, came the answer. "Back up a little more!"
The Doc backed, stopped when the gun pressed into his back and stood motionless while a heavy hand felt him over. It took a Colt out of his shoulder holster, and then the victim felt the gun at his back move a little. He smiled slightly, for the fact that his captor had shifted it to the left hand so he could use the right to empty the captured gun and then toss it across the room onto the bed was no due, for the reason that all of the men he knew were right-handed. The pressure changed again as the right hand went back on the offensive, and then the intruder gave him his second surprise.
Pack yore tools—broken laig—take everythin' you need. Hurry!
The Doc stepped forward and picked up a satchel, glancing out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Only a hand, a foot, and part of the hat and face were in sight, the rest of the visitor's body being behind the outside wall. Filling the bag with what he would require, he took a bundle of splints from a shelf, for he was a methodical person, usually had plenty of time on his hands, and believed in having things to suit him.
It was not necessary to go to all of this trouble, he smiled, as he reached out to turn down the lamp.
Stop! Let it burn! warned the visitor.
Very well, although I only intended to turn it down. As I said, it was needless for you to go to all this trouble and risk. I am in the habit of going on professional calls at any hour, in any weather, merely upon a simple request, or a statement of fact. If this is a practical joke I may or may not enjoy it—usually the victim doesn't—but I really don't mind, if you are careful with this bag and its contents. You might be the man to need it first—quién sabe?
I shoot at th' first false move, warned the other. "You are goin' to th' SV—now—with me—an' fast. I'll lead yore hoss—mine's out yonder. Go ahead of me, an' don't look back."
The Doc obeyed and his captor, feeling around the saddle for weapons, grasped the bridle and led the animal to where his own was picketed. Mounting, he ordered the Doc to do likewise, and soon they were pounding along at a good pace, too good to suit the Doc, considering how dark it was.
Their coming had been prophesied by the stranger that afternoon, and now it was heralded by the rolling hoofbeats; and as they neared the house two figures, one considerably shorter than the other, appeared in the lighted doorway, while behind them a clock slowly struck ten.
The captor growled a command and, surprised, the Doc pulled up quickly. "There won't be no charge for this call," he said, "an' remember that I'm stayin' outside, near th' window. You make a false move an' I'll shoot you through it. If th' job ain't well done, I'll shoot you when I find it out. You don't know me, so you won't know who to watch for; but I know you well—all h—l can't save you. Don't talk more than you have to, an' then only about yore trade. Get off, an' go in—hurry, before they come out here!"
The Doc dismounted, turning for a look at his captor's horse and saddle, and walked forward, adjusting his hat and pulling at his coat sleeves. Handing the bag to the boy who ran to meet him, and who seemed to be very much surprised, he led the way to the house, bowed to Margaret and went inside. The boy, looking back reluctantly, slowly followed him, and as the man in the saddle tied the Doc's horse to a sapling and swung around to leave, he saw the slender figure of Margaret reappear, softly outlined against the mellow, yellow light of the room and framed by the darkness, for all the world like a jet cameo against an old ivory background. She stood without moving while the horseman in the dark, the glint of whose brass saddle ornaments barely reached her, bent low in the saddle and removed his hat. She could not see this, nor his slow departure, 'though she faintly heard the soft tread of his horse on the sod, steadily growing fainter. A voice from within called her, and turning, she shook her shoulders as if to throw off a restraining force, and hastened to answer the summons.
Reaching the main valley, Johnny rode at a lope, and when he believed himself to be well past the quicksands, he entered the river, following it close to the bank. Leaving the water at the main trail, he dismounted, removed the saddle and bridle and, slapping the horse on its rump, sent it homeward. Picking up the saddle and seeing that the stirrups did not drag, he stepped only on rock as he went up the mountain, where he stopped at the base of a great pine. When he came down again to go to his own horse he had left behind him everything belonging to Squint, the saddle in the brush, and the weapons and gloves well-wrapped in the slicker and buried in a sand drift.
Some time later, in Gunsight, Two-Spot heard a rider and, waiting a few minutes, slipped into the horse shed, where he spoke softly to Pepper before running his hand over her.
Huh! What made Dave say he went to Juniper? he muttered. "She's warm, but not much; her back is near dry. Juniper?" he scoffed. "Thirty mile there, an' thirty mile back, since noon? He was some place; but I'll bet my jewels he ain't been to Juniper. There's deviltry afoot—but I ain't talkin', little hoss."
Two-Spot rested on the broom. "Wonder what happened to Nelson?" he queried. "Ain't seen since you went on th' prod yesterday."
Dave held up the glass he was polishing and looked at it. "What you mean, on th' prod?"
When you chased me, at noon.
Dave picked up another glass, breathed on it and rubbed it vigorously. "He stuck his head in th' door an' said he was goin' to Juniper. Ain't he got back yet?"
Don't know, grunted Two-Spot, going to work again.
Ain't his hoss back?
Don't know. He listened. "Mebby this is him, now, comin' up th' trail." He looked out and shook his head. "Nope, it's only that d—d pill-roller from the flats. What's he comin' here for? He's got more liquor in his shack than we've got. I don't like no man that swizzles it secret. As I was sayin', it ain't every—why, hello, Doc! What brings you up here so early in th' mornin'?"
My horse, grunted the Doc, passing him without a glance. "Hello, Dave! How are things?"
Smoother'n h—l, as th' old lady said when she slipped on th' ice. What'll yours be?
Cigar apiece, said the Doc; "for you an' me," he amended.
Two-Spot turned back and resumed his sweeping.
Dave, I was kidnapped last night, said the Doc, bluntly. Waiting for Dave to get his expression part way back to normal, he told the story. Dave's expression was under control again and bespoke surprise and sympathy, gradually assuming a stern, uncompromising aspect at the thought of such a grave breach of law and order. Two-Spot, after the first shock, did not dare to look around, for his grin was unholy and altogether too sincere for his health, should the victim of the unheard of atrocity see it. Swish! Swish! went the broom; he! he! went his throat, low and in time with the sweeping. Doc finished and hammered the bar with his fist. "It's a d—d outrage!" he declared, with heat.
Dave nodded emphatically. "It shore is! Do you know who did it?"
No; if I did I'd be on his trail.
See anythin' that might identify th' coyote?
Perhaps; I'll know more about it before the day is over, answered the Doc. "Big Tom has some of his men out now looking for tracks on the Double X. Those fellows don't like me very much."
Blast their eyes! commented Two-Spot, sweeping with renewed vigor.
Doc glanced at him, frowned, and went on. "Some things lead me to think one way; other things, other ways. It's complicated by Squint's disappearance."
Two-Spot assimulated the second shock with avidity. He was beginning to be glad that he was alive, and his brain was putting two and two together at top speed. His ears fairly ached for more, and he waited for the third. When there were two, there should always be a third, he hopefully assured himself.
Dave's face showed real surprise again and then marched to orders and revealed his sympathy and disapprobation. "Why, there won't be nobody safe!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean he's missin'?"
He is. Have you seen him since the night they were all here?
No; I ain't.
Sorrers an' calamities never come singly, said Two-Spot, energetically digging a match stick out of a crack.
Mebby it was Squint, suggested Dave, "as captured you."
Well, the evidence points that way, but it isn't reasonable, replied the Doc, going to a chair and sitting down. "Squint wasn't the sort of a man who would go out of his way to do anyone a favor, especially if it was for someone he did not like; and most especially if it involved a large element of risk. But this man had on Squint's slicker, rode Squint's horse and saddle, and even had Squint's gloves and gun."
He must 'a' et Squint, suggested Two-Spot, spitting violently at the thought.
Shut up, you! said Dave, sternly. "But, Doc, he was shore petrified when he left here; an' what he had in his person would stay with him for a long time. He allus was economical in his drunks: he made 'em last quite a spell. Now, when a man's full of liquor he'll likely do anythin'—no tellin' what."
This man was not drunk, asserted the Doc in his best professional manner, "and he had not been drunk for over a week. His hand was as steady as mine, and he did not make a single false move. I'm sure it was not Squint; Big Tom cannot make up his mind; Wolf Forbes swears it was, but Wolf was no friend of his, as we all know. Some of the boys suggested the Double X, knowing the strong dislike some of that litter has for me. Three of the boys are over there now lookin' for tracks."
What good will that do 'em? demanded Dave. "A man has a right to make tracks on his own ranch, an' they're allus ridin' around over it. But, then, if they found tracks leadin' from th' Double X to yore place, or from th' Juniper trail to th' Double X, why, then you'd have somethin'."
There are none of the first category, replied the Doc, "and there will be none of the second: I told you that this man rode Squint's horse, and any tracks on the Juniper trail could have been made while we rode over it together. We can't find where he got onto the horse, or where he got off of it; but it must have been in the river somewhere. He was a fiend for riding on rock—he knew this country like a book. We've tried trailing, but it got us nowhere. So, Dave, I rode up here to ask you a plain question: Who were in here last night between a quarter of nine and, say, a quarter after ten? You may save some innocent person from a lot of trouble."
Well, said Dave, pursing his lips. "Th' poker gang was here. Two-Spot an' I was here. Jerry Poole came in to set his watch—that was just at nine-twenty. Nelson poked his head in th' door about ten minutes after Jerry, wriggled his fingers at me, cuss his impudence, an' disappeared. Where he went I don't know. I guess that's all."
Two-Spot gripped the broom convulsively and then slowly relaxed. The third shock had arrived. The problems of his sorely taxed brain were jammed by the sudden arrival of more. Never before had he heard Dave deliberately lie; and here the proprietor was lying coolly and perfectly, with trimmings to make it stick. In turn surprise, wonder, and satisfaction swept across his boiled countenance like driven clouds across the coppery sun. He gradually worked closer to the Doc and soon his stroke became longer and harder. When he began trying to sweep a tobacco stain out of the flooring the Doc suddenly leaped from his chair.
What—the h—l do—you think—you're doing? he coughed.
Huh? said Two-Spot, looking up.
What do you mean, sweeping like that, over here?
I was only sweepin' where th' dirt was, answered Two-Spot.
The Doc regarded him keenly. "Oh, is that it? Well, hunt for it somewhere else, or I'll kick you through the window!"
Two-Spot flared up. "You got my permission——"
Shut up! snapped Dave. "Now, Doc, as I was sayin'—what'n h—l was I sayin'? Well, anyhow, I said it," he asserted, belligerently. "What you aimin' to do now?"
Dance on th' quicksands, I hope, grunted Two-Spot, savagely. Then he listened, and said: "Here comes Nelson on that fine little hoss." Under his breath he muttered, "I bet he'll be surprised to find out he was in here at nine-thirty, last night." He straightened up. "Huh! Mebby he won't. Mebby he fixed it with Dave. Well, if he's wise, he'll tip me off next time—I might tell th' truth, an' make a lot of trouble, if I didn't know."
Johnny walked in. "Hello, Ol' Timer!" he said, jabbing Two-Spot in the ribs.
Two-Spot grasped the broom handle firmly. "Hello, yoreself! An' you lookout who yo're punchin'," he grinned. "Squint's dead," he said, mournfully.
What?
Oh, well; he's missin', anyhow, amended Two-Spot.
Missin' what? asked Johnny.
Missin' himself!
Then he's drunker than I thought, replied Johnny. "I never heard of nobody bein' so far gone in liquor that they missed themselves."
Oh, you go to th' devil! snorted Two-Spot, turning around so he could snicker in safety.
Johnny glanced casually at the Doc, walked up to the bar and bought a cigar, which he lit with scrupulous care.
Meet th' Doc, Nelson, said Dave.
Johnny turned. "Glad to meet you, Doctor. I've heard of you, an' passed yore place."
Saw you, replied the Doc, "and I coveted that black mare."
Nice little cayuse, admitted Johnny.
The Doc was kidnapped, said Dave, watching closely.
That so? replied Johnny, politely. "An' how old was you, Doctor?"
What do you mean?
Why, when you was kidnapped, Johnny explained.
I was kidnapped last night, replied the Doc.
You—last night? demanded Johnny, incredulously. "Well, I'm d—d! What did they get?"
They got me.
I mean, what did they get that was valuable? persisted Johnny.
Two-Spot turned away again and missed the floor twice.
They stole th' Doc, explained Dave. "They was takin' him away just about th' time you looked in at me. They took him over to th' SV, to set Ol' Arnold's busted laig."
What you talkin' about? snorted Johnny, seating himself across from the Doc. "I never heard of a doctor bein' kidnapped to set a busted laig. What am I supposed to say? I'll bite, if it does cost me th' drinks."
No, Nelson, that's the truth, earnestly asserted the Doc, and he told the story over again.
You say he was on Squint's cayuse, wearin' Squint's slicker, an' usin' Squint's gun? asked Johnny. "Then where was Squint? A man don't just drop things like that without knowin' it. What was that Two-Spot was tryin' to tell me?"
The Doc explained the matter and finished by saying that he felt sure that it had not been the missing puncher who had visited him.
I don't think so, neither, asserted Johnny. "He'd be a fool to go like that. No, sir, I'll bet it wasn't Squint—but, wait a minute! If he counted on leavin' th' country right after, why, he might a' done it, at that. If it wasn't Squint, then where was he?"
Sleepin' off his liquor, said Dave. "Why, that's it! While he slept somebody took his outfit an' kidnapped th' Doc. H—l, it may all be a joke!"
You wouldn't think so if you observed that man as I did, replied the Doc. "He was in deadly earnest. I could feel it."
Well, there's two ways to start at it, said Johnny, ordering drinks all around, including Two-Spot. "He had a grudge ag'in' you, an' he was extra friendly to th' SV. Run back in yore mem'ry for somebody that hates you enough to want to get square. If that don't work, then hunt for th' feller that likes th' SV. Anybody 'round here that's sweet on that Arnold gal, that you knows of?"
No; not that we know of, answered the Doc. "Big Tom was the last one who called there; but he quit, quite some time ago."
Got throwed so hard he still aches, gloated Two-Spot.
Well, I can't help you, said Johnny. "I don't know anythin' about th' people around here. An', bein' a stranger, an' likely to be suspected of any orphaned devilment, I'm shore glad I looked in here, last night. But I ain't worryin' about Squint," he deprecated. "He's an old hand at takin' care of hisself, if I'm any judge. He'll turn up with a headache, an' yell fit to bust for his saddle, an' gun."
I hope so, said Dave. He turned to the Doc. "Did you fix up th' laig?"
Certainly; it was a simple fracture, answered the Doc. He paused. "Cussed if I know what to think," he growled, arising. He had observed Johnny closely, saw that he was left-handed, found the voice not quite what he had hoped for, and Dave's statement cinched the matter. He nodded good-by and went out, but he looked at Johnny's saddle, where he found silver ornaments instead of brass, and plain stirrup guards instead of the fringed ones he had noticed the night before. Shaking his head he mounted and rode homeward.
Two-Spot placed the broom across a table and sat down. "Dave," he said, almost reverently, "what made you say that?"
Say what? demanded the proprietor, belligerently. "You hearin' things?"
Mebby; but I ain't seein' 'em.
What did I say that's ridin' you so hard? demanded Dave.
What you did about Nelson lookin' in last night.
What was that? asked Johnny, with pardonable curiosity.
Why, Dave up an' tells th' Doc that you poked yore head in at that there door at nine-thirty last night, explained Two-Spot.
Well, suppose I did? asked Johnny. "What about it?"
Well, now, mourned Two-Spot, "if I ain't got th' cussedest mem'ry! It's got Texas fever; a tick must a' crawled up my ear. Of course you did; and didn't you say 'Two-Spot, when I sees you tomorrow I'll buy you a drink?'"
I reckon I might 'a' said somethin' like that, laughed Johnny. "She's yourn, Ol' Timer—with a cigar to punish me for forgettin'."
Two-Spot enjoyed his drink and pulled contentedly on the cigar. Then he turned toward the rear door. "Time for me to give George a hand. Shall I take Pepper around out of th' sun?"
Why, yes; an' much obliged, answered Johnny.
Dave pointed his finger and his whole arm at the broom lying across the table. "That yourn?" he demanded.
Two-Spot looked. "I told you that my mem'ry was bad," he chuckled. Putting the broom away where it belonged he went out and led Pepper around to the shed.
Johnny looked hard at Dave. "That was a good turn, Dave," he said. "What made you do it?"
Dave rumpled his hair. "Squint's missin', which means one customer less. Bein' a stranger down here I reckoned they'd pass th' buck to you. That meant they'd likely do it here—th' Doc come up to locate you, I figgered. Besides losin' a lot more customers I'd have to clean up a slaughter-house. I just made up my mind I wouldn't do it. Anyhow, I'd like to shake hands with th' coyote that lugged th' Doc off to fix that laig. I would so."
Don't blame you, said Johnny, holding out his hand. "We can shake on that, all right. I say a doctor is a doctor an' ought to go where he's needed."
Dave looked him full in the eyes, a quizzical smile playing around his mouth, and shook hands gravely, solemnly. It was almost a ceremony. "My sentiments, exactly," he responded. "Wonder if Squint was hurt?"
I'd bet he wasn't, answered Johnny. "I'd even bet he went to a different part of th' country. Mebby he got caught in some devilment. Punchers are great for roamin'—just look where I am." He shook his head sadly and went out through the rear door for the hotel, leaving Dave with a grin on his face which threatened to disrupt it. He had not gone more than a few steps when he turned and went back. Poking his head in at the door, he said: "Dave, when I'm drinkin' in here, an' it can be done easy, just see that mine is some watery. I like th' delicate flavor it has that way; th' delicater, th' better."
Dave chuckled and nodded. "Yo're drinkin' it. If yo're satisfied, I am. I can't do it at th' bar, where th' bottle passes; but it'll be easy if yo're playin' cards."
Johnny entered the kitchen, looked at the stove and went into the dining-room, where George was playing solitaire. "That's a bad habit, George," he said, shaking his head. "It don't get you nothin'."
George made a play and looked up. "Aimin' to get me into a two-handed game of somethin'?" he queried.
No; I ain't, answered Johnny. "I was just wonderin' how long you was goin' to play it."
I'm goin' to play it till I have to start cookin', said George, determinedly.
Then you ain't goin' to stand over that hot stove for more'n an hour, are you?
No, sir; I ain't.
You talk like it was somethin' to dodge! snorted Johnny.
I'd like to see you do it! retorted George.
Huh! sniffed Johnny. "I got a good notion to do it."
George made another play. "Notions!" he sneered. "Notions ain't doin' it!"
Then I will do it, said Johnny, going into the kitchen and throwing wood into the stove. He took down a lid made up of rings, substituted it for one of the stove lids, lifted out the middle section and put in its place an iron ladle.
A chair scraped out in the dining-room and George poked his head in. "What you think yo're doin'?" he demanded.
Callin' yore bluff. Go on back to yore solitaire. I'm goin' to run some bullets.
Why, cuss yore nerve! said George. "Who told you to mess up my kitchen?"
You said you'd like to see me stand over this stove, answered Johnny. "Run around an' get me two pounds of lead from Dailey."
Get it yoreself! snapped George. "You clean up when you get through," he warned.
Shore, replied Johnny, and he went out to get the lead.
Dailey looked up. "Hello, Nelson!"
Howd'y, Ben! Got two pounds of lead, an' some Kentucky powder?
Shore, answered Dailey. He slid a bar of lead onto the counter and took a can from a shelf. "This ain't Kaintuck—but it's as good. How much?"
Johnny put a few grains in the palm of his hand and rubbed them with a forefinger. "I don't want this at all," he said, showing the black smudge. "I want th' kind you use."
Dailey grumbled, but felt under the counter and produced another can. "Here's th' best made," he said.
Johnny tested it, and nodded. "Half a pound will do."
Returning to the kitchen he used George's axe to cut the lead into smaller pieces, and dumped them into the ladle, after which he paid a hurried visit to his room for tools.
Two-Spot shoved his head in at the door. "What you doin'? Runnin' slugs?"
Shoein' a hoss, said Johnny.
Two-Spot grinned. "Where'd you get th' lead?"
Dailey's, answered Johnny, punching out old primers.
Buy primers, an powder, too? demanded Two-Spot.
Powder, grunted Johnny.
Off'n th' shelf behind him?
Under th' counter.
Yo're lucky; he must like you. Well, then some of 'em will go off, said Two-Spot "But if you'd bought his primers, none of 'em would." He looked around and started to resize some of the shells. "These here ain't shells. They're—they're kegs." He picked up the mold and opened it. "My G—d!" he snorted. "Yo're a bloody-minded cuss. Yore gun got wheels an' a limber?"
It'll make th' other feller limber gettin' out of th' way.
Two-Spot hurt his finger and quit. "Reckon Dave wants me," he observed.
I'm shore I don't, grunted Johnny, beginning to reprime the shells.
Do it yoreself, then! snapped Two-Spot, going out. He looked carefully around and, going into the narrow space between the kitchen and the rear of the saloon, disappeared from sight.
Around in front of the Palace four punchers were dismounting. They were disgruntled, but in one way they felt relief. After a morning's search for tracks on the Double X, along its eastern line, they had given up the job and had started to Gunsight to carry out a task which they felt would require a great amount of tact to keep it from becoming a shambles. But on the way they had stopped at the Doc's and found that it would not be necessary to cross-question Johnny. There remained one further duty to perform and they decided to slake their thirsts before attempting it. Big Tom wanted information from those whom he felt would be able to give it, since they were directly benefited by the kidnapping of the Doc. He felt sure that the committee he had appointed were qualified to get it for him, especially if they had a proper amount of liquor before they started after it. Hence he had supplied them with the funds and told them that it was his treat. Carson and Dahlgren had fat blanket rolls behind their saddles; "Smitty" and Fraser, nothing but their usual paraphernalia.
They stamped in to the bar and lined up. To Dave's inquiry, they replied that their morning's work had been in vain, but boasted that the afternoon would not be wasted.
We're goin' where th' information is, said Carson, "an' we're goin' to get it. If it comes easy, all right—but we're goin' to get it, savvy?"
An' when we do get it, it will be forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree for th' coyote that got rid of Squint an' kidnapped th' Doc, boasted Dahlgren.
Nobody gives a whoop about th' kidnappin', 'cept th' Doc, said Fraser; "but this was a poke at th' Bar H, an' that's where we set in. If we finds out who got rid of Squint, we know who kidnapped th' Doc; an' if we learns who kidnapped th' Doc, we likewise finds th' coyote what got rid of Squint. An' I'm tellin' you that we're goin' to find out who he is. Doc said he done a good job on that busted laig, an' it would be a mean trick on him to undo it; but we're goin' to find out! Give us another round."
I got to laugh about th' Doc, said Smitty, "a growed man, lettin' hisself be stole that way. An' what's he doin' now? Is he out a-huntin'? He ain't. He's settin' in that shack of his'n waitin' for us to get his kidnapper. Fill 'em again, Dave."
Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree, repeated Carson. "If he puts up a fight we'll give him this!" He yanked out his gun and fired at the floor.
Could they have seen the result of the shot they would have been greatly surprised. Two-Spot, under their feet, lying on his pile of stolen blankets and discarded clothing, and drinking in every word they said, had just shifted to a more comfortable position when the gun roared and the bullet, ripping through the flooring, cut a welt on his cheek. Panic stricken, he started to roll and crawl toward the hotel, and was too excited to notice the pair of legs at the wash bench, where Johnny was cooling bullets in the basin, but rolled out and against the bench, upsetting it and Johnny, too, as well as the basin, bullets, and the water bucket. There was a mad scramble for a few seconds and Two-Spot lost a tooth before Johnny saw who It was. Then both leaped to their feet, Two-Spot angrily spitting blood and dirt.
What you think yo're doin'? blazed Johnny, reaching for Two-Spot's collar. "Playin' earthquake?"
Who you hittin'? snarled Two-Spot. "Leggo my shirt; I got somethin' to tell you!"
George came running and stuck his head out of the door. "Go it, Ol' Timer!" he encouraged. "Serves him right for th' mess he's made!"
Two-Spot thanked him by kicking backward, guided by sound and instinct. George, receiving one whole foot just below his short ribs, doubled up forthwith and disappeared. There was a crash and the sound of falling stove wood, and George had interest in nothing outside of himself.
They're goin' to th' SV, an' make 'em tell who's raisin' th' devil on th' range, said Two-Spot in Johnny's ear. "If they ain't told easy, then they'll take th' splints off'n th' ol' man's laig. G—d only knows where they'll stop, for they're gettin' full of liquor."
Who are they?
Carson, Dal, Smitty, an' Fraser, answered Two-Spot. "'Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree,' they says," he mimicked, "an' shot through th' floor. I got it in th' cheek, d—n 'em." A frightened look came to his face. "Don't tell 'em where I was," he begged, for the hiding-place was his only refuge and without it his life would be made miserable.
I'll swap secrets, said Johnny. "Keep mum about tellin' me this. Take Pepper around front an' mix her in with their cayuses. Then pick up th' slugs an' keep 'em for me."
A piece of firewood whizzed past his ear, and then a stream of them. George, still throwing, emerged from the kitchen, blood in his eye. Johnny grabbed him.
We was playin' a joke on you, George, he said, hurriedly. "Two-Spot kicked you accidental. Here's somethin' to square it," and George opened his hand to see a coin nestling therein.
Joke! he muttered, feeling around his belt "Accidental! You may think so, but I'm cussed if I do! My G—d, his relations must be mules!"
Dave and the committee looked up as the door flew back and slammed against the wall, to see Johnny enter, a little too erect, stepping a little too precisely and wide, his mind obviously concentrated on his legs. His face was owlishly serious and he nodded to each in turn with great gravity. Describing a wide curve he stepped carefully to the bar, where he stopped, sighed, and braced himself.
Dave, he said, waving an arm, "th' best in th' house for us. Didn't know what to do with m'self; but now we can have some 'citement. Here's how. Here's to pore Ol' Squint."
Here's to pore Ol' Squint, repeated Dave. "I allus liked Squint."
Everybody liked Squint, responded Johnny. "Everybody, 'cept—'cept what's his name? Pore Squint, kidnapped; an' the Doc, kidnapped; nobody's safe no more. You might get kidnapped—you—an' you—an' you—an' Dave! No, not Dave!" he burst into laughter. "Not Dave! He! He! Less'n it was Ol' Buffalo an' his waggin!"
Smitty rocked to and fro: "He! He! He!" he roared. "Ol' Buffalo an' his four-hoss team! Freight for Juniper!"
Carson slapped Johnny on the shoulder. "Nobody's safe but Dave!" he shouted. "Ol' Buffalo would have to roll him in, like a bar'l."
Don't you care, Dave, said Fraser. "I'm yore friend, an' nobody's goin' to kidnap you, waggin or no waggin. Not while Bill Fraser's around. No, sir. Give us another. Big Tom's blowin' his boys."
Couldn't get along without Dave, not nohow, said Johnny. "Here's to Dave—everybody's fr'en'. Just th' same I ain't forgettin' pore Squint. I'd like to know who kidnapped him—just so I could get my rope on him. That's all. Jus' that. Got notion to go find him. Come on, le's all go!"
Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree, burbled Smitty. "Forty feet of——"
We're goin' to find him, boasted Dahlgren. "Goin' to righ' now. Le's have one more drink, Dave. Just one more, an' then we go git him."
That's th' way! cried Johnny, "Come on—one more, Dave, ol' kidnapper. Then forty feet of sycamore rope. Want to come, Dave? Come on! Come on with us!"
I better stay here, said Dave, earnestly. "I better be right here when you bring him in. Somebody ought to be."
That's Ol' Dave, all righ', cried Smitty. "Good Ol' Dave."
Give us a bottle, Dave, said Johnny. "Give us two bottles. Nothin's too good for my fren's."
If pore Squint was only here, burbled Smitty, eyeing the bottles. "Pore Squint. We'll bring that coyote in for you, Dave. We'll drag him to town."
Him an' Ol' Arnold, supplemented Carson. "Both of 'em!"
That's it! cried Johnny. "That's where we'll go—come on, fellers! Goo'-by, Dave; goo'-by!"
They surged toward the door, milled before the opening, and then shuffled to the street. Fraser threw an arm around Johnny's neck and slobbered about poor Squint. Johnny slipped the six-gun from Fraser's holster, dropped it on his own foot to deaden the fall, and then pushed it under the saloon. He staggered, with Fraser, out toward the horses and bumped into Dahlgren, who grabbed them both to save himself. Fraser's other arm went around his friend's neck and he protested his love for them both. Dahlgren's gun also struck Johnny's boot and was quickly scraped over with sand.
Under the saloon Two-Spot changed from all ears to mostly ears and some eyes, for his view was limited to below the hips of the maudlin gang. When Fraser's gun slid under the floor he became, for an instant, all eyes, and wriggled in greedy anticipation. Then he saw the second gun strike Johnny's boot and become covered over with sand, and he rocked from side to side with silent mirth, his boiled countenance acquiring spots of mottled purple, especially his nose. As soon as the crowd mounted, he crawled forward, wriggling desperately when the space became too small for hands and knees. He had to get those guns before the proprietor got them, for Dave would not allow him to own a weapon. When he had gone as far as he dared, he stopped and waited until the bunched group whirled away up the trail, and then wriggled more desperately than ever. Suddenly he stopped and writhed sideways behind a pile of dirt, for the heavy steps above his head ceased as a pair of enormous legs waddled into his field of view. Dave kicked around in the sand, found the weapon, and laboriously picked it up. The huge legs remained motionless for a moment as their owner watched the cloud of dust which rolled eastward on the trail.
He's takin' chances, muttered Dave. "An' I can almost smell him from here. Six glasses of whiskey down his sleeve—great guns, but he must feel comfortable! Well, boys, I don't know where yo're goin', but nothin' would surprise me." He paused a moment in indecision, thoughtfully regarding the colt. "I reckon I ought to lose this gun down th' well—but I'll wait till he comes back."
The fat legs waddled out of sight and the floor creaked again. Two-Spot wriggled forward, snatched the Colt and backed to his nest, where he looked at his prize and gloated.
Dave never saw you fall, he chuckled. "Oh, yo're a beauty; an' only two are gone. Cuss it! This is th' gun that shot me!" He considered a moment. "Now I got to get some .45's from th' store when Ol' Eagle-Eye ain't lookin'."
Meanwhile the exuberant committee tore over the trail until Fraser, wishing to let off some extra steam, felt for his gun. He reined in so quickly as almost to cause a catastrophe. Dahlgren now discovered his own loss and there was a wrangle about going back to look for the missing weapons. Their insistence won out and the committee wheeled, spread out, and cantered back almost to Gunsight, wrangling all the way. Yielding at last to the acrimonious suggestions of the other three, they gave up the search and set out again, beginning on the second bottle. When they finally arrived at the SV ranchhouse the afternoon was over half gone and they were so under the influence of liquor that it was all they could do to get to the door of the house. Staggering in, they went to Arnold's room and all began talking at once. There were no preliminaries—Margaret and Charley, caught in the room, were forced into a corner and had to hear the brutal threats. Johnny was the loudest of them all, but there was no profanity in his words; and he took the first chance that offered to wink at the helpless man on the bed. Arnold, ignorant of what he was supposed to know, pleaded in vain. Carson rolled up his sleeves and announced his intentions, staggering toward the bed. He collided with Johnny and they both fell. As Johnny scrambled to his feet he caught Margaret's eye and winked slowly. Then he let out a roar and blamed Carson for the fall. His eye caught sight of a calendar on the wall and he objected to the red numerals representing Sundays. Jerking out his guns he shot the numbers out, the bullets passing so close to Smitty that that valiant committee-man nearly broke his neck falling over a chair he backed against. A glass of water was shattered and then the guns became wobbly, covering everything in sight. Boasting that he could shoot out a fly's eye without touching the rest of the insect, he shot a spur off of Carson's boot and put a hole through Dahlgren's hat when he presumably aimed at the lamp on a shelf. Roaring and jumping, he accused Arnold of doing the kidnapping himself, and fired at a knot in the floor, missing it, and clipping a button from Fraser's vest. The committee was very drunk, but it was not so far gone that all instincts of self-preservation had fled, and it made haste to get out of the room. Smitty, finding the door blocked, and being in a hurry, went through the open window with remarkable directness for one in his condition.
He ain't here! shouted Johnny. "He's got away! Come on, fellers; we got to get him—pronto!"
Where'd he go? shouted Carson, stumbling over a chair. He kicked it across the room and sat down suddenly. Being assisted to his feet, he staggered out toward the horses, the rest stringing after him. "Where'd he go?" he demanded at the top of his voice.
Don't know, answered Johnny, hanging onto Dahlgren. "But he'll come back. Let's ambush him!"
A'right; I'm tired of ridin', declared Smitty. "Got forty feet of rope an' sycamore tree. Where'll we go?"
Up on th' Juniper trail, said Johnny. "We know he don't hide in th' south; we'd a' seen him long ago. I know a good place, come on!"
It was a wonder how they ever mounted, but they managed it, all but Smitty, who had to be assisted to the saddle. Once seated, they were fairly well at home and followed Johnny along the ranch trail. An hour later Johnny and three of them were lying in the bushes at the edge of the Juniper trail, Smitty having been lost on the way. The sun was still warm, and the liquor potent, which was in no way checked by their inactivity, and snores soon arose. Johnny, smiling cynically at the prostrate figures, made a soft bed out of Carson's and Dahlgren's blankets and lay down to see it through. The night passed quietly and the early morning light showed four soundly sleeping figures. Higher and higher climbed the sun and one by one the men awakened, consumed by raging thirsts. Johnny raised himself on one elbow and looked around.
I want a drink, he announced. "Gimme a drink, Fraser!"
Ain't got none; I'm dyin' of thirst!
Staggering to their feet they looked around, got their bearings and made a rush for their horses; and soon a miserable, sick committee pounded along the trail at its best speed, bent only on one thing—to get to Dave's.
Dave heard them coming and knew what would be wanted. He met them at the door and passed out a bottle; consuming it eagerly, they strayed off toward their ranch, ugly and profane.
Johnny watched them go. "I was in desperate company, Dave," he said. "They was all primed to raise h—l out there, but I saw that nobody belongin' to that ranch knew anything about Squint, or th' Doc, that we didn't know, so I sort of coaxed 'em away. An' would you believe it, Dave, we was so petrified we got lost an' finally climbed down an' went to sleep right where th' idea struck us?"
I allus was a great believer, Nelson, answered Dave. "That's mebby why I'm a pore man at my time of life. An' I admits that you has persuadin' ways. Now, I figgers it this way: Th' Doc up an' kills Squint; Squint gets even by kidnappin' th' Doc; after which th' Doc buries th' corpse an' throws away th' grave. But, I says, an' it's th' 'buts' that raise th' devil, how does Big Tom figger it? He ain't got my trustin' nature. An' how will Wolf figger it? An' all th' rest, after they get together an' wrestle things out? I'm glad you got a fast hoss, an' a clear trail. Where's Smitty?" he demanded.
He was a weak brother, Johnny sorrowfully declared. "Th' last I saw of him he was fallin' off his cayuse about five miles northwest of th' ranch. First he fell back over a chair, backwards; then he fell out of a window, frontwards; an' when he fell off his cayuse he was goin' sideways. When it comes to fallin' I'll back him against anybody. What do I owe you for them two bottles of whiskey? They was amazin' medicine."
Whiskey? queried Dave. "Did you taste it?"
I didn't, confessed Johnny. "I handed th' first bottle to Dahlgren, an' by th' time it got back to me there wasn't nothin' in it. Th' second bottle I gives to Smitty, an' I got left again. If I'd had a couple more I might a' got a drink. What makes you ask?"
The first was brandy, an' th' second was gin, said Dave. "I reckoned mebby they'd like a change. Sorry you didn't get none of 'em."
Johnny looked at him reproachfully. "I ain't," he said. "Good Lord! Come, Pepper, there ain't no tellin' what this man'll do next. Mebby we won't see Smitty till next week—come, little hoss!"
Having eaten enough to arouse the unqualified admiration of George, Johnny went to the kitchen and became busy with patch paper, tallow, and loading cup, and had just finished the twenty-fifth, and last, cartridge, when Two-Spot wandered in. George was out attacking the wood pile.
Got 'em done, huh? Ain't it better to buy 'em? asked Two-Spot, looking into the dining-room.
It is, Ol' Timer, when you can. Just now I can't get 'em, so I got to make 'em.
His companion looked at the belt full of .45's. "Gimme a couple of them? I want to try somethin'."
Johnny complied. "Want to see if they fits?" he asked.
What you mean?
Carson dropped his gun under Dave's floor. Who got th' one in th' road?
Don't say nothin', begged Two-Spot. "Dave's an old woman, an' I don't want nobody to know I got it. He got th' other."
What you goin' to do with yourn?
Keep it in my bunk. I might need it, sometime. I ought to have a rifle, though.
I'll get you one, promised Johnny.
What you goin' to do this afternoon? asked Two-Spot, his face beaming at the thought of owning a rifle.
Don't know yet.
It's time you knowed about things out here. You ride up th' Juniper trail to th' second draw, in about an hour, an' I'll fix yore case rack so you'll know what cards are out. Yo're guessin' good, but Faro ain't th' only game where keepin' cases is better.
Why go up there?
Well, purty soon it ain't goin' to be healthy for anybody to be too friendly with you, said Two-Spot, reflectively. "Anyhow, I'll be worth more if I ain't suspected of bein' too talkative."
Th' best way to get suspected is to hide out when you don't have to, said Johnny. "You wander over to that grass spot across th' road from Dave's an' Dailey's in about an hour, an' lay down to rest yore lazy bones, with yore head toward th' saloon, so nobody can see that yo're talkin' steady. I'll try to get there first. It'll be innocent as sheep. Pepper hankers for live grass—an' she deserves what she hankers for."
She does, responded Two-Spot. "Big Tom was in yesterday talkin' to Dailey. I heard him say somethin' about no supplies. They had an argument an' finally Dailey says: 'All right; if you say so.'"
Johnny nodded. "I'll see you around front in about an hour."
About the time agreed upon Two-Spot stopped sweeping and looked out of the door. "Things look plumb peaceful, Dave," he said. "There's Nelson lyin' on his back over there in th' sun. He's too comfortable. Got a notion to stir him up."
You stir up that broom an' get through, replied Dave. "You're sweepin' later an' later every mornin'."
The sweeper sighed and went to work again, with a vigor so carefully figured that Dave was on the verge of speaking about dust several times, but thought better of it each time. Finishing his chores, Two-Spot shuffled out and threw a can at the recumbent figure over on the grass. It stirred and raised its head.
I'll turn you inside out, it threatened.
You couldn't turn a glove inside out, retorted Two-Spot.
Johnny grunted. He was silent for a moment, and then inquired, "What you doin', Feather Head?"
Workin'.
Then you can't do it, regretted Johnny.
What?
Bring over a couple of cigars.
Show me yore money.
Johnny rolled over on his side and produced a coin, which he held up.
Chuck it over, said Two-Spot.
Yo're too busy, jeered Johnny.
Chuck it, an' see.
Johnny sat up and sent the coin glittering through the air, Two-Spot making an unexpected catch. He went into the saloon, soon reappeared, and shuffled across the road. Sitting down at Johnny's side with his back to the buildings, he lit his cigar and lazily reclined. "I shore appreciates this rest," he sighed.
Johnny laughed outright. "Yo're worked to death," he jibed.
Ol' Simon Verrier, began Two-Spot, "was th' first owner of th' SV. He run it for twenty years, an' there wasn't nobody in all that time done any devilment an' wanted to repeat it. He was testy, big, an' powerful, an' he reckoned th' gun he packed was made to be used. He had Buck Sneed for his best man, an' an outfit what believed th' same as he did about guns. At that time there wasn't no boundaries, not fixed. Th' ranches sort of mingled along th' edges. Then th' Bar H got notions. It sort of honed for that valley, an' made a play or two for it. There wasn't no third. Ol' Simon an' Buck rid down to th' Bar H house an' spoke plain. Failin' to have any lines didn't bother them two. They picked th' ridges of th' dividin' hills an' says: 'Them's th' lines; stay on yore own side.'"
Johnny laughed for the benefit of any of the curious on the other side of the road.
"Ol' Frank Harper owned th' Bar H in them days. Poker an' drink was his failin's. His poker took Dailey out of th' saddle an' put him into th' store, an' it did th' same for Dave. It also put a mortgage on th' Bar H. More'n that, it kept him drinkin' harder an' harder—an' he was found dead one day in East Canyon; he had fell off his cayuse an' busted his neck. Th' mortgage was foreclosed an' th' present owners of th' ranch bought it in an' hired Big Tom to run it. Th' first thing Big Tom did was to forget all about them boundary lines. Ol' Simon an' him had words, an' when th' smoke cleared Big Tom had four slugs out of five into him; but he's got th' strength of a grizzly an' pulled through. About th' time he was ridin' around ag'in, on his own side of th' lines, Simon got his feet wet an' died in four days. I says that is downright funny. He had weathered stampedes, gunplay, northers, an' th' Lord only knows what for sixty years, an' then he goes an' dies from wet feet!""
"Johnny nodded and pushed Pepper's muzzle from his face, "Keep a-feedin', girl," he ordered; "I won't sneak away."
Well, continued Two-Spot, "Buck buried th' ol' man, an' went right on runnin' things for th' heirs. He kept th' outfit together, an' th' ranch was payin' fine. Then th' heirs, eastern mutton-heads, didn't like his spellin', an' his habit of writin' letters when he was mad. They fired him, an' th' oufit, feelin' insulted personally, quit th' ranch an' went with him."
I've knowed outfits just like that, murmured Johnny, reflectively.
Th' new foreman came, an' went. Likewise th' second. They had a mark to live up to—it lays along th' top of them hills—an' they wasn't big enough to do it. Meanwhile th' SV was goin' to th' dogs. Then Ol' Arnold bought it an' came out to run it. He was a tenderfoot, an' came out for his health. Things was happenin' all th' time. His herds was shrinkin'. Rustlin', shootin', maverick huntin', an' them quicksands kept a-cuttin' his herds. Just about that time Big Tom dynamites th' rock slide in Little Canyon, an' forthwith loses his water. Then things happen faster than ever. He makes a play toward th' Double X; but th' Double X talks plain an' he reckons he better get th' SV.
Johnny sat up and stretched. "Let's play mumble-peg," he suggested, producing a clasp knife. "This steady talkin' is lastin' a long time, though I don't believe they hear you. I better cut in an' ask fool questions for th' looks of it."
That'll come easy to you, retorted Two-Spot. "Well, things was goin' from bad to worse on th' SV. They couldn't keep an outfit. Them that wasn't scared away was bribed to quit. Dahlgren, Lang, an' Gurley all was SV men. Ol' Arnold borrowed three thousand dollars on his note in Highbank two years ago. Big Tom bought it an' holds it now. I think it's due next spring. Arnold has had to sell cows in small bunches to buy grub. There ain't no nat'ral increase, an' th' Bar H has a lot more calves an' yearlin's than Nature gave it. For th' last year th' SV ain't been bothered very much. It's so close to dyin' that I reckon Big Tom would rather wait a little longer an' have somethin' left to take when he does get it."
Pleasant sort of a buzzard, Big Tom, said Johnny. "You missed then—gimme th' knife."
Once in a while Lang or Gurley drive a cow into th' quicksands, just to keep their hands in. They work for th' Triangle, but really for Big Tom. They're handy for him, seein' that they has th' Triangle range next to th' SV.
Them names are easy to remember, observed Johnny, surrendering the knife.
Big Tom wants th' SV for its water, said Two-Spot. "That's what most folks think. I think him an' some friends he's got somewhere aim to get it cheap an' run it themselves."
What's th' Doc doin' squattin' where he is? queried Johnny.
There was some talk about th' SV's title to that end of it lyin' west of th' main trail, an' I reckon he's there to file a homestead claim if it's needed; but I really don't know.
An' these other ranches are settin' back an' watchin' a sick man, a woman, an' a kid get robbed? asked Johnny.
Th' Triangle is scared of th' Bar H, answered Two-Spot. "It had its lesson ten years ago, an' ain't forgot it. Hank Lewis ain't got no nerve—it's only gall. Sam Gardner is sore about th' game, but he's all alone. Lefferts an' Reilly don't care much, an' Lang an' Gurley are in Big Tom's pay."
What about th' Double X? demanded Johnny.
They are so far off they don't take no interest. They keeps over there purty much an' don't meddle, an', besides, they has troubles of their own, with th' rustlin' goin' on along their west edge.
How do you know all this? said Johnny.
I worked for Ol' Simon fifteen years ago. I drifted back last winter, an' I've been here ever since. Nobody knows me.
Why are you tellin' me?
I hears a lot under th' floor, before you come, an' after, said Two-Spot. "My ears are good, an' I got some brains left—not much, but enough to put two an' two together. Likewise I'm feelin' sorry for them Arnolds. I don't like to see a gang of thieves robbin' helpless critters like them. An' there's more. When I was comin' down here I got ketched in a storm an' like to froze to death. I would have, too, if that Arnold gal hadn't rid across me, pulled me out of a snowbank, an' toted me to th' ranch. They took care of me till I was strong ag'in, an' fed me up. I was near starved when th' storm got me."
But why are you tellin' all this to me? demanded Johnny.
Two-Spot stretched and handed over the knife. "I'm an ol' man, now," he said, "but there was a time when I wasn't. You are a young man, an' square, fur's I know. You been hangin' 'round here playin' a lone hand against a bunch that'd cut your throat if they knowed what you've been doin'. There's a purty gal over on th' SV. She's square, too, an' helpless, an' lonely. She don't know what to do, nor where to turn. She layed in a nest of rocks one day an' was watchin' three Bar H punchers. A rattler showed up close to her, in a dead line with th' men. Scared to death of snakes, she was drawin' a bead on it, when a stranger offers her his cannon, an' his help. Then he gives her h—l about murder, an' goes away. But he don't go fur, only to Gunsight. He drives Squint out of th' country, kidnaps th' Doc, an' keeps a bunch of hoss thieves from killin' her ol' man. I never saw you before; I don't know how many cattle you've rustled nor how many trains you've stuck up. What's more, I don't care. I know a white man when I sees one, an' I'm not gamblin' when I shoots off my mouth to you. I'm only a two-spot; but even two-spots has their good points. You can allus remember that there's a two-spot holdin' a six-gun under that there floor any time you need him."
Johnny sat up: "I'm sayin' you ain't no two-spot, neither."
Before I forget it, I want to tell you th' rest of it, went on Two-Spot, anger heightening his color. "As I was sayin', th' gal's white, an' square. She's plumb different from some I've seen in th' cow-towns. Big Tom wants th' SV, but he wants her, too; an' 'though he ain't pesterin' her now, I know him too well to think he's give up th' idea. He never lets loose. Th' only reason he's let up is because he figgers he's got a better way; an' he's patient. Can you imagine a whiskey-smellin', big brute like him courtin' her? Can you imagine how he'd do it? An' lemme tell you, Nelson: I am a two-spot, for if I'd been any good at all I'd 'a' put a knife into him an' then took my medicine, like a man. I was near sick with disappointment when you shot th' gun out of his hand."
How do you know anythin' about that nest of rocks, an' th' three men?
I know lots of things I ain't supposed to, an' one of 'em is that Big Tom ain't give up th' notion of gettin' th' SV, nor her, neither. There ain't no parson in thirty miles—an' Big Tom is terrible lazy. Sometimes I near sees red! He glanced up the trail. "Here comes little Charley, leadin' a pack hoss. He's after supplies at Dailey's—" he stopped short and looked at Johnny, who was looking at him through narrowed lids. The same thought had come to them both at the same time. "I'm bettin' he don't get 'em," Two-Spot prophesied.
Johnny arose and stretched. "I'm bettin' he does," he drawled. "Reckon I'll go over an' swap gossip with Dailey," he explained, striding away.
Two-Spot watched him and also arose, going across the road and around the saloon. "I called it wrong," he muttered. "I'll copper that bet: I bets he does." A grin stole across his face as he shuffled toward Dailey's back door. "This'll be worth hearin', an' mebby I can get me a box of .45's; Ol' Eagle-Eye may be too cussed busy to pay any attention to me!"
Johnny sauntered into the store and seated himself on a box. "Howd'y, Ben."
Dailey smiled a welcome. "Been sunnin' yoreself?"
Johnny yawned. "Yeah; I'm shore lazy." He glanced out of the door at the boy who had ridden up and dismounted. "Reckon this is that Arnold kid," he observed.
Dailey hid a frown, and nodded. "I'm awful short of supplies today," he said. "Ol' Buffalo didn't bring me any—now I got to wait till he comes again."
Charley entered and handed a paper to the storekeeper, who took it, studied it, and then shook his head. "Bud, if you'd hunted through th' store you couldn't 'a' picked 'em any worse. I ain't got nothin' this calls for."
Charley's face fell. "Gee!" he said, "Peggy's out of almost everything. She said she just had to get these today." He looked around inquiringly. "Ain't that flour?" he asked, pointing to several filled sacks behind the counter.
Them's flour sacks, answered Dailey, "but there ain't no flour in 'em now." He handed the list back to the boy. "No use, bud, you'll have to wait till Buffalo comes up again. He's too old to be of any account, anyhow, th' ol' fossil: he's allus forgettin' somethin', allus!"
Johnny held out his hand, his right hand. "Let's see it, Charley," he said, and looked it over. "I'll be cussed if that ain't funny!" he exclaimed. "This here is th' very same as I was goin' to get filled for myself, only mine wasn't all writ down like this. How'd you come to pick these things out, Charley?"
Quit yore fooling, grinned Charley. "I didn't pick them. Peggy wrote that."
Johnny reached out and put the list in Dailey's hand. "Better begin at th' top, Ben, an' run right down," he suggested. "We won't get 'em mixed that way, or leave nothin' out. Let's start with one of them flour sacks, no matter what's in 'em."
Dailey flushed. "But I just said I was all out——"
Yo're th' most forgetful man I ever knowed, except, mebby, Buffalo, said Johnny. "You ain't got no mem'ry at all. Don't you remember you found a lot of things you'd poked away an' forgot you had? An' don't you remember that nobody ain't told you, yet, not to sell me nothin'? That there paper is mine, now. I'm borrowin' it because I ain't got my own list writ out. That's writ so pretty an' plain, that it's pretty plain to read. If anybody gets curious, which they won't unless you tell 'em, you say that I gave you that an' wanted it filled. Now, we'll start with th' flour, like I was sayin'."
Dailey looked down the list and then up at Johnny. He was asking Fate why Nelson had to pick that particular time to visit the store. Johnny was smiling, but there was a look in his eyes which made the storekeeper do some quick thinking. He had no orders not to sell to anyone but the SV; and if Big Tom became curious he could put his questions to the two-gun man and get what satisfaction he could. In his heart he was in sympathy with the SV, and he had argued against refusing to sell to it.
Nelson, said Dailey, slowly going behind the counter, "It's a good thing you remembered about that stuff. Are you takin' it to th' hotel?"
Reckon not, answered Johnny. "Reckon I'll borrow Charley's pack hoss an' him to take it off to a place I knows of, where there ain't no mice. You'd be surprised, Ben, if you knowed how many mice there are in that hotel."
Charley looked from one to the other and, not knowing what to think or say, grinned somewhat anxiously.
How's yore dad, an' yore sister? Johnny asked him.
All right, answered Charley. "But they was scared half to death yesterday when you an' them fellers came tearin' in, 'specially when you started shooting. You was awful drunk, wasn't you?"
I don't remember much about it, confessed Johnny, "so I reckon mebby I was. We all got lost an' had to sleep out in th' brush all night. We was after th' coyote what kidnapped th' Doc, but we couldn't find him."
Dailey forgot to continue filling the list. He was holding a sack of sugar in his hand and drinking in every word. Johnny turned to him.
Say, Ben, he said, "did I ever tell you th' story about Damsight?"
You never did, answered the storekeeper, "not if my mem'ry ain't playin' me false again."
It was scandalous, began Johnny, drumming with fingers on the butt of a gun. "There was a bunch of hoss thieves fightin' a lone woman an' her crippled dad. An' what do you reckon th' men in Damsight did about it? Nothin'. Nothin' at all. They was so miserable, so coyote-livered, so scared to death that they didn't raise a finger. No, sir; there wasn't a man in th' town. They were just yellow dogs, runnin' around in men's clothes an' pertendin' they was humans—a lot of yellow dogs, an' not a cussed thing more."
Dailey bungled a knot, and swore under his breath.
Things went on like that for quite a spell, continued Johnny, "then a big storm come up, an' one by one them fellers who didn't see th' error of their ways was struck by lightnin'. They never knowed what hit 'em. It was just like th' miracles I've heard sky pilots tell about. Some of 'em did see th' error of their ways in time. They had a hard time in th' storm, but they pulled out alive. There seems to be a moral to that story; there ain't no use tellin' a story like that if th' moral is left out. An' I reckon th' moral of this one is: A man might be able to dodge lots of trouble, 'specially when it ain't near him all th' time; but when he's livin' right next door to th' lightnin', he can't dodge that. What do you think about it, Charley?"
Gee! That's like the things Peggy reads to me out of the Bible, he replied. "Only it wasn't lightning, but floods, and pestilences, and things like that. Why, once a whole ocean opened up right in the middle and let a lot of people walk across it, but when their enemies got halfway over, it closed up, smack! and they were all drowned."
Johnny nodded gravely. "There's strange things happenin', even today, Charley, an' nobody knows when or where they will happen. Now, leavin' miracles out of it, let's put those packages on that hoss out there, an' see if Ben has forgot how to throw a diamond hitch. I'm bettin' a dollar he has."
I'll take that dollar, parson, grinned Dailey. "Gimme a hand with th' stuff."
They filed out to the horse, loaded with packages, as Two-Spot slipped in the back door, and Dailey won the dollar. Watching the boy ride away, he turned and started for the store.
Well, he said, over his shoulder, "I've put up my lightnin' rods, an' now I'm goin' to spit on my hands an' hold fast, for if this storm busts she'll be a whizzer. I'm aimin' to tell people right to their faces that Dailey's store sells to anybody that's got th' cash. You better look to yore tent pegs, young man."