Sudden Makes War - 1942
Oliver Strange
CHAPTER I
“I'm lookin' for a man.”
The words—of sinister import in the West—arrested the attention of everyone within hearing, and had the desired effect of collecting a crowd of the curious. Yet the speaker had not the appearance of one engaged upon an errand of vengeance. A youthful cowboy—he was no more than twenty —in town for a spree, seemed to explain him. So thought at least one of the onlookers.
“Young Dan Dover o' the Circle Dot ranch over to Rainbow," he told an enquirer. "Now what in 'ell is he after? They ain't got no money to throw about."
“ 'Pears like they have," was the reply.
For the object of their interest, standing on the raised platform before the Paradise Saloon, his Stetson pushed jauntily back to disclose curly hair of a particularly aggressive shade of red, had produced two gold pieces—double eagles—and a Mexican silver dollar. With these he began to perform the elementary conjuring trick of passing the coins from hand to hand, keeping one in the air. It was not much of a show, and in an Eastern town would have attracted little notice, but in this far-flung outpost of civilization, it held his audience and brought others.
“The man I'm in search of has gotta have nerve," the young man announced, his narrowed gaze sweeping over the spectators, "an' be able to use his hardware. The fella who can stand the test, pockets these two twenties an' gets the offer of a worth-while job. Don't all speak at once—I on'y got one pair o' ears."
“Good long 'uns, though," one of the crowd chuckled.
“An, that's terrible true, brother," the youth replied, with whimsical gravity. "I have to keep 'em pared down to get my hat on.”
The onlookers laughed and continued to enjoy the entertainment, unaware that while the performer's eyes appeared to be occupied solely with his trick, they were, in fact, closely scanning the faces about him. Tradesmen, teamsters, half-breeds, drummers, and loafers—he could place them all, and shook his head slightly.
“I'm outa luck—there ain't an outfit in town," he muttered.
For Sandy Bend boasted a railway station, from which a single branch line travelled East, and was therefore a shipping point for cattle. Only among the reckless sons of the saddle could he hope to find what he sought. He let the coins drop into his right hand, closed, and opened it again. One was missing.
“Now where has that pesky Mex dollar got to?" he mused. With an exaggerated frown of perplexity he displayed the palms of both hands; they were empty. "Blame it, the twenties have gone too; must be floatin' around." His right fist clawed at the air, and when the fingers unclosed again, there were the three coins. "Dead easy," he commented. "The on'y difficult part is gettin' the gold to start with.”
Applause greeted the feat, and some of the audience began to drift. The conjurer grinned knowingly.
“Don't go away, folks; this is a free show an' I ain't comin' round with a hat," he assured. "Shorely there must be one o' you who could use forty bucks.”
He was talking at one man, whose presence the movement of others had uncovered. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a lithe, athletic frame, black hair, cold grey-blue eyes, and a lean, hard-jawed face, he was lounging against a hitching-post on the outskirts of the crowd, watching the scene with satirical amusement. No dandy cowboy this; the plain leathern chaps, woollen shirt, and high-crowned hat all bore signs of wear; even the silk kerchief knotted loosely round his neck was of sombre hue, and the two guns, hanging low on his thighs with the holsters tied down, were not fancy-butted. Red-head chinked the coins in his hand, eyes on the stranger.
“Who'll take a chance?" he asked.
The look made the words a direct challenge, and the man by the hitching-post seemed to accept it as such. He stepped forward, moving with an indolent ease which suggested the latent powers of a great cat.
“I'll try anythin'—once," he drawled. "What's yore proposition?”
The young man suppressed a smile of triumph. "It's right simple," he replied. Slipping his first finger and thumb round the silver coin, he held it at arm's length. "All you gotta do is let me shoot that out'n yore grasp at twelve paces.”
The black-haired cowboy's face was expressionless. "Yu ain't lackin' in nerve yore own self," he said slowly.
The crowd agreed. The slightest deviation would result in a smashed hand for the holder of the target, and though there were many of them to whom forty dollars meant temporary affluence, not one was prepared to take such a risk. The maker of the offer knew what they were thinking, and confined himself to the man before him.
“The twenties is just a circumstance," he mentioned. "Point is, will you gamble?”
The grey-blue eyes studied those of the questioner with grave intentness, and then, "I tote two guns; cripplin' one paw won't stop me usin' the other."
“Which is where I gamble," the conjurer grinned.
“I'll go yu," was the quiet reply. "Yon's a good place.”
He pointed to the blank wall of a stout log building across the street. Deftly catching the coin the other flipped in his direction, he moved through the crowd, which split into two lines. Dover followed, placed him in position, and then returned, counting off the paces.
“What's his game?" one of the bystanders queried. "He don't seem the showin'-off kind."
“you can search me, but he'd better make the shot," replied a neighbour. "That other fella's no kind to fool with. Look at him—just as unconcerned as a corpse.”
It was true; resting comfortably against the building behind him, the man who was to be shot at appeared to be the least interested of those present. Only when he saw that the other had taken up his place and was waiting did he straighten up and extend his left arm. Framed in finger and thumb, the disc of silver twinkled in the sunlight; it presented a perilously small mark, but the audience sensed that something more than mere cowboy conceit was behind the exhibition.
“Gosh! there ain't no margin for a mistake, 'less he misses the hand complete," was one comment.
“He won't do that; these cowpunchers can all shoot.”
Silence ensued as the marksman drew his six-shooter, flung the muzzle upwards, and chopped down on the target. For a long moment he held it poised, squinting through the sights, and then pulled the trigger. The report was followed by a cheer from the breathless watchers as they saw the coin driven from the holder's fingers, hit a log, and drop in the sand. Amidst a hum of approbation, the stranger thrust his left hand into the pocket of his chaps, picked up the silver piece, and pitched it to Dover.
“Now it's yore turn," he said.
The grin of triumph on the young cowboy's face faded a little.
“What's the idea?" he asked.
“Yu mentioned a fella who can shoot," the other reminded. "I'm aimin' to ease yore mind thataway.”
The grin had gone now, but a snigger from someone nearby brought it back. The boy was game.
“Fair enough," he admitted.
The crowd, eager for more excitement, lined up again as the two men took their places. The stranger, left hand still in his pocket, waited until he saw that Dover was ready, and then.... No one of the onlookers could have sworn to seeing the loosely-hanging right hand move, but the gun was out, hip-high, and the spirt of flame followed instantly. Again the coin was torn from its frame and hurled against the timber. The speed of the draw, apparent lack of aim, and amazing accuracy had an almost paralysing effect on those who saw it.
“Gawda'mighty!" ejaculated one. "That's shootin', that is.”
Dover himself was staggered, but he was also jubilant. He hurried to congratulate. "Never seen anythin' like it," he said. "Figured I could use a six-gun, but hell! I'm on'y a yearlin'. Say, my throat's fair crackin'; let's irrigate.”
They adjourned to the saloon and selected a table in a quiet corner. Their drinks sampled, Dover fished out the Mexican dollar and examined it curiously; there was a dent in the middle, and another on the edge. He pointed to the former.
“Guess that's mine, seein' the care I took," he said.
The other smiled, reached out his "makings" and began to fashion a cigarette. There was a smear of blood on his left hand; the Circle Dot man's eyes widened."I'm guessin' again," he said. "I'm right sorry."
“Shucks, it's on'y a graze. Mebbe I moved a mite," was the careless reply. The tell-tale stain was wiped away. "Well, s'pose we get acquainted. I'm James Green, of No place, Nowhere, an' powerful fond o' new scenery."
“Pleased to meet you," the other replied. "I'm Dan Dover. My dad owns the Circle Dot range at Rainbow, 'bout fifty mile on from here. Mebbe you know it?”
Green shook his head. "This is my furthest west." His steady gaze rested on his companion. "What's yore trouble?”
“Did I mention any?" came the counter.
“No, but a fella doesn't come such a caper as this for fun. At first I thought it was a bluff, but when I called it an' yu went through, I knowed different."
“Well, yo're right, there's trouble to spare, an' more ahead unless I'm wide o' the trail. I want a man—a real one, to help me deal with it."
“My guns ain't for sale," the stranger said curtly.
“I don't want 'em, but the fella who comes to us has gotta be able to protect hisself; we've had a hand killed an' two more crippled pretty recent."
“How come?"
“Shot from cover—every time," Dover informed bitterly. "Sounds bad. Got any suspicions?"
“Plenty, an' nothin' else. See, here's the layout: the Circle Dot ain't a big ranch—'bout a thousand head just now—times is poor, but it owns good grazin' an' water—a stream from the Cloudy Hills runs right through our land."
“Plenty water is shore an asset."
“Yo're shoutin', but it can be a liability. The Wagon-wheel, located east of us ain't so well fixed. They tried to buy us out—at their figure—but we wasn't interested, an' that started the feud."
“Feud, huh?”
`Yeah. I warn't but a little shaver in them days—mebbe it's ten year ago, an' Dad don't talk much. Gran'dad owned the ranch then. He was a hard case; straight as a string, but mighty set in his ideas—it's a family failin', I guess. He was the first to go; they found him laid out in a gully one mornin', with two slugs in his back. There was no evidence, an' not much doubt either—the Wagon-wheel had been pretty free with their threats. Tom Trenton, father o' the present owner, just grinned when my uncle Rufe—Dad's elder brother—taxed him with the crime. Rufe was a red-head—all the Dovers are—an' he pulled his gun, but bystanders grabbed his arms, an' Tom went away with a gibe. Oh, he'd 'a' shot it out willin' enough; there ain't no cowards in the Trenton family."
“Yore gran'dad was downed from behind," came the reminder.
“Yeah, that's one o' the things I can't understand; from all I've heard, finishin' a fella thataway wouldn't 'a' give Tom Trenton much satisfaction. Sounds odd, I guess, but I.."
“He'd have wanted the other to know; I've met that sort."
“Well, however it may have been, he didn't have long to crow, for a coupla months later he was picked up half a mile from the Wagon-wheel with a bullet between the eyes; his gun was lyin' near, but it hadn't been fired. There was a lot o' talk, near everybody reckoned Rufe had done it, an' as the Trentons owned the sheriff—an' do now—he had to pull his freight. Allasame, that didn't end or mend matters; the quarrel dragged on, an' like a slow fire, flared up at intervals. Dad is carryin' round some slugs, but he don't weigh much anyways, an' Zeb Trenton has a limp he warn't born with. For some years now there's on'y been bad feelin' till a few months back when the trouble started again. That's why I'm here."
“Meanin' yu an' yore father can't handle it?" Green said.
“Just that," was the frank reply. "Dad ain't the man he was afore we lost mother—it seemed to take the heart out'n him—an' me, I s'pose I'm kind o' young. Our boys is a good bunch, but they need a leader, someone with more savvy than a kid they've watched grow up.”
Green was silent for a while, considering the curious tale to which he had listened. He was not enamoured of the proposal, but liked the maker of it. The boy was straight, modest, and possessed the pluck to take his own medicine, as the shooting incident proved. His mind went back to a little ranch in Texas; he had been just such another youth. But the world had used him roughly since then, moulding him into a man, experienced, dangerous, and when occasion demanded, ruthless. It had also given him another name. For this was "Sudden," whose daring exploits and uncanny skill with weapons had earned an unenviable reputation in the southwest.' Presently he made his decision. "I'll see yore Ol' Man.”
Dover's relief was obvious. "I'm right glad," he said, and then, awkwardly, "Anythin' holdin' you in this dump?”
The other smiled. "I can start straight away if yo're ready."
“I've got a call to make at a ranch 'bout five mile north. Mebbe you wouldn't mind goin' ahead. You see, I didn't like leavin'—Dad's venturesome—just refuses to realize how real the danger iS."
“Then he won't be expectin' me?"
“No, but any traveller is welcome at the Circle Dot, an' once yo're there, I guess I can get him to see the light. I oughta told you this before, but—" He bogged down, and then added, "If he'd knowed why, he wouldn't 'a' let me come.”
Green nodded; he had a mental picture of the rancher, proud, independent, a man who had fended for himself all his life, and little likely to admit that misfortune and growing years had lessened his ability still to do so. He knew the type, rugged, sturdy fellows, who would fight to their last gasp of breath against any aggression. The boy before him would follow the same pattern, if Fate so willed it. He grinned back at the smiling but anxious eyes.
“I'll take a chance," he said, and rose.
“Dessay I'll overtake you if I can persuade the owner o' that black in the corral to sell."
“He won't part."
“You seem mighty shore. Is he a friend o' yores?"
“That's somethin' I've never been able to decide," the gunman said with a sardonic twinkle. "Yu see, the black is mine.”
Dover's expression was rueful. "Cuss the luck. Saw him this mornin' when I turned my bronc in; I never come so near to bein' a hoss-thief. Made up my mind to buy him if it busted me. He's a peach."
“He's a pal," was the grave reply, and the young man—to whom also a horse was more than a beast of burden—understood.
“Well, life's full o' disappointments, ain't it?" he rejoined cheerfully. "I guess I won't be overhaulin' you; Thimble is a /Related in Sudden—Outlawed. George Newnes Ltd.
good li'l cowpony, but in a race that black would make him look like he was standin' still. See you at the Circle Dot, an' o' course, we're strangers. If Dad thought I was puttin' one over on him, he'd dig his heels in an' a team o' mules wouldn't make him budge. But don't get a wrong impression; he's the finest fella I ever knowed, but he's got his own ideas.”
Green laughed. "I'm a mite thataway my own self," he confessed. "A saplin' what sways with every wind ain't the tree to trust yore weight to.”
CHAPTER II
“Shore is an up-an'-down country, an' any fella what likes his scenery mixed couldn't rightly complain.”
It was late in the afternoon, and the black-haired man from Sandy Bend, in default of other companionship, was communing with his horse. The deeply-rutted trail he had been following, after a steady climb, brought him to a small plateau which afforded a view of what lay before. It was a daunting spectacle for the unaccustomed eye—a vast rampart of grey-spired, arid-topped mountains, their lower slopes shrouded by dense growths of yellow and nut-pine, stretched along the horizon beneath the slowly sinking sun. They did not seem remote, but the traveller knew they must be about forty miles distant. Between them and where he sat lay a jumble of lesser hills, interspersed by valleys, sandy stretches of sage, grease-wood, and cactus, with innumerable tracts of timber.
“Reckon we can't be far from that Rainbow town," Sudden continued. "I guess we won't trouble it. If that young fella was correct, headin' south a bit should fetch us to the Circle Dot, havin' o' course, lost our way. Might happen to anyone, Nigger, 'specially a fool hoss, huh?" At the mention of the name, the black head swung round, the lips curled back from the white teeth. "That's right, grin while yu can, yu of pie-buster, for I've a notion we'll have little to be amused about as time ticks along.”
He rode on for a mile or so and came to a spot where the wagon-road forked, one branch leading southwest. This was a smaller and less-used trail, formed—as the tracks showed—mainly by cattle and horses. Sudden swung into it.
“Shore oughta be a ranch at the end of it," he soliloquized. "Which one don't matter much to a stranger.”
The trail proved easy to travel, winding snake-like to avoid obstacles such as steep inclines, gullies, and thick plantations of trees, all of which would render the passage of a herd difficult. Some miles were covered at an easy pace, and then the muffled report of a rifle shattered the almost absolute stillness. The horse pricked up its ears, and the rider spoke soothingly:
“Easy, boy, it can't be us they're after," he said. "Too far in front, an' we ain't got enemies around here—yet. Allasame, we'll be careful.”
A pressure of a knee and the animal lengthened its stride. Sudden, no longer sitting slackly in the saddle, kept keen eyes on the path they were following. There were plenty of quite innocent reasons for the shot, but he was reaching the region of a range war, and ... A mile was traversed without further incident, and he was beginning to blame himself for over-caution when he turned into a sandy gully, the sides of which were hidden by brush. Here, nibbling at the tussocks of coarse grass along the edge of the trail was a saddled pony, and a few yards away, a man sprawled, face downwards.
To all appearance, he might have been thrown by his mount, but an ugly red stain between the shoulder-blades pointed to a more sinister explanation. Standing beside the body, Sudden saw it was that of a man on the wrong side of fifty, with thinning grey hair, and deeply-lined features. His eye caught the Circle Dot brand on the grazing horse; what Dan Dover feared had come to pass. The gunman's face grew grim.
“The cowardly skunk never gave him a chance," he muttered, and with a glance at the enclosing walls of vegetation, "Hell, he picked the right place too; small hope o' findin' any traces.”
Nevertheless, he fixed in his mind the exact position of the corpse in case it might assist in locating the spot whence the shot was fired. Then he bent to examine the wound; the bullet had smashed into the spine, and death must have been instant.
“stick 'em un. pronto!”
At the harsh command the stooping man straightened—slowly, to face four horsemen whose approach the soft, sandy floor of the ravine had deadened. Looking unconcernedly into the muzzles of four rifles, he raised his hands, but only far enough to hook the thumbs into the armholes of his vest.
“Howdy, gents," he greeted. "I'm glad to see yu."
“Mebbe," the one who had spoken before said dryly. "What's goin' on here?”
He was a short, weedy fellow of middle-age, whose naturally cunning expression was enhanced by a pronounced obliquity of vision. A straggling moustache drooped around and over a weak mouth and inadequate chin. Even the star, prominently pinned to his flannel shirt, could not endow him with dignity. Sheriff Foxwell, commonly called "Foxy" by friend and foe, was not a likeable person.
“Mile or so back on the trail I heard a shot, an' then I find—this," Sudden replied, pointing to the dead rancher.
“Why, it's Ol' Man Dover!" one of the party cried.
They closed in on the prostrate-figure, thereby cutting off possible retreat by the man standing beside it. If he sensed the significance of this manoeuvre—and he could scarcely fail to do so—his demeanour was unchanged. The sheriff climbed clumsily from his horse.
“Shore is," he said, "an' cashed all right. Plugged in the back, an' his own gun in the holster. Where's his rifle?"
“On his hoss," Sudden informed.
“Huh! Looks like a bush-whackin', but why?" Foxy questioned. He stooped and explored the dead man's pockets, producing a sizeable roll of currency. "That don't point to robbery, unless—the fella was interrupted." His squinting eyes rested on the stranger.
“Nobody in sight when I arrived."
“Mebbe this gent'll tell us somethin' about hisself," an older man suggested.
The sheriff looked sourly at him. "I'm handlin' this, Hicks," he reminded, "but as you've butted in we might as well know what this hombre is doin' around here."
“I'm on my way to the Circle Dot," Sudden said quietly, and anticipating the obvious question, "I was hopin' to land a job.”
The officer's eyes were sharp with suspicion. "Happen to be acquainted with Dover?”
Never heard of him till this mornin'," was the indifferent reply. "But I happen to be acquainted with cattle.”
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders. " 'Pears an open an' shut case to me," he said. "You admit yore errand was to meet him, an' we find you standin' over his dead body, just about to search him, seemin'ly. Well, there's plenty trees, an' you got yore rope, Jed, I see.”
The man addressed, a lanky, raw-boned individual, nodded, and patted the looped lariat on his saddle-horn. Sudden looked at the puny maker of this swift decision with satirical disdain.
“If yo're tryin' to throw a scare into me I'm tellin' yu it's a waste o' time—I'm no greenhorn," he remarked.
“Nary scare," was the cool retort. "We're just naturally goin' to hang you, that's all."
“Well, it's a relief to know yu ain't aimin' to roast me at a slow fire, but has it occurred to yu that as I entered the gully from this end, an' the shot—by the position o' the body—must 'a' come from the other, there's a flaw in yore evidence? Any one o' yu might 'a' done it, but I couldn't."
“Skittles! You'd make yore arrangements, o' course, shiftin' the corp to fit yore story."
“Knowin' yu were comin', no doubt."
“Now, that's where you slipped up," Foxwell countered, an ugly grin on his thin lips.
The threatened man realized that the fellow was in earnest, and would carry out this monstrous injustice. He appealed to the others.
“Yu standin' for this?”
Hicks answered. "It's the sheriff's business, but what about takin' him in, Foxy, an'—"
“Like you say, it's my business," the officer cut in angrily. "Here's a respected citizen foully done to death, an' we catch the culprit red-handed. Rainbow's had too many o' these killin's an' I'm goin' to stop 'em. Jed, git ready.' Before any of them could move, Sudden leapt backwards, thus bringing all the men in front of him. At the same instant, his hands swept his hips and both guns came out. So swift and unexpected had the action, been that the riders had no time to level the rifles held across their knees. Now it was too late; the man they had deemed to be in their power, had them in his; and it was a different man, a tense, half-crouching figure instinct with menace.
“Get ready yoreself, Sheriff, to hop into hell," he said. "I can down the four o' yu in as many seconds." And to the horsemen, "Drop them guns an' reach for the sky, or by the livin' God ...”
The weapons fell into the sand, and four pairs of hands were uplifted, but not in prayer. The sheriff's face had become a sickly yellow, and he was the first to obey the order, a fact which brought a cold smile from the giver of it.
“That's better," he commented. "Now yu be good li'l boys an' no harm will come to yu—mebbe."
“Yo're resistin' the Law," Foxwell spluttered fatuously.
“Me?" was the surprised retort. "Why, I ain't resistin' any. Start the game, Sheriff; it's yore deal.”
The taunted officer was saved the necessity of replying by the arrival of a new factor. Into the ravine from the Sandy Bend direction loped a rider. He pulled up when he reached the group of men. Sudden swore under his breath; it was young Dover.
“You caught me up after all," he said. "But yo're too late."
The boy gave one glance at the body, sprang from his saddle,
and knelt beside it. "Dad!" he cried, and then, as the full extent
of his loss seeped in. "So they've done it, the murderin' curs; I should never 'a' left you." He looked up fiercely. "Whose work is this?”
The sheriff started to lower a hand but changed his mind and nodded towards the stranger. "That fella, I guess.”
The reply came in a bitter sneer. "Yo're guessin' is like the rest o' yore doin's—pretty triflin'. So that's why yo're all lookin' paralyzed. You fools, this man wouldn't know Dad from Adam, an' moreover, he was expectin' to ride for the Circle Dot."
“That don't prove anythin'," the sheriff said sullenly. "Road-agents ain't in the habit o' askin' yore name an' address afore they salivate you. Anyway, the 0I' Man could have turned him down. He was robbin' the body when we arrove.”
With shaking fingers, Dan felt in his father's pockets, and drew out the roll of bills. "Seems to have made a pore jobof it," he replied acidly. "Even a beginner couldn't 'a' missed this.”
Hicks spoke: "Do you know this fella, Dan?"
“I met him this mornin' at the Bend, an' sent him along; we're short-handed.”
The sheriff's mean eyes glittered. "Did you arrange for yore dad to come an' meet you?" he asked.
It was a moment before the shameful implication penetrated, and then the boy leapt to his feet, fury struggling with the grief in his face, and stepped towards his traducer.
“Pull yore gun, you coyote," he rasped.
The officer had no intention of doing anything of the kind.
“I've got my han's up, Dover," he reminded.
Sudden had watched the scene in silence, but now he spoke:
“Yu can take 'em down, Sheriff—if—yu—wanta.”
The drawl of the last three words made them a plain insult, but Foxwell had a thick skin, and an inordinate desire to preserve it; he did not avail himself of the permission, preferring to take refuge behind his badge.
“I was app'inted to keep the peace, not break it," he said, and looked round at his following. "You'd think a son whose father had been bumped off would be anxious to have the guilty party brought to justice, huh?"
“I am, an' I know what he was after, an' where to seek for him," Dover said savagely. "So do you, an' that's why you'd like to pin it on a stranger. Don't you worry; evenin' up for Dad is somethin' I can take care of. Now, get back to yore murderin' master an' tell him that you did all you could to blot his tracks—an' failed.”
Sudden spoke again. "They're leavin' rifles an' six-gum here," he said quietly. "There's a heap too much cover, an they may get notions.”
Under the threat of his levelled weapons, they let fall their pistols, wheeled and rode down the ravine. The sheriff shouter a parting:
“Rainbow will have somethin' to say 'bout this."
“Shore, tell it how one man held up an' disarmed the four o' you," Dover retorted. "The town ain't had a laugh lately I'll send yore guns to Sody's; they'll know then you ain't lyin'.”
When they had vanished through the entrance to the ravin his anger evaporated, leaving only the dull ache of sorrow. In a voice hoarse with emotion, he asked:
“You ain't backin' out?"
“Not any. That imitation sheriff has got me real interested. Might as well be movin'.”
The grisly task of roping the dead rancher on the back of his pony was accomplished in silence. Then Sudden put a question:
“Yu said yu knowed what the killer wanted. D'yu reckon he got it?"
“I dunno, but likely Dad wouldn't be carryin' it. Did you see any tracks?"
“On'y that.”
He pointed to a kind of path, running at a right angle to where the dead man had lain, the sandy surface of which seemed to have been recently disturbed. Following it, they came to a bush at the side of the ravine. A white scar showed where a branch had been wrenched off, and in a moment or so they found it; the withering leaves were gritty.
“Wiped his trail out as he backed away," Sudden commented, and scanned the slope keenly. "He came down an' went up here—them toe an' heel marks is plain as print. I'll see if I can trace him. Yu fetch the hosses along an' meet me.”
He climbed the bank and soon found indications that someone had preceded him. Trifles which would have escaped an untrained eye—bent or bruised stems of grass, a broken twig, the impress of a foot on bare ground, were all-sufficient to enable him to follow the path of the previous visitor along the rim of the ravine. For some two hundred yards he thrust his way through the fringe of bush and came to the place he was seeking. Shadowed by a scrub-oak, and screened from below by a rampart of shrubs, was a trampled patch of grass. Two flattened hollows about a foot apart caught his eye. He knelt down in them and looked along the ravine; the spot where he had found the body was plainly visible.
“Easy as fallin' out'n a tree," he muttered. A yellow gleam in the longer grass proved to be a cartridge shell. "A thirty-eight—they ain't so common.”
Close by he picked up a dottle of partly-burned tobacco, tapped from the bowl of a pipe; the assassin had solaced himself with a smoke while waiting for his victim. There was nothing else, but in a nearby clump of spruce he found hoof-marks, a branch from which the bark had been nibbled, and several long grey hairs. He followed the tracks down to where they merged with many others in the main trail, and could no longer be picked out. Dover was waiting.
“Any luck?" he asked.
“Not enough to hang a dawg on," Sudden admitted, and told of his discoveries.
“Trenton uses a pipe," the boy said. "Let's be goin'.”
They set out, and the sad burden on the third horse kept them silent. There was but a scant five miles to cover, most of it over open plain splotched by thorny thickets, patches of sage, and broken only by an occasional shallow arroyo. Soon they came upon bunches of cattle contentedly grazing on the short, sun-burned grass, and presently the ranch-house was in sight.
A squat building of one storey, solidly constructed of trimmed logs chinked with clay, it stood on the crest of a slope and afforded a wide view of the surrounding country. It had been erected for utility rather than elegance in the days when raiding redskins were not unknown, and save for three great cedars which provided a welcome shade, there was nothing bigger than a sage-bush for hundreds of yards all round. A little apart were the bunkhouse, outbuildings, and corrals. At the foot of the slope a double line of willows and cottonwoods told the presence of a stream. As they pulled up outside, a grizzled, bow-legged little man came out, stared, and as he recognized the laden pony, ripped out an oath.
“Hell's flames, boy, what's happened?" he demanded. Dover dismounted wearily. "They got Dad, Burke," he said gruffly. "Tell you about it presently. Help me take him in." So the rancher came home for the last time. The sad spectacle was watched by a thin-featured, sunken-eyed youth of about seventeen who had crept to the door. He shrank aside to let the bearers pass, and then swung round, facc buried in a bent arm, and shoulders shaking.
“It shore is tough luck," Sudden consoled. "Don't take il too hard."
“He was mighty good ter me," came the mumbling reply.
“We all gotta go—some time."
“Yep, but not that way—widout a chanct," the lad replied fiercely. "Gawd, if I was on'y a man, 'stead of a perishin' weed, I'd cut th' hearts out o' th'—" He finished with a torrent of vitriolic expletives.
“Yu ain't got yore growth yet, son," the puncher said.
“Growth?" the boy echoed bitterly. "What yer givin' me? I'm a longer--one o' Gawd's mistakes what nobody wants, an' I'd 'a' croaked by now if it hadn't bin fer him.”
A violent spasm of coughing racked his spare frame.
CHAPTER III
A few moments later, Burke reappeared. "Dan'll be along presently," he began. "He's told me about you, Mister, an' I wanta say right out that yo're mighty welcome, 'specially now. By the time we git shut o' the hosses, supper'll be ready; we got a good cook, if he is Irish.”
As they returned from the corral, carrying saddles, rifles, and blankets, the little man spoke again:
“This is a knockdown blow for Dan, he fair worshipped his dad, which goes for the rest of us. It was fear o' this happenin' sent him to the Bend. `I'm goin' to git a good man, Burke,' he told me this mornin', `one who'll put the fear o' death into these cowardly dawgs.' He glanced sideways at the tall, lithe figure for each of whose long strides he had to take two. `I'm thinkin' he was lucky.' "
“How many on the pay-roll?" Sudden asked.
“Eight of us in the bunkhouse," Burke replied. "I'm the daddy o' the outfit—bin here goin' on twenty year.”
“I'm takin' it yo're foreman."
“We never had one—the 01' Man ran his own ranch; you might call me sorta straw-boss."
“Yeah, but now—"
“See here, Mister—
“Make it `Jim'."
“I'm obliged. Well, Jim, it's thisaway: I'm a good cowman an' so is the boy; I'll fight to a fare-you-well an' he'll do the same, but that ain't enough in a war, which is what yo're hornin' in on. The Circle Dot needs a fella with experience; Dan ain't had none, an' I've had too much—old men git sorta fixed in their notions." A faint smile passed over the wrinkled, sunburned features. "Once I had dreams o' ownin' a ranch, but now I ain't got no ambition a-tall, but I'd like to go on bein' straw-boss.”
Sudden nodded, realizing the tragedy behind the simple statement; the mounting years of hard, dangerous work for a bare living, the gradual extinction of hope, and the prospect of poverty when the heavy hand of Time prevented him from following the only occupation he knew.
The living-room of the Circle Dot ranch-house was spacious, with a great stone fire-place, in front of which lay a fine grizzly pelt. The furniture comprised a table, desk, and chairs, solid but suggestive of ease. Saddles, guns, and other ranch gear made it comfortably untidy for a man. Burke read the stranger's thought.
“Dave wouldn't have a woman in the place after he lost his wife," he explained. "I reckon Paddy—he's the cook—ain't got the instincts of a home-maker.”
At that moment Dan came in, haggard, but grim-faced. "You'll feed with us to-night, Bill," he said. "We gotta talk things over.”
The meal was brought in by the cook, a short and incredibly fat man, whose chubby countenance wore an expression of gloom utterly out of keeping with his deep-set twinkling eyes. While they were despatching it, Dan related the happenings of the day, and by the time the tale ended, Burke was regarding the newcomer with increased respect.
“How did Dad come to be on that trail?" Dan asked finally.
“Came to meet you," was the reply. "He had a message askin' him to, left by a stranger who claimed to have run into you; must 'a' bin soon after you started."
“I never sent it, an' didn't see a soul till I was half-way to the Bend; it was just a trap." Another thought brought his brows together. "Nobody outside o' here knowed I was goin' —I on'y decided this mornin'."
“Either they're watchin' yu, or someone passed the word," Sudden remarked. "Shore o' yore hands?"
“They've all been with us some time 'cept one, who came a few months back. Dunno much about him—Dad warn't the suspectful sort, unfortunately.”
Sudden smothered a smile; Dave Dover had passed on his trustfulness to his son apparently, as witness his own case.
“Flint is wise to his work, an' does it," Burke put in.
“If he's here for a purpose, he'd naturally wanta stay," Sudden pointed out. "Who's the boy?"
“Dad picked him up at the Bend 'bout twelve months ago. Just a hobo kid stealin' a ride on a freight car what come further west than he figured on. He was precious near starved, an' his lungs is all shot to pieces. Wouldn't give any name, but he talked a lot o' New York, so the boys christened him `yorky.' He's s'posed to help the cook, but spends most of his time smokin' cigarettes an' damnin' everythin' an' everybody.
“A queer li'l runt—'pears to have a spite agin hisself—but he's got guts. Soon after he arrived, he goes with one o' the men in the buckboard to Rainbow. Said the ranch was deadly dull, an' he wanted some excitement. He got it. The storekeeper's son, a big lummox of a lad an' the town bully, started on him. They fought, an' Yorky was fetched home with a bruise on every inch of his body. But not a chirp could we git out'n him.—•
“Dad was hoppin' mad. He rides into Rainbow next mornin', learns the truth, an' tackles the storekeeper. 'I want a word with your boy, Evans,' he sez. `You needn't to trouble, Dover, he's had his lesson,' the storekeeper replies. `Right now he's in bed, both eyes bunged up, two teeth missin', an' a neck what looks like he'd had a turn-up with a cougar.'
“ `Yorky was half-dead to begin with, an' yore boy twice his weight,' Dad points out.
“ `Mebbe, but the half what ain't dead is lively enough,' Evans retorts. `He fought like a wild thing—fists, feet, teeth, an' nails, anythin' went, an' when I drags 'em apart, he stands there spittin' out blood an' curses. "No blasted hayseed can call me names an' git away with it," he sez, an' keels over.' “
Dan was silent for a moment, his eyes sombre. "That was Dad," he said. "Hard as granite at need, but with ever a soft spot for sufferin' in man or beast; I've knowed him mighty near kill a man for maltreatin' a hoss." He roused himself, striving to thrust aside the burden of grief which oppressed Hun. -Well, this ain't gettin us no place. Burke, l'm minded to ask Green to be foreman."
“What you say, goes, Dan," the little man replied steadily: Sudden shook his head. "That won't do nohow; I've a better plan," he said. "Burke here, knowin' the range an' the outfit, oughta be foreman; that's on'y right an' fair. I can be more use to yu if I ain't tied. Call me stray-man, say; that'll give me a chance to snoop around, learn the country; an' keep my eyes an' ears open.”
Burke's despondent face brightened amazingly at this proposition, but Dover still seemed doubtful. "I'd like a lot for Bill to have the job—it's due him," he admitted. "But it don't seem much to offer you."
“Shucks!" was the smiling reply. "It ain't what a man's called but what he does that matters."
“If Jim slept here 'stead of in the bunkhouse he'd be less liable to have his comin's an' goin's noticed," Burke suggested.
“Which is one damn good notion," Dover said eagerly. "I'll be glad to have you, Jim; it's goin' to be lonesome ..." He broke off and swept a hand across his eyes as though to disperse the mist of misery which enveloped him every time he thought of his loss. "Hell burn them," he burst out. "They shall pay, the curs." The moment of fury passed, and he looked up wearily. "Didn't mean to let go thataway. Burke, the boys will have the bad news by this; go an' tell 'em the good—'bout yoreself; I reckon they'll be as pleased as I am."
“I'm obliged, Dan," the foreman replied. "I'll do my best." He turned to Sudden. "I'm thankin' you too, Jim; mebbe I was lyin' about that ambition."
“Yu didn't deceive me, ol'-timer," the puncher grinned.
When they were alone, he looked at the boy into whose life he had so strangely stepped. "Yu got a good man there," he remarked. "Yu've done the square thing by him, an' yu won't regret it."
“No, Bill Burke's white, an' he was fond o' Dad," Dover replied. "Jim, the situation is more desperate than when I spoke to you at the Bend; it ain't too late to slide out—if you want."
“Forget it," Sudden said. "When I start anythin' I aim to go through. All I want now is a bed, an' it wouldn't do yu no real harm to try one. An' remember—there's allus light behind even the blackest cloud." .
Breakfast was no more than over when Yorky came in to say that "a guy from town" was asking for Dan. The young man went out, and Sudden followed. The visitor proved to be Hicks.
“Mornin', gents," he said, pleasantly enough. "The sheriff s holdin' an enquiry into yestiddy's bad business, an' he'd like you both to be there. It'll be at Sody's, an' Foxy sez mebbe you could fetch along ..." He broke off.
“You can tell him—" Dan began fiercely.
“That we'll be on hand," Sudden finished, and when the messenger had departed, added, "No sense in r'arin' up an' settin' folks against us."
“It'll be a mere farce," was the bitter comment.
“Shore, but we gotta play the game their way—for a spell," Sudden replied, and then, thoughtfully, "Some o' yore outfit might care to be present at the buryin'—Burke, say, an' three-four others."
“Yu think they'll try anythin'?"
“Oh, I guess not, but as a mark o' respect for the deceased, yu know.”
So it came about that when the buckboard, driven by Burke, arrived in town, it was accompanied by five armed horsemen, a fact that caused a stir of excitement.
“Who's the black-haired hombre?" asked Seller, who, as carpenter and coffin-maker, had an interest in the proceedings.
'Must be the fella what found the body an' held up Foxy,”
Evans told him. Some of the sheriff's party had talked. "If he's throwin' in with the Circle Dot, gettin' rid o' Ol' Dave ain't goin' to help much."
“Ain't the Wagon-wheel dealin' with you now?" came the sarcastic query. "Or are you tired o' livin'?"
“They are, an' I ain't, but I don't like 'em none the more for that," the storekeeper retorted. "If this burg has to sit up an' beg every time Trenton gives the word, it's a mighty pore prospect."
“You said it. Dave Dover had a rough tongue, but he was a square shooter. Well, I got a box for him—it pays to keep 26one ready in this man's town—hut I'd liefer some other fella was to fill it.”
Rainbow was a small place, and utterly unlovely—a huddle of primitive buildings flung haphazard along one side of a sandy but unfailing stream. It boasted a bank, stores, an hotel —so-called—eating-house, and a sprinkling of private habitations. It owed its existence mainly to the proximity of two ranches—the Circle Dot and the Wagon-wheel--and also to the fact that its location and supply of water made it a convenient halt for trail-herds from more distant ranges bound for the Bend.
Relaxation was lavishly catered for; a facetious citizen once remarked, "Take away her saloons, an' Rainbow very nearly ain't." The most important of these were the Parlour, and Sody's. It was into the latter that the corpse of the murdered man, covered with a blanket, was carried and laid at one side of the cleared space in front of the bar. The sheriff was seated at a table, with half a dozen citizens ranged behind him; his eyes grew meaner when the Circle Dot contingent entered.
“Any need to fetch along them riders?" he snarled. "They've as much right to be here as you have," Dan told him.
“Well, let's git on. Gotta be reg'lar, but I reckon we're just losin' time on thisyer enquiry."
“I didn't ask for it. Shore is a waste o' time; even you can't make it anythin' but murder."
“That's for the jury to decide," Foxwell snapped. "I've selected 'em a'ready."
“So I see—all men who didn't think much o' Dad."
“It wouldn't 'a' bin easy to find six who did," the sheriff sneered.
“An' that's a damned lie," Dan flared. "So now what?”
Before any reply could be made, a man, who had been kneeling beside the body, stood up. Dressed in a skirted coat which had once been black, a dirty boiled shirt, coarse trousers tucked untidily into the tops of his boots, he presented a picture of gentility in the last stages of decay. And his gaunt, clever, but dissipated features, and long, untended hair, added to the illusion, though he was little more than thirty years of 27 age. His red-rimmed eyes regarded the peace officer belligerently.
“Have you brought me from my bottle to listen to your wrangling?" he demanded, in a hoarse but cultured voice. "Of course, Foxwell, if—by a miracle—you are about to fight and provide me with a patient, I am not objecting.”
The sheriff had no intention of fighting, despite the gibe; he found the interruption very timely.
“I'll take yore report first, Malachi," he said.
“Doctor Malachi, to you," came the correction. "What do you imagine I can tell you? The man is dead—been so for fifteen hours, or more; shot from behind, doubtless from hiding, as seems to be the chivalrous custom in these parts. Here's the bullet, from which you will learn little; contact with the spinal column has distorted it." He tossed the bloodstained pellet on the table, wiped his long, thin fingers on a rag of a handkerchief, and added, "My fee is five dollars—cash.”
Foxwell stared at him. "Hell, Doc, you ain't told us nothin' we didn't know," he protested. "Five bucks for diggin' out a slug?"
“That is my charge for extractions—teeth or bullets," Malachi returned serenely. "And remember, Sheriff, if you should chance to become ill, it would be most unfortunate if I were too occupied to attend you.”
The officer glowered but gave in, not unmindful of the fact that most of those present were enjoying the incident. The doctor, despite his loose habits and acid tongue was, by reason of his profession and education, a privileged person; he was, in truth, the only qualified medical man within a radius of fifty miles or more. Malachi picked up the bill Foxwell produced, walked to the bar, and appeared to take no further interest in the proceedings. The sheriff examined the fatal fragment of lead.
“Like Doc said, it don't tell us a thing," he said, and Sudden could have sworn to the relief in his tone.
“My statement was that you wouldn't learn much," a voice from the bar interjected. "Weigh it, you idiot.”
Foxwell had to comply. Scales and an assortment of cart
ridges were fetched; only in one instance did the weights tally.
"She's a thirty-eight," Hicks, who was making the tests 28announced. "That don't git us much further, unless—" His gaze went to Sudden. "What gun do you carry, Mister?”
“A forty-four," the cowboy replied.
“No good foolin' about over the slug, thirty-eights ain't so scarce," the sheriff said irritably. "We wanta hear how that fella found the body."
“I met young Dover in Sandy Bend an' mentioned I was needin' a job. He asked me to head for the Circle Dot, an' promised to follow later. On the way I heard a shot an', soon after, came upon the dead man. I was lookin' him over when the sheriff an' his posse turned up. Then—"
“Awright, I know the rest," Foxwell cut in hastily.
“A murdered man, and another on the spot, that should have been enough evidence for you, Foxy. Why didn't you hang him?”
The sarcastic question came from the bar, and the sheriff unthinkingly told a half-truth. "I changed my mind."
“I don't blame you," was the instant rejoinder. "If I had a mind like yours I'd do the same." A ripple of laughter followed, and the voice went on, "Don't you think the jury might like to know the reason for this astounding departure from your usual methods?"
“The jury knows all it needs to," the badgered man retorted.
“Including the decision it is to come to, I expect. Then why hold the enquiry? God! what a fool you are, Foxy.”
Purple in the face, the sheriff turned on his tormentor. "When I want yore help I'll ask for it. Yo're—"
“Fee for a consultation is ten dollars, in advance—from you," the doctor finished.
“Obstructin' the course o' justice."
“Justice! Why, you couldn't spell the damn word, much less administer it," Malachi laughed, and presenting his back, poured another drink.
The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief; he stood no chance in a verbal contest with that man. In an effort to regain his self-respect, he glared round the room.
'You got anythin' to say, Dover?"
“Plenty," the young fellow replied, and told of the message his father had received. "It did not come from me—it was a trap, an' it's an easy guess who set it." - 29
“Guessin' won't git us nowhere; the Law demands proof," Foxwell said unctuously.
“The Law here squats on it's rump an' does nothin'," Dan sneered. "This ain't the first time a man has been done to death by a yellow-livered sneak afraid to show hisself. Well, I ain't askin' yore help, Sheriff; the Circle Dot can handle it.”
The officer scowled, and then, "What is it, Bundy'?" as a lumpy cowboy in his early thirties, whose craggy face seemed to be endowed with a permanent sneer, stepped forward.
“All I wanta say is that yestiddy afternoon the en-tire Wagon-wheel outfit was workin' ten mile from where the shootin' took place."
“Methinks the witness doth protest too much," came a comment from the bar.
The sheriff swore. But evidently the statement was what he had been waiting for. "We ain't gittin' no forader," he said testily, and turned to the men standing behind him. Then, "The jury finds that deceased died from a gun-shot wound, but there ain't no evidence to show who done it."
“Had any existed, there would have been no enquiry," Malachi added. "Foxy, when my commodious abode needs white-washing, the job is yours."
“Who was it spoke for the Wagon-wheel?" Sudden asked.
“The foreman, as nasty a piece o' work as the Lord ever put breath into," Dan replied. "Sent a-purpose, an' the sheriff knew it."
“That sawbones ain't much respect for the Law.”
“Devilin' Foxy is just pie to him, but it's a dangerous game. He's a queer cuss, but I like him.”
CHAPTER IV
That afternoon another oblong heap of heavy stones was added to the little cemetery, a scant half-mile from the town. ft was a pretty place, a tiny plateau of short grass, sprinkled with gay-coloured flowers, and ringed in with shrubs and trees through which the sun sent flickering shadows. Rainbow did not possess a parson, so there was no- ceremony. The men present stood around, hats off, watching silently. When all was done, Dan, looking down upon the pitiful pile through misty eyes and gripping the brim of his Stetson with tense fingers, registered a vow:
“They shan't beat us, Dad," he muttered, and turned away. As the empty buckboard, with its escort of stern-faced riders moved slowly towards the town, a stout, ruddy-cheeked horseman slowed up to allow the young cattleman to join him.
“I'm powerful sorry, boy," he began. "I've knowed the 01' Man since you were knee-high to a sage-hen, an' knowed him well. He was hard-shelled, but inside he was the pure quill. He never let down a friend, or let up on a foe, an' for anybody in distress, he was a safe bet. Losin' yore mother shook him terrible, but if the preachers is right, mebbe they're together agin." He was silent for a moment. "What I wanted to say was, if there's anythin' I can do, any time, come to me."
“That's mighty nice o' you, Bowdyr," Dan replied. "I'll not forget. Guess I'll be needin' friends."
“Yore new hand looks a likely proposition. What do you know about him?"
“Not a thing; I took a chance."
“Fella has to—times," Bowdyr agreed. He studied the puncher—who was riding on the other side of the buckboard —for a while. "I'd 'a' done the same--with him.”
When they reached Rainbow, Bowdyr drew rein at the Parlour Saloon, of which he was the proprietor, and voiced an invitation.
“I don't feel like drinkin', Ben," Dover said.
“A livener won't do us any harm, son," Bowdyr argued. "Frettin' ain't goin' to fetch the of boy back, an' I want a word with you.”
The Parlour was very similar to Sody's but rather smaller. It had a long, highly-polished bar—the pride of its owner—facing the swing-doors. In front of it were tables and chairs. A roulette wheel, and other forms of gambling were to be found on the right side, while to the left was space for dancing, and a piano. Mirrors, and brightly-coloured Navajo blankets served to relieve the bareness of the wooden walls.
“Drinks are on the house this time, boys," the saloon keeper told the Circle Dot riders, all of whom he knew, save one. Dover remedied this by introducing the new man.
“Ben, this is Jim Green; he's goin' to ride for us."
“Glad to meetcha," Bowdyr replied, and with a grin, "I own this joint, though the Circle Dot fellas sometimes act as if they did."
“If they make trouble, Ben—
“Skittles, I was joshin'. They're a good crowd. I reckon a cowboy with no devil in him is no more use than a busted bronc. Ain't that so, Green?"
“It shorely is," Sudden agreed.
“We'll take our liquor over there," Bowdyr suggested, pointing to a table in one corner. "No need to tell everybody our affairs." When they were seated, he resumed. "Now, Dan, I'm goin' to ask a straight question, an' I want the same kind o' answer. In Sody's this mornin' you practically declared war on the Wagon-wheel. Did you mean that?"
“Every damn word," the young man replied harshly. "They're tryin' to smash the Circle Dot; they shoot down our riders, an' now they've murdered Dad. Mebbe I'm next on the slate, but until they get me, I'm fightin' back."
“Good enough," the saloon-keeper said. "What I can do, I will."
“Thanks, Ben. They had their alibi all fixed, but it was a mistake to send a liar like Bundy."
“It's got me guessin'," Bowdyr remarked. "The Trentons was allus high-handed an' disregardful of other folks' rights, but this ambushin' ain't like 'em."
“That's so, but the fella who's been givin' the orders at the Wagon-wheel for some time is that Easterner, Chesney Gar-stone. I figure he's got Zeb hawg-tied."
“An Easterner, an' runnin' a cattle-range?" Sudden queried. "Oh, Trenton does that; this jasper just runs Trenton," Dan explained.
“Been around long?"
“Less'n twelve months, but that's too long. Hell, there he comes. Don't often favour you, does he, Ben?"
“No, an' I ain't regardin' it thataway neither," the saloonkeeper replied bluntly.
Chesney Garstone was a big man, physically, and in his own estimation. About midway between thirty and forty, heavily-built, his close-cropped fair hair, blue eyes, and somewhat square head gave him a Teutonic appearance. He was meticulously attired; trousers neatly folded into the tops of his highly-polished riding-boots, a silk shirt, loosely-tied cravat, and soft black hat. Altogether a striking figure in any company. To their surprise, he stepped towards them.
“I came in to see you, Dover," he began. "I want to say how sorry I am—only heard the news two hours ago, when I rode in from the Bend.”
Dan ignored the outstretched hand. "So you were there, huh?”
Garstone's eyebrows rose. "Certainly; I rode over yesterday morning and took the train to Washout, where I had business, and spent the night."
“Havin' given yore orders before you went."
“What the devil are you driving at?"
“Just this, Garstone. At the time my father was murdered, you claim to have been in Washout, Bundy says yore entire outfit was ten mile away, an' I s'pose Zeb has his tale all ready too."
“Are you suggesting—?"
“Not any—I'm statin' facts.”
Garstone's eyes were furious, but he kept his temper. "Look here, Dover, you are talking wild," he said placatingly. "This must have been a terrible shock to you, and I'm willing to make allowances. My only object in coming here was to express regret, and see if we can come to terms. Listen: you have more water than you need, and we are short. Why not sell us the strip of land which would enable us to use the stream? I'll give you a fair price."
“How long have you owned the Wagon-wheel?"
“I don't, but I'm representing Trenton. What do you say?”
“One thing only: bring me the houn' who shot my father an' I'll talk with you.”
Garstone made an impatient gesture. "You ask the impossible. Dave Dover had enemies, no doubt; he was the type to make them, stubborn, overbearing—" He paused as the young man's right hand moved threateningly towards his hip. "I'm not armed."
“No, an' I ain't got my back turned on you, have I?" Dan said meaningly. "Take notice, Garstone; if I hear o' you blackenin' Dad's name again, that excuse won't work; I'll horsewhip you.”
Even this deadly insult failed to break the other's control, and he showed no sign of the fire raging within him. He appealed to Bowdyr.
“You are a witness that I tried to make peace," he said.
“This hot-head boy insists on war, and by God! he shall have it—war to the knife."
“Meanie' a stab in the back, o' course," Dan retorted. "Meaning the end of the Circle Dot," Garstone snapped.
As he went out of the saloon, the young rancher's voice followed him:
“Get yoreself a gun, Easterner; you'll be needin' one." He sat down again, drew a deep breath, and added, "That clears the air some.”
Bowdyr shook his head. "He's a cunnin' devil; knowed you'd turn his offer down, but it puts the blame for any trouble on you, an' there's those in town will see it thataway.”
“I ain't carin'," Dan replied. "What you think of him, Jim?"
“He's dangerous," Sudden said. "An' I wouldn't gamble too high on his not totin' a gun."
“I hope he does," was the sinister answer. "Time to be movin', Bill." This to the foreman, who promptly collected his men.
The ride home was very different to the usual hilarious return from town. Death was no stranger to any of them, but to-day farewell had been said to one they liked and respected, who, but yesterday, had been their leader. Stern-faced, the three cowboys paced behind the buckboard, speaking only rarely and then in lowered tones.
“Young Dan shorely made hisself clear to that dude," remarked Bob Lister, who was commonly addressed and referred to as "Blister."
“He did so, an' I'll bet he warn't wide o' the mark neither," Tiny—the heftiest of the outfit—replied. "What you think, Noisy?"
“Yeah," the third man said.
Tiny turned to the first speaker. "Allus the same. Ask that fella a simple question an' out comes a torrent o' talk like a river in flood-time. Honest, Noisy, if you don't hobble that tongue o' yores you'll git a bad name."
“He has that a'ready," Blister pointed out, and inconsequently, "There's goin' to be bustlin' times in this neck o' the woods. I'm likin' the look o' that new hombre—if he's on our side."
“Bill spoke well of him an' he's a good judge—he engaged me," Tiny said modestly.
“yeah, I heard him apologizin' to the 01' Man," Blister grinned, and Tiny—having no retort ready—the conversation languished.
The Circle Dot reached, horses unsaddled and turned into the corral, the rancher and Sudden were making for the house when a man emerged from a little shack near the wood-pile and came towards them. He was old, as his dead-white, untrimmed hair and beard bore witness, but in his prime he must have been both tall and powerful. Even yet, the broad but bowed shoulders suggested strength above the average. In one hand he was swinging a heavy axe, the blade of which shone like silver in the rays of the sinking sun. As he drew near, Sudden noted that his eyes were dull, expressionless.
“'Lo, Hunch," the young man greeted.
The man stared at him for a moment, and then, with apparent effort, stammered, "What's—come—o'—Dave?”
In a few sentences, and speaking very slowly, Dover told the tale. The other listened with seeming indifference, swung round without a word, and lurched away to the wood-pile. They saw the axe flash into the air and heard the thud of the blade as the keen edge bit deep into a baulk of timber; the blow was followed by others, each driven home with savage intensity; it almost seemed as though he were wreaking a vengeance on the tree-trunk.
“Another o' pore Dad's pensioners," Dan explained. "Drifted in 'bout two years back, sick an' starvin'. He lives in the hut, an' keeps us in fuel. 0' course, he's kinda lackin'lost his memory. For months we figured he was dumb, couldn't get a word from him; even now, it takes somethin' extra, but he 'pears to savvy what folks say."
“There don't seem to be much wrong with his muscles.”
“He's as strong as a bullock—packs or hauls in loads you'd take a team for. He can't remember any name, but the boys called him `Hunch' on account of his stoop. Just worships that axe. I figure that he's been a lumberjack; every now and again, hell be missin' for a spell, wanderin' in the woods.”
“Ever have any trouble with him?"
“On'y once. We had a new hand—fella named `Rattray,' an' the first half o' that described him. He was the kind what would tease a kid, an' he regarded a daft old man as the answer to a bully's prayer. It didn't come out just that way. Rattray got the axe an' started breakin' stones to blunt the edge. Hunch threw him clear across the bunkhouse, snappin' a leg, an arm, an' some ribs. Doc Malachi put him together again, an' when he was able to ride, Dad told him to. Rattray rode, but on'y as far as the Wagon-wheel, so there's another who had reason to ...”
Sudden switched the subject. "Odd number, that pill-merchant," he remarked. "What's he doin' here?"
“Committin' slow suicide," Dan replied. "It's a pity for he's a clever chap an' knows his job. Don't you pick holes in him; I've a notion he's a friend, an' we ain't overburdened with 'em."
“Well, there's one good thing about an enemy--yu know what to expect; friends ain't allus so dependable," was the puncher's cynical comment.
At the door of the ranch-house, Yorky was lounging. He scowled at the rancher.
“So now he's gone, yer t'rowin' me out," he said resentfully.
“Where did you get that idea?" Dan asked curiously.
“Flint said yer wouldn't be tannin' a home for hoboes no more.''
“I don't consult Flint about my actions; you can stay as long as you want," Dan replied shortly, and went in. Sudden hung back. "Why don't yu fork a hoss an' get out in the open, 'stead o' stayin' cooped up in the house, smokin' them everlastin' coffin-nails?" he asked quietly.
The boy's rebellious expression softened. "The 01' Man ureter talk that way, but it ain't no good," he muttered. "I told yer, I'm a weed an'—I can't ride, Mister."
“Weeds can grow big an' strong," Sudden smiled. "I'll teach yu to stay in a saddle. Think it over, an'—I'm Jim—to my friends.”
He went, and Yorky slumped down on the long bench by the door. "Hell! I b'lieve he meant it, but what's th' good?”
He reached out a screw of tobacco and papers, only to thrust them back again. "Awright—Jim—it's a bet.”
So, on the following morning, when Sudden came to get his horse, he was accompanied by an unhappy-looking youth who stood and gazed doubtfully at the pony Burke had selected for him.
“Too old an' lazy to buck," the foreman said. "Been here damn near as long as I have. His name's `Shut-eye.' Story is that one o' the boys—years ago—after a long an' tirin' day, dozed off in the saddle, figurin' his hoss would fetch him home. When he woke, hours later, they were in the same place an' the hoss was asleep too.”
The average cow-horse, sensing that saddling is the prelude to hard work, resents the operation, but Shut-eye gave Tiny and Flint no trouble at all. But Sudden was not taking chances; even a mild fit of bucking might result in a fall which would send his pupil back to the ranch-house cured of any desire to ride. He meant to try the animal first.
“Shorely seems unenterprisin' but mebbe he's savin' hisself. If that's so, he's due for a surprise.”
It was Sudden who got the surprise, for no sooner was he in the saddle than the pony, with a squeal of rage and pain, dropped its head and leapt into the air, coming down with feet bunched and legs like steel rods. So unprepared was the puncher for this display of temper that he lost his seat and only saved himself from being ignominiously "piled" by a swift grab at the saddle-horn, an act which brought a guffaw and satirical gibe from behind
“Pullin' leather. Yorky'll have a good teacher.”
Sudden did not look round—he was busy fighting the maddened beast beneath him—but he noted the voice. Back in the saddle, he gripped with his knees, dragged on the reins, and by sheer strength brought the pony's head up. Instantly the animal reared and would have fallen on him had not the rider flung himself forward and driven home the spurs. A few more ineffectual efforts, which were deftly foiled, and Shuteye appeared to realize it had met its master; trembling in every limb, the beast stood still.
Sudden got down, dropped the reins to the ground, and stroked the quivering nostrils. Then he loosened the cinches, raised the saddle, and swore as he saw the source of the trouble: a small section of cactus—the dreaded choya—had been so placed that any weight would drive the cruel, barbed, glistening spikes into the flesh. Well he knew the blinding agony they could cause, and it was not astonishing that the victim should forget its many years of training and relapse into savagery under the torment. With the point of his knife he wrenched the cactus free, and holding it on the palm of his hand, turned to the onlookers. Amid dead silence, he stepped to Flint, upon whose coarse features a half-sneer lingered.
“Why did yu put this under the saddle?" he asked sternly.
For a moment the man hesitated, and then, with an air of bravado, replied, "Just a joke; wanted to see if anythin' would wake the of skinful o' bones."
“An' it didn't matter if the boy took a tumble, which—sick as he is—would possibly kill him?"
“Oh, I figured you'd sample the hoss first," came the jaunty lie.
“Well, that makes it my affair. Any idea what the choya can do to man or beast?"
“No, allus avoid 'em m'self," Flint grinned.
Sudden dropped the torturing thing. "Yo're goin' to learn,”
he said, and with a lightning movement clutched the fellow by the throat, swung him off his feet, and sat him down on the cactus. With a howl of anguish Flint scrambled up and snatched out his gun, only to have it struck from his grasp and find himself sprawling on the ground from a flat-handed blow on the cheek. Frantically he tore at the cause of his suffering, and got more of the devilish spines in his fingers. A stinging, burning pain in every part of his body possessed him.
“Damn you all, git this cursed thing off," he shrieked.
The men looked at Sudden, who nodded. "Guess he knows what the choya can do now," he said, and turned away.
One by one, the terrible little thorns had to be ripped out by main force, and by the time the operation was completed, the patient appeared to be thoroughly cowed. Limping, he picked up his gun, made to thrust it into his belt, but instead, swung about and presented it full at the broad back of the man who had punished him.
“Freeze—all o' you," he rasped, and his face was a mask of murder.
“Pull, an' we hang you," Dan warned.
“This is atween him an' me," Flint retorted. "He gits his chance. You can face an' flash yore gun, Green." He would fire the instant the other was round, before he could draw. That was what he meant to do: what he actually did was gape with wide eyes at the muzzle of a six-shooter, levelled almost alongside his own, and pointed at his heart. The turn and draw had been one movement, executed at lightning speed. Behind the weapon, eyes of arctic coolness bored into his.
“Shoot, an' we'll go to hell together," said a mocking voice.
That was the position, and Flint knew it. If the thumb holding back the hammer—Sudden had no use for triggers—was released, even in the act of dying, he too was doomed. It was the acid test. One crook of his own finger, and . . . Those watching saw his hand sink slowly; the price of vengeance was too high.
“I can wait," he muttered thickly, and bent a malignant look upon his employer.
“I'm quittin'," he snarled.
“I fired you fifteen minutes ago," the rancher replied. Flint's face took on a savage sneer. "Well, that suits me fine. Who wants to b'long to a pussy-cat outfit anyway? He slouched towards his horse and was about to mount when Dan spoke again, brazen-voiced:
“That bronc bears my brand. When my father picked you out o' the dirt, you'd spent the last dime o' what yore saddle fetched.”
The ruffian whirled on him. "You sendin' me off afoot?"
“You leave as you came," the young man retorted. "I don't even lend horses to folk who misuse 'em."
“I'll make you sweat blood for this, Dover," was the fellow's parting threat, as he set out on the long tramp to town.
“I reckon I've lost you a hand, Dan," Sudden said.
“Take it you've done me a service," was the reply. "We can do without vermin around here.”
CHAPTER V
Flint's departure was the signal for the outfit to get busy, and Yorky began to sidle towards the house. But Sudden was watching.
“Ain't yu ridin' with me?" he asked.
“Aw, Jim, I don't feel so good this mornin'," the boy said. "Can't we put off th' outin' fer a spell?”
The puncher saw the apprehensive glance at the pony, now standing head down, limp and dejected. He smiled as he replied: It's now or never, son. This is yore best chance. I doubt if even another dose o' cactus medicine would rouse a kick in that animile. Up with yu.”
With obvious reluctance, Yorky climbed clumsily to the saddle; Sudden adjusted the heavy wooden stirrups so that the rider was almost standing in them, and gave him the reins. Shut-eye swung his head round, discovered that this new burden did not hurt, and again relapsed into apathy. The rest of the cowboys cheered and proffered advice.
“If you wanta git off quick, Yorky, don't slide over his tail or he'll h'ist you into kingdom come," was Blister's contribution.
“Keep him awake," Tiny urged. "He snores awful.”
“Talks in his sleep too," added another. "He's wuss'n Noisy for chatterin'.”
The boy patted the neck of his now docile mount. "He can't answer," he grinned. "He dunno how ter bray.”
Amid the laughter the retort evoked, Sudden stepped into his saddle and the incongruous couple set out, the boy bumping awkwardly up and down.
“Hold the reins short, an' shove yore feet well into the stirrups to take yore weight—yu don't need to ride like a sack o' meal," his tutor advised.
Moving at little more than a walk, they covered somc three miles of plain, and reached a patch of pines. Sudden dismounted, trailed his reins, and told the boy to do the same. "He won't stray then," he pointed out. "Reckon this'll be far enough to begin with, time yu get back. But first, yu gotta rest.”
Lying on the soft, springy bed of pine-needles, Yorky gagged and choked as he drew in the odourful air. "Hell, this'll kill me," he gasped.
“No, cure yu," the puncher assured. "A dose o' this every day'll heal them lungs o' yores, but it's strong medicine, an' you have to get accustomed; it's the breath o' the pines.”
“I ain't no sucker—trees don't breath."
“Every livin' thing breathes, trees an' plants too, an' when they're crowded, the weaker ones pass out for want of air," Sudden explained.
He rolled himself a cigarette and held out the "makings." Yorky's eyes gleamed, but he shook his head.
“I'm layin' off smokin' fer a bit," he said.
“Good notion," Sudden agreed. "Give the clean air a chance." He pondered for a mement. "Did Flint have anythin' against yu?"
“He was sore 'cause I cleaned him at poker. Say, you sports don't know nuttin' 'bout cyards. I was playin' th' game fer real money when I was a kid, an' I c'n make 'em talk.”
“Was that all?”
The boy hesitated. "Yep," he replied.
The puncher knew it was a lie, but he was of those patient people who can wait. He pinched out his cigarette and got up. "I have to be movin'," he said. "Stick around here for a while—no sense in gettin' saddle-sore.”
With envious eyes Yorky watched the fine black lope away and vanish into the depths of a deep arroyo. "He's a reg'lar guy," he muttered. "Mebbe I'd oughter told him.”
Sudden's mind too was upon his late companion, this pitiful product from the stews of a great city, pitchforked by circumstance into surroundings utterly at variance with all he had known, and where his handicap of ill-health told most heavily.
“Some folks is born to trouble, Nig," he mused. "Others, like you an' me, go huntin' it. An' we've shorely found some, spelt with a big T, if I'm any judge, an' I oughta be." A saturnine smile broke the line of his lips as he recalled the events of the last forty-eight hours, and he lifted his shoulders. "Fate deals the cards, an' a fella has to play 'em, win or lose.”
Emerging from the arroyo, he crossed a stretch of plain and came to a double row of willows between which a clear stream moved unhurriedly. This must be the source of the dispute. It seemed a peaceful thing to war over, but the puncher was well aware of the value of water to a cattleman. Half a mile away on the other side, the land rose abruptly in a ragged ridge of rock running parallel with the creek. Groups of cows were grazing there; he was about to go over and investigate the brands when Dover rode up.
“Lost Yorky?" he asked.
“No, left him bedded down among the pines," Sudden smiled.
“You must be a magician. After that one trip to town, even Dad couldn't get him a hundred yards from the house."
“He's never had a break," Sudden said, and pointed to the ridge. "Yore boundary?"
“Yeah, this is the strip Garstone was speakin' of, but that wouldn't satisfy 'em. The Trentons is rotten right through, an' I'll never trust nor help one of 'em. As for that prinked-up Easterner—" He spat disgustedly.
“Garstone will need watchin', he got all the points of a rattlesnake bar the good one—he'll strike without warnin'," was Sudden's opinion.
They rode along beside the creek, silent, the rancher studying this man of whom he knew nothing save that he could shoot like a master, used the saddle and long stirrup of the Californian "buckaroo," but spoke with the slow drawl of the South. Western etiquette forbade a question, but there was no need.
“Tryin' to figure me, Dan?" Sudden asked, with a dry smile, and when the quick flush told he had hit the mark, added, "Shucks! yu have a right to know.”
He spoke of a dying man, who, with his last breath, bequeathed a legacy of vengeance upon two scoundrels who had wronged him sorely, and of his own promise to pay the debt.
“That's why, like the creek there, I'm allus on the move," he said. "I ain't struck their trail yet, but I shall—one day.”
How that day did indeed come has been told elsewhere. Dover looked at the set face of the speaker; measured by time, he was not so many years older than himself, but in experience, twice his age. The similarity of their cases bred a feeling of brotherhood in his breast; he too had a score to settle. Impulsively he thrust out a hand, which was gripped in silence.
“Makin' for anywhere in particular, Jim?"
“Figurin' to have another look at the ravine—mebbe I missed somethin'."
“Then we part here," Dan said. "yore line bears to the right.”
Sudden had not gone far when a faint call of "Help!" reached him. It appeared to come from the vicinity of the creek and, swinging his horse round, he rode in that direction. A repetition of the cry served as a further guide, and in a few moments he was again beside the stream, at a point where, after passing over a miniature' Niagara, it widened out into a largish pool. The sight which greeted him was a singular one: a pale-faced girl, who appeared to be sitting in the water, and by her side a young man standing in it. The latter was Dover.
“Hey, Jim, don't come in," he warned. "Will yore rope reach this far?"
“Yeah, but it'll mean a rough passage for the lady."
“Can't be helped—it's our on'y chance. This damn quicksand has got us good.”
Sudden leapt from his horse, walked to the water's edge. and swung his lariat. Carelessly as the rope seemed to be thrown, the loop dropped neatly over the girl's head. "Fix it under her arm-pits," he directed, and when this had been done, began to haul in swiftly. With a splash the girl struck the water, and in a brief space reached the bank, a limp, bedraggled specimen of humanity. The puncher helped her to stand up and removed the rope.—,
“Ain't no way to treat a lady, but I had to work fast," he apologized.
She fought for breath to answer, but failed to find it; this man who could throw an eight-hundred-pound steer had yanked her across the strip of shining water at incredible speed, and to her great discomfort. Sudden was not waiting for thanks.
“Hi, cowboy, need a hand?" he called out.
The leverage the empty saddle gave him had enabled Dan to free his feet from the clutching sand, and he was now astride the horse, only the head of which was visible.
“I can swim back," he replied.
By this time the girl had regained her breath. "Must I lose my pony?" she asked wistfully.
“A side-ways pull would break his legs," Sudden pointed out. A big cottonwood, one huge branch of which jutted out over the water, suggested something. "It's a chance," he said, and to Dover, who was preparing to plunge in, "Hold on a minute.”
He sent his rope hurtling out again, and following his instructions, Dover contrived to pass it under the pony's belly and tie it securely. Then he slipped into the stream and came ashore. In the meantime, Sudden had attached Dan's rope to his own.
“What's the idea?" the young man asked, as he emerged and shook himself like a wet dog. "That bronc is meat for the fishes."
“I'm one o' them obstinate folk an' need convincin'," was the reply.
Swinging himself into the cottonwood, he crawled along the great limb, passed the end of the joined lariats through a fork, and returned to the ground. The head of the pony was now almost submerged, and conscious of impending doom it uttered a shrill cry of fear.
“Awright, of fella, we're doin' our best," Sudden said, as he fastened the loose end of the ropes to the saddle-horn of his own mount. "This'll give us an almost straight lift, an' if the pore beggar's still got a kick in him, it may serve," he explained. "Steady, boy.”
This to the black, which, with braced limbs, leant forward until the rope was at full stretch. The two men, intent on the operation, took no notice of the girl, but she too was watching anxiously. At a word from his master, Nigger advanced a pace, the muscles bunching beneath the satiny skin; the rope became taut as a bow-string, but apparently without effect. Asecond pace, another scream from the drowning animal, and Sudden chuckled.
“He's loosenin', 'less we've pulled his legs off," he said. "I can see the horn o' the saddle.”
It was true; as the big horse slowly advanced, the smaller beast at the other end of the rope was raised clear of the quicksand to hang suspended, twisting in the air, and obviously beside itself with fright.
“Well, we got him, an' we ain't," Dan remarked quizzically. "What's the next move?"
“Drop him back in the water, an' yell," Sudden replied. "He won't stay to get mired again, an' he's carryin' no weight." The rope was released and a piercing cowboy call rent the air; that, and the feel of the water sent the rescued beast scrambling frantically for solid ground, on reaching which it stood still, shivering and dejected. The lariat and saddle removed, however, it proceeded to roll contentedly in the grass, apparently little the worse.
“He ain't hurt none," Sudden said, adding with a grin, "an' what a tale he'll have to tell in the corral to-night."
“He's not the only one," a sweet but rather rueful voice remarked.
Engrossed in their task, the other rescuee had been forgotten, but now they turned to find her seated on a tuft of grass, trying to restore some sort of order to a wet mop of short, curly black hair. Little clouds of steam arose as the fierce rays of the sun licked up the moisture from her soaked attire. She was, as Dover confessed in an aside to his companion, "Sorta soothin' to the sight.”
The description did her less than justice, for, despite her bedraggled state, even one of her own sex would have allowed her charm, at least. To the men, she was beautiful, and the fact that she could find a smile for them showed that she possessed the quality they most admired, courage. Sudden was the first to speak:
“How're yu feelin', ma'am?"
“Rather as though I ought to be pegged out on a line to dry," she replied. "The stream looked shallow enough to ride through, but half-way across I realized that my mount was in difficulties, and turned to go back, but it was too late. You see, I can't swim."
“You picked the wrong place," Dan told her. "The ford is a bit further down; there's a couple o' white stones to mark it."
“Being a stranger, I am afraid they wouldn't have meant anything to me." Her dark, long-lashed eyes regarded the tree-shadowed pool reproachfully. "Who would have dreamed that so charming a spot could be treacherous?"
“The Rainbow ain't to be trusted," Dan grinned. "She's as various as a—" He stopped abruptly.
“Woman," she finished, with a light laugh. "Please don't mind me—I am well aware of the failings of my own sex.”
She stood up, her clinging garments revealing the youthful lines of her slim body. "I want to thank you both," she went on, her voice grave again. "But for your help, I might have ..." She broke off, with a little shudder, and then, "My uncle will want to thank you too, and he'll be glad to see you at the Wagon-wheel—why, what is the matter?”
For Dan's face had suddenly become bleak. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
The girl's eyes flashed. "I am Beth Trenton," she replied. "And you?"
“My name's Dover, if that tells you anythin'."
“All I want to know," she returned coldly. "But I am still grateful for what you have done."
“Then don't be," the young man said vehemently. "Helpin' one o' yore family—even in ignorance—is somethin' I wanta forget."
“I have been here only a week, and have received nothing but courtesy from the men I have met; I am sorry to find an exception," was the cutting reply. She looked at Sudden. "If you will be good enough to bring my horse ...”
When the puncher had roped and saddled the animal, she mounted with graceful ease, and without another word, rode in search of the ford. Dan's moody gaze followed her, noting how the proud, straight figure swayed easily to the movement of the beast beneath it; she could ride, and for a reason he did not attempt to analyse, the fact made him still more angry.
“Why in hell didn't I go some other place this mornin'," he fumed. "Zeb Trenton'll laugh hisself sick over this."
“He oughta be mighty grateful."
“Ought means nothin' to him; he won't even pretend to be,the slimy of toad. Bet he's told her a pretty tale about the Dovers. If I'd knowed who she was—"
“Yu'd 'a' done just the same," Sudden smiled. "I'm allowin' it's rough it had to be yu, but rescuin' folks in distress seems to be a habit in yore family."
“She must be the niece I heard was comin' to live with him. I'd forgot about it. Damn the luck.”
Sudden understood; the girl was very attractive, and had she been related to anyone else ... His advice took a prosaic form:
“Better head for home an' get into some dry duds. I'll be on my way.”
As he neared the scene of the murder, he left the beaten trail and approached obliquely, keeping under cover. It was unlikely that anyone could know of his intention to visit the place, but he was not one to take unnecessary risks. Peering through the branches of a tall bush, he could see where the body had lain. Someone was there, stooping over the spot, apparently examining the ground intently. Presently the figure stood up, and Sudden recognized the bent shoulders, white hair, and big axe thrust through the belt.
“Hunch! What in the nation is that of tarrapin doin' here?”
Evidently he was engaged on the task Sudden himself had performed, that of reading the "sign" left by the assassin, for he climbed the bank of the arroyo at the same place and vanished. Sudden waited, but the other did not reappear, and the puncher returned to the Circle Dot in a reflective mood.
CHAPTER VI
An uneventful week passed. Sudden spent the time, as he put it, getting acquainted with the country. Somewhat to his surprise, Yorky was ready each morning to accompany him part of the way. The boy had made the most of his mount, which, carefully groomed, and with mane and tail combed, presented a much improved appearance. When the puncher remarked on this, Yorky flushed, and said:
“Th' boys figure he's played out but they's wrong; all he wanted was a bit of attention. We're pals, ain't we, Shut-eye?”
He stroked the pony's muzzle and Sudden smiled as he saw the piece of sugar pass from the boy's palm.
“A hors is a good friend to have—'specially in the West," he said gravely. "Treat him right an' he'll not fail yu. I'm for Rainbow this mornin'. Comin' along?”
Yorky looked at his tattered raiment, and shook his head. "Nuttin' doin'. Me fer another dose o' th' pine-breath; I'm gittin' so I don't cough me heart up—mos'ly."
“Good. Can I bring yu any smokin'?"
“Nix on that. T'ought I told yer I ain't usin' it."
“So yu did—I done forgot," the puncher lied. "So long, son.”
“So long, Jim, an'—thanks," Yorky replied, and turned quickly away.
Sudden watched him trot off in the direction of the little pine forest. Still an awkward figure in the saddle, he was clearly improving. "The hell of it," he muttered softly, and started for the town.
He found the Parlour devoid of customers save for the unkempt person of Malachi, who, draped against the bar, was chatting with the proprietor. The latter welcomed the newcomer warmly.
Lo, Green, you know the Doc, I reckon," he said. "On'y by reputation," Sudden replied.
“Then you don't know him," Malachi said dryly.
“Well, I'm hopin' he'll drink with me allasame," the cowboy smiled.
“Sir, I'll drink with the Devil himself if the liquor is good—and there's no doubt of that here—but I warn you I am not in a position to return your hospitality."
“Aw, yore credit's good too, Doc," Bowdyr assured. "Thanks, Ben, but I don't sponge on my friends," Malachi returned, and to the puncher, "Folks in this locality are too healthy."
“I've been wantin' to speak to yu 'bout one who ain't," Sudden replied. "That kid at the Circle Dot.”
The other nodded. "Old Dave got me to look him over, and that spawn of a city sink called me everything he could thinkof, and it was plenty. He finished by saying he didn't want to live in a God-forsaken place like this, and he'd be everlastingly somethinged if he swallowed one drop of any blanketyblanked medicine I sent. My advice to Dave was to ship him back East and let him die in the gutter he had come from."
“He certainly can cuss," Sudden grinned. "Is there a chance for him?"
“yes, if he spends all his time outdoors, and stops poisoning his system with nicotine—which he won't; he isn't the sort you can scare into doing a thing."
“But he might for a friend," the puncher suggested. "Well, Doc, I'm obliged for yore advice." He slid a ten-dollar bill along the bar, adding, "I think yu told the sheriff that was yore fee for consultation.”
Malachi stared in amaze, and then a slow smile overspread his thin features; he pushed the bill back. "That was a special charge for Foxy," he said. "Besides, I've told you only what you knew already."
“Yu confirmed my own ideas, an' that's allus worth payin' for," Sudden insisted. "Yu can throw in a few doses o' physic if it will ease yore mind any; I'll see he takes 'em.”
Malachi argued no further. "Next time you get shot up, I'll mend you free," he promised. "Ben, we shall need a bottle of your best to celebrate this unexpected appreciation of the medical profession in Rainbow.”
Both the saloon-keeper and the puncher declined more than one small drink and the doctor tucked the bottle under an arm, bade them farewell, and hurried away. Bowdyr shook his head.
“It's a terrible pity," he remarked, "for, drunk or sober, he's a damned good physician.”
Sudden's reply was cut short by the arrival of another customer, a tall, gangling man nearing sixty, who walked with a limp. He was harsh-featured, with a jutting, high-bridged, predatory nose, and close-cropped beard. Though dressed in range-rig; his garments were of better quality than those affected by the average rider. A heavy revolver hung from his right hip.
“Mornin', Trenton," Bowdyr greeted, in his tone more than a suspicion of coolness.
“Mornin'," the other said curtly. "Whisky—good whisky."
“If you can stand the stuff they peddle at Sody's, mine'll be a treat for you," Bowdyr said.
The rancher shrugged and looked at the cowboy. "Join me?" Sudden pointed to his unfinished glass. "Obliged, but I'm fixed," he replied.
Trenton helped himself from the bottle before him, sampled the liquor, but made no comment. He turned again to the cowboy.
“I don't use this place, but I heard you'd ridden in, an' I wanted to see you."
“yeah?"
“It appears I'm in yore debt for gettin' my niece out of a jam the other day," the rancher went on.
“Nothin' to that—I'd 'a' done as much for one o' yore steers," Sudden replied. "Besides, Dover—“
A scornful laugh interrupted him. "All that young fool did was to get himself in the same mess," Trenton jeered. "If it hadn't been for you, the pair of 'em might have drowned."
“Oh, Dan would 'a' found a way," Sudden defended. "I guess he was a mite impulsive."
“If he's expecting thanks from me he's liable to be disappointed; I don't owe him any. Yore case is different. What's Dover payin' you?”
The puncher chuckled. "Nothin'," and when the other's eyebrows went up, "Yu see, we ain't mentioned the matter as yet. I s'pose it'll be the usual forty per."
“I'll give you double that to ride for me."
“That's a generous offer to a stranger."
“I am under an obligation to you," Trenton explained. "Also, I can use a man who has ideas and acts promptly.”
Sudden was silent for a space, and then, "I'm not in the market," he said. "Yu can forget about that obligation."
“But damn it all, I'm offerin' you more than I pay my foreman," Trenton cried.
“Which wouldn't make me too popular with him," was the smiling reply. "No, seh, money never meant much to me; I'm stayin' by the Circle Dot.”
The rancher's face took on an ugly snarl. "That one-hoss ranch is might near the end of its rope. I'm beginnin' to think I misjudged you after all."
“It's happened before," Sudden said gravely. "I reckon I must be a difficult fella to figure out.”
Trenton glared at him, realized that he was being gently chaffed and, with an oath, stalked out. The saloon-keeper looked at his remaining customer dubiously.
“It was a good offer," he commented. "Zeb ain't regarded as a free spender; he must want you bad."
“No, he's just tryin' to weaken Dan. At the end of a month, his foreman fires me, an' I'm finished round here," Sudden explained. "He must think I'm on'y just weaned."
“Nobody never does know exactly what Zeb Trenton thinks," Bowdyr replied. "It'll pay to remember that there's another way o' deprivin' Dan o' yore services.”
The warned man laughed, but he paused at the door and took a quick look up and down the street before stepping out. Then he made his way to the store, to emerge presently with a bulky parcel which he strapped behind his saddle. He returned to purchase cartridges.
“Got many customers for thirty-eights?" he asked casually.
“Not any," the tradesman replied disgustedly. "Used to get 'em 'specially for a Circle Dot rider, Lafe Potter. He's bumped off, an' I ain't sold none since. Let you have 'em cheap."
“No use to me. Store-keeper I knowed once got landed the same way, an' I just wondered if he had company.”
As he rode back to the ranch, he was thinking it over. The calibre of the weapon which had slain Dave Dover was not quite so common as the sheriff had attempted to imply; apparently nobody in Rainbow possessed one.
“O' course, a fella could buy his fodder elsewhere—the Bend, mebbe," he debated. "Wonder what became o' Potter's gun?”
That evening, after supper, he put a question.
“Yeah, Potter was wiped out some months back," Dan informed. "He was night-ridin' on what we call the creek line, an' was found in the mornin', after his bronc had sifted in without him. Same of story, shot, an' no evidence."
“What happened to his belongin's?"
“He owed money in the town, an' the sheriff claimed 'em," Dover said. "I never heard of any sale, but Evans was paid a matter o' ten dollars, an' I'll bet Foxy pouched the rest.”
Which, having seen the officer, Sudden thought likely enough. The dead cowboy probably did not own even the name he was using, and there would be no one to make enquiries. Sudden saw that the trail had petered out for the present.
When he and Yorky set out in the morning, the boy was mildly facetious about the gunny sack tied to the puncher's cantle.
“That's a mighty gen'rous meal yo're packin', Jim. Gain' a long ways?"
“Bit further than usual. Can yu swim, son?"
“Yep, but I don't s'pose I c'd tackle the Pacific."
“Yu mean the Atlantic—we're headin' East, yu numskull."
“Shore I did. They's a chunk o' th' Atlantic in Noo York harbour. I useter go down ter see th' big liners come in. Oh, she's a swell city. I wish—"
“Yu were back there?”
Yorky shook his head. "Not now, it's different here these days, but I'd like fer yer to see Noo York."
“I have," Sudden grinned. "Wasted two whole weeks there once, an' was thunderin' glad to get away. Them brick canyons they call streets—"
“Th' fines' ever."
“Mebbe, but they stifled me—I like fresh air. An' the crowds, everybody on the tear, like the end o' the world was due any minute.”
The boy digested the criticism in silence. This capable man, who had handled Flint as though he were an infant, would not give an opinion lightly. Perhaps the one city he had known was not quite an earthly paradise after all.
“She shore is a busy li'l dump," he said, but less enthusiastically. "I'll bet yer met some smart folks."
“A few," Sudden smiled. "One of 'em tried to sell me a gold brick, but got peeved when I started to scratch it with my knife. Another said he'd returned recent from the 'per-aries' an' claimed to have met me somewheres, but after I allowed it was likely, as I'd been there, he lost interest.”
Yorky wriggled delightedly. "He'd be a `con' man; they's a slick gang."
“Shore," Sudden grinned. "Then three more invited me to play poker with 'em. Real nice fellas, they were—paid all my expenses, an' a bit to spare.”
The boy's eyes went wide. "They let yer git away with it?”
“I had all my clothes on," the puncher replied, and Yorky had been long enough in the West to know what that meant. They passed the customary stopping-place and about a couple of miles further came to a grassy hollow, shaded by pines. At the bottom of this, rimmed by sand, and shining in the sunlight like a huge silver dollar, was a tiny lake.
“There's yore Atlantic, an' if yu know of a better place for a swim, I'm listenin'," Sudden remarked as he dismounted.
In five minutes they had stripped, and the puncher, with a short run, shot into the water and vanished, to reappear ten yards from the bank, laughing and splashing. "C'mon, it's fine," he called. Yorky tried to emulate the feat, but only succeeded in falling flat on the surface and driving most of the breath out of his body. Then he struck off in the direction of his friend, beating the water with feverish rapidity which soon had him gasping.
“Take it easy," the puncher advised. "A slow stroke'lI carry yu further, an' give yu a chance to breathe some.”
Presently they came out, to lie stretched on the sand, where the increasing heat of the sun's rays soon dried them. Yorky was surveying his ragged shirt ruefully, prior to putting it on, when Sudden, reaching down the gunny sack, pitched it over.
“Ain't hardly worth while, is she? See what yu can find in this.”
The boy groped in the bag, and produced a new, striped, flannel shirt, which he slipped into.
“Them pants o' yores is plenty ventilated but sca'cely decent," the cowboy went on. "Mebbe— Yorky was already searching; the pants appeared, followed by socks, and then something which made him gasp—a pair of the high-heeled boots affected by range-riders, and a broad-brimmed hat, the tall crown pinched in the approved fashion. Petrified, the boy stared at the garments, until Sudden's voice aroused him.
“Climb into 'em, yu chump. What d'yu reckon clothes is for?”
Dumbly, but with averted face, he obeyed; apart from Old Man Dover's, it was the only kindness he had received since coming West, and he was ashamedly conscious that his eyes were wet. The things fitted easily, but well, a tribute to the donor's gift Of observation. When at length he spoke, his voice was shaky.
“Jim, I dunno—"
“Forget it, son. What's a few duds anyway? All yu gotta do now is get strong, eat more, an' fill out yore dimples. We'll make a cowboy of yu yet.”
Yorky was silent; there was something he wanted to say, and it was difficult. With an effort he made the plunge:
“I'm feelin' mean. Jim, yore swell ter me, an' I bin holdin' out on yer—'bout Flint. It warn't the cyard game; he wanted fer me to spy on the 01' Man. I telled him where he c'd go."
“Good for yu," Sudden said. "Glad yu came clean about it. Flint was likely planted on us a-purpose. Yu see, the Wagon-wheel is out to bust the Circle Dot, so we gotta keep an eye liftin'. Sabe?"
“I get yer," the boy replied. "We'll beat 'em."
“Shore we will," Sudden smiled. "Now, I must be off; Dan don't pay me just to dry-nurse yu."
“An' them Noo York smart Alecks played him for a sucker," Yorky grinned, when he was alone, and went to survey his new finery in the mirror Nature had provided.
Beth Trenton sat on her pony regarding the scene of her recent discomfiture. She did not quite know why she had ridden there again except that, reviewing the incident in a calmer frame of mind, she had experienced qualms as to the way she had behaved. After all, the men had probably saved her life, and the fact that they were opposed to her uncle did not justify ingratitude. Looking at the placidly-moving surface of the stream, the danger beneath seemed incredible. Acting on a sudden impulse, she sent her mount down the shelving bank. At the very edge of the water, the animal shied away. She turned it again, and with a sharp blow of her quirt, tried to force it into the river, but with forefeet dug into the sand, the pony refused to budge. A satirical voice intervened:
“Well, of all the fool plays I ever happened on.”
Angrily she jerked her mount round and saw one of the men of whom she had been thinking. Lolling in his saddle, hat pushed back, he was regarding her with unconcealed disapproval.
“It pleases you to be rude, sir," she said, with an attempt at dignity.
It don't please me to see a hoss punished for showin' more sense than its rider," he replied brusquely. "What in blazes made you want a second dose o' that deathtrap?"
“I didn't, but I was curious to find out if the animal remembered," she said stiffly.
“An' if he'd lost his head an' rushed into the water, you'd 'a' been in the same pretty mess."
“From which you, as a gallant gentleman, would doubtless have extricated me."
“yeah, at the end of a rope," Dan retorted. "You'd 'a' come out lookin' like a dish-rag, an' lost yore pony."
“Ah, yes, your clever friend not being with you." The gibe brought a flush, and her next remark deepened it. "What, may I ask, is your business on my uncle's land?”
The young man smothered his mounting wrath; after all, she was a stranger, and damnably pretty; and even as he loved spirit in a horse, he could appreciate it in this girl, lash him as she might.
“The land is mine," he told her quietly. "That rib o' rock is the Trenton boundary.”
She did not doubt him, and the knowledge that he had scored in their verbal battle brought an added tinge of red to her cheeks, and took some of the harshness from her tone.
“Then I am trespassing?"
“You can come when you please, but that don't go for them other skunks at the Wagon-wheel.”
Instantly he knew the slip had delivered him into her hands; the slow smile had begun, and it was too late to retract that one superfluous word.
“Other skunks," she said sweetly. "That means—“
“Yore uncle an' his outfit," Dan finished.
“Also—myself," she added, and waited for his apology.
She had mistaken her man; he was far too angry now, both with himself and her, to do anything of the kind. "Mebbe I ain't clever at stringin' words together, but I'm tellin' you this: on'y a skunk can live with a skunk," he retorted, and with an ironical sweep of his hat, spurred his horse, and was gone.
Beth Trenton stared after him in dumb amazement, and then—she laughed. "Maybe I did rowel him quite a lot," she murmured. "And I was a fool about the pony. All the same, you must pay for that, Dan Dover.”
The Wagon-wheel ranch-house was a roomy, rambling one-storey building, standing at the top of a scrub-covered slope through which some sort of a road had been cut. It was flanked by the usual bunkhouse, barns, and corrals. A raised veranda extended along the front. On this, the ranch-owner was sitting when Beth, having handed her mount to a boy, approached the house.
“Where you been this mornin', girl?" he asked.
“Re-visiting the scene of my misadventure—I wanted another shiver," she smiled. "By the way, Uncle, did you thank those men?"
“I've seen Green, an' offered him a job here at twice what he's gettin'," Trenton replied. "He—"
“Refused," she said.
“How do you know that?" he asked sharply.
“Just a guess—he didn't seem the sort to be bribed."
“No question of that; he'd done me a service an' it was one way of payin' him; I didn't want the fella. As for that whelp, Dover—”
“He risked his life," she reminded.
Trenton laughed sneeringly. "I wish he'd lost it," he said savagely. "He'll rot in his boots before he gets a word of gratitude from me.”
The girl did not argue; she was beginning to discover unknown depths in this only relative who had befriended her since the passing of her father some years earlier, paid for her education, and was now giving her a home. Evidently the feud between the two ranches was more bitter than she had suspected. The knowledge both saddened and dismayed her.
CHAPTER VII
Trenton, Garstone, and the foreman were closeted in a small room used by the rancher as an office.
“So Green turned you down?" Garstone remarked. "It's a pity—we could do with him."
“An' we can do without him," Bundy growled. "There's other an' cheaper ways o' dealin' with his kind if he gits awkward."
“I'll have no bush-whackin', Bundy," Trenton said curtly. "There's been too much already, an' it's a game two can play."
“I warn't sayin' any different," the man lied. "But this fella man-handled Flint a hit back an' if he tries to level up that's no business of ourn.”
Trenton took his pipe from his mouth and spoke through clenched teeth: "If he does, an' I know it, I'll hand him over to the sheriff right away."
“That'll shore scare him most to death," Bundy rejoined, with an impudent leer.
Garstone gave a gesture of impatience. "You said you had some news for us, Trenton," he reminded.
“I have information which may be of value—if we can use it," the rancher said. "It comes from Maitland, the new manager of the bank here. As you know, the cattle industry has had a rough time for some years, an' we're all working on borrowed money. The Circle Dot is in so deep that the bank holds a mortgage on the whole shebang, an' it runs out in less than two months' time.”
Garstone looked sceptical. "They'll renew—these small-town concerns have to take risks."
“I doubt it; Maitland is scared—every rancher around owes him money, includin' myself." He smiled grimly. "Dave Dover gone, an' an inexperienced boy in the saddle makes all the difference. I guess he'd be glad to sell that mortgage.”
Garstone sat up. "That's an idea, Zeb," he conceded. "What's the figure?"
“Forty thousand."
“Dave Dover must have been mad."
“No, the Circle Dot is worth more than that, an' he gambled on Lawson—the old manager—remainin'; they were good friends."
“Where's the coin coming from," Garstone wanted to know.
The rancher shrugged. "We've nearly a couple of months to raise it."
“And so has young Dover. Does he know?"
“I believe not, an' I suggested to Maitland, casually, that he might let the lad get over his father's death before pressin' him."
“Damn it, that was clever of you, Zeb," the Easterner complimented. "Gives us a start in the race, anyhow.”
* Yorky's new attire was as big a surprise to the outfit as it had been to him, and he had to endure a considerable amount of banter. But it was of the good-natured character—the kind they inflicted upon each other—for the boy's health aroused only pity in their robust natures. Also, Yorky's tongue had a razor edge, and, as Tiny once put it, "the li'l runt was shore raised on brimstone.”
When Blister and Noisy rode in and beheld the resplendent figure leaning carelessly against the veranda rail, they gave a passable imitation of falling from their horses.
“D'you see what I see, Noisy?" Blister cried. "Dan has done sold the ranch from under us, an' there's the noo owner. I'm askin' for my time; I ain't ridin' for no dude.”
Noisy nodded. They pulled up about ten yards away, removed their hats, and sat in silent admiration. A moment later, Tiny, Slocombe, and Lidgett arrived, and without a word, lined up beside them. Yorky, who was enjoying the sensation he was causing, spoke:
“Howdy, fellers."
“It can talk," Blister said in an awed tone. "An' somehow the voice seems familiar.”
The voice continued to talk. It began by describing them as a bunch of locoed sheep-herders, and went on to become even more familiar, referring, with fluency of adjective, to the personal habits of each one in turn. All this with a grin on the sallow face.
“Why, it's Yorky!" Slow pretended to discover. "Sufferin' serpents, boy, where did you git them bee-yu-ti-ful clothes?”
“Bought 'em outa his savin's on smokin'," Tiny suggested. "Couldn't be did in the time," Blister said. "Yorky don't earn more'n a dollar a week."
“He does, but he don't git more," the boy corrected. "I b'lieve he's robbed a store," Lidgett laughed.
“Aw, go chase yerself," Yorky countered. "Me rich uncle in Noo York—“
A howl of merriment cut short the explanation; extravagant tales of this mythical relative had amused them on more than one occasion. Sudden had joined the group.
“Don't yu mind 'em—they're just jealous," he said. "Yu'll be the best-dressed Circle Dot fella at the dance."
“What dance?" several voices asked.
“I hear the town is holdin' one, at the schoolhouse, tickets a dollar a head-to approved applicants."
“That last oughta shut out them Wagon-wheel felons," was Tiny's comment. "When's she due to happen, this fandango?”
“Middlin' soon, but the date ain't fixed."
“It's two long weeks to pay-day, an' we couldn't raise a dollar in the outfit," Blister wailed.
“Shucks! Dan's got a slate, ain't he?" Sudden grinned. That evening he told his news to Dover and the foreman, both of whom were inclined to be sceptical.
“Rainbow must be wakin' up," was the rancher's opinion. "How did you get the glad tidin's, Jim?"
“Met Malachi on his way up here. No, he warn't lit up, but I wouldn't say he was enjoyin' the ride. He's unusual, that hombre."
“Shore is, if he'd come ten mile to bring a bit o' local gossip," Dan said ironically.
“There was somethin' else; he said yu might find it worth while to make the acquaintance o' the new bank manager—soon.”
—"What the devil—"
“That's all he would say, but in yore place I'd take the advice. Malachi ain't a fool, 'cept to hisself.”
Dan gave in. "I'll ride over in the mornin'."
“He also mentioned that the dance is bein' organized by Zeb Trenton, to introduce his niece," Sudden went on.
The young man's face flushed furiously. "Then the Circle Dot ain't attendin'," he grated.
“That'll disappoint the boys an' put us in wrong with everybody," the foreman dissented.
“He's right, Dan," Sudden supported. "Yu can't afford to stay away."
“Damnation, whose side are you on?" Dover asked irritably.
“Yores, an' I made it plain to Trenton yestiddy when he offered me double pay to ride for him," was the pointed reply.
“He—did—that? An' you sent him packin'? I'm sorry, Jim; I'm a sore-headed bear, these days."
“Don't need talkin' about. He put it that he owed me some-thin'."
“Imagine a Trenton sufferin' from gratitude! All he wanted was to take a good man from me."
“The dance is also to serve as a welcome for another newcomer—the bank fella," the puncher added.
“That settles it—we just gotta be there," Burke said. "Yorky must 'a' had early news o' the party—he's all dressed up a'ready, an' got the boys guessin'."
“I saw him as I rode in, struttin' around like a young turkey gobbler," Dan smiled. "Yore doin', I s'pose, Jim?"
“Part o' the cure," Sudden replied.
In the private office of the bank Dover sat facing the manager, a smallish, undistinguished person, nearing fifty, with thinning hair, and pale, spectacled eyes.
“I wasn't meaning to trouble you yet, Mister Dover, in view of your bereavement," he said. "But I'm glad you came in; I wanted to see you."
“About anythin' in particular?"
“Er, yes. Are you acquainted with the state of your father's finances?"
“No. Dad was allus kind o' secretive, an' I ain't had time to look over his papers."
“Quite so. Well, Mister Dover, when I examined the books of this bank I was amazed and even alarmed by the amount owing to it by the local cattlemen." .
“You tellin' me the Circle Dot is one of 'em?"
“Not only one, but the most deeply involved.”
At this moment the door opened and a young, fair-haired girl stepped in. "Oh, Dad," she began, and stopped. "Sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor."
“My only child, Kate, Mister Dover," the banker explained. The young man stood up, shook hands, murmured, "Pleased to meetcha," and the girl withdrew, but not without a challenging glance of approval at the rancher.
“What's the position?" Dan asked.
“We hold a mortgage on your ranch for forty thousand dollars," came the reply.
Dan jerked upright, his eyes large. "The hell you say?" he gasped. "Forty thousand? That's a jag o' money."
“Much more than we can afford to lose. I understand the cattle business has been bad for some years."
“You won't lose a cent," Dover asserted. "There's better times right ahead."
“Mister Trenton, whose experience you must allow, doesn't share your views about that.”
Dan's face darkened. "How came the Wagon-wheel into this?" He put a question.
“It is our rule never to disclose information about a client," Maitland said pompously.
“Then Trenton don't know about the Circle Dot?”
A second's hesitation, and then, "Not from us, Mister Dover," came the denial.
Watching the weak, irresolute features, Dan knew the words were untrue. Long years of sitting on a stool, adding up figures, had given the man a position of some responsibility, but not the knowledge to use it. He would bully those beneath him, and be servile to his superiors, and of the latter he would regard Trenton as one.
“What do you want me to do?" he asked.
“The mortgage expires in a little less than two months, and as I am convinced our Head Office will not consider a renewal, it must be paid off."
“An' failin' that?”
The banker lifted his shoulders. "We have the power to sell.”
To all the young man's arguments that a forced sale would not produce even the amount of the debt, let alone the value of the ranch, and that, by waiting, the banker would get the whole sum due, he shook a stubborn head. He had the interests of his employers to consider; his predecessor had been unwise; he was sorry, and so on.
Dover listened with a set jaw; he knew the mean, warped little soul was joying in the possession of authority for the first time. Mechanically he took the flabby hand extended when he rose.
“I shall hope to see you at the dance," Maitland said. "A very kindly thought on the part of Mister Trenton. It will give me an opportunity of meeting our customers in a more congenial atmosphere than that of an office. My wife and daughter will appreciate it.”
Dan gave a non-committal answer, went out, and proceeded to the Parlour. Bowdyr was alone—yesterday's patrons were sleeping it off, and to-day's had not yet begun to come in.
“Where's Malachi?" the rancher enquired.
“At the opposition joint, I expect," Bowdyr grinned. "He's an odd mixture: allus pays cash here, but runs an account there—sez he'd hate to die in my debt, but it would cheer his last moments to remember that he owed Sody 'bout a million dollars. You want him?"
“I want a drink more—a big one.”
The saloon-keeper looked at him keenly. "What's the trouble, boy?" he asked, pushing forward bottle and glass. Dan swallowed a hearty gulp of the spirit, and then told the story. Ben's face grew graver as he listened.
“Hell!" he said, when all was told. "I knowed the Ol' Man was up agin it, but never suspicioned it was that bad. An' you think Trenton knows?"
“Shorely," Dan replied. "He'd milk that money-grubber dry. I've gotta raise that coin somehow, Ben, or he'll buy the Circle Dot for half its value."
“Well, Dan, any help I can give is yourn, but pore times in the cattle trade hits me too," Bowdyr said.
“I know that, Ben, an' thanks, but this is my job.”
The entry of Malachi put an end to the conversation. He appeared to be sober, and helped himself to an unusually modest dose of his customary tipple.
“I'm obliged for yore message, Doc," the rancher said. "You've seen Maitland? What's your opinion of him?”
“I think he's taken the place of a better man."
“Yes, it was an unlucky day for Rainbow when Lawson elected to go back East," the doctor agreed. "This fellow has always had a boss; he'll find one here."
“He's done that a'ready," Dan said bitterly. "Though mebbe he ain't aware of it yet.”
Malachi nodded. "Trenton gets the town to give a dance in his niece's honour, an' tells Maitland it's for him." He laughed wryly. "Clever devil; wonder how much he owes the bank?"
“I dunno, but I'd like to," Dan said. "You goin' to this festive gatherin'?"
“I might. I'm told the girl is pretty. Have you seen her?”
“yeah, she has looks," Dover admitted, and left soon after. "He's missin' his dad," Bowdyr remarked.
Malachi nodded agreement. "Ought to take more liquor; drink is the sovereign cure for depression, old settler; lifts a man to Paradise—"
“An' drops him in hell next mornin'," the saloon-keeper finished. "You can't tell me, Doc; I sell it.”
CHAPTER VIII
Dover spoke little during the evening meal, but afterwards, when he joined Sudden and Burke at the fireside—for the nights were chilly—he shared the burden which had been on his mind all day. The effect on the foreman was shattering.
“Goda'mighty, Dan, it can't he true," he cried. "Them bank sharks must be framin' you."
“I saw the deed," the rancher replied. "It's straight enough.
We have to pay up, or let Trenton grab the Circle Dot.”
“Is the Wagon-wheel in debt to the bank?" Sudden asked. "Shore to be, but not up to the neck, as we are.”
“Then they won't find it easy to put up the price.”
“Not unless Garstone can get it back East."
“That'll take time, an' gives us a fightin' chance to heat 'em to it," the puncher responded. "Mebbe if yu reduced the amount ..."
“I offered that, but he wouldn't listen. Trenton has painted a pretty gloomy future for cattle."
“Awright, we gotta make it so—for him," Sudden said grimly. "Meanwhile, we'd better keep this to ourselves; sometimes there ain't safety in numbers. Yu got anythin' in mind, Dan?"
“Yeah, but it's such a long shot that—well, it'll sound hopeless."
“Long shots come off—times.”
The rancher pondered for a moment, and then, "Bill, you'll have heard o' Red Rufe's Cache?"
“Shore, but I never took much stock in it," Burke replied.
“It's true," Dan said, and went to an old desk in a corner of the room. They heard a click, and he returned with a creased half-sheet of paper. "Here's what it sez: `Dear Dave,—I've made a lot o' money an' a good few enemies. In case one o' these last gets me, I'm lettin' you know that my pile is cached in the hills. When you reach the bowl on 01' Cloudy's knees, watch out. West is north, an' north is noon, one half after will be too soon. I'm sendin' the rest o' the instructions by another hand. Yore brother, Rufe.' That was the last news we had of him, some three years ago."
“An' the second messenger never arrived?" Sudden asked. "I dunno. A stranger was found two-three miles out on the Cloudy trail a little while later; he'd been shot an' robbed. The first chap got drunk in the town an' may've talked some. Anyway, the story of the cache oozed out, an' there's been more than one try to find it, but Cloudy is big an' hard country."
“Yore father didn't attempt it?"
“I ain't shore; he was away for a week or more several times, but without the rest o' the directions, it's almost hopeless."
“An' it was this paper that—"
“Dad was killed for," Dan said gruffly. "Yeah, someone has the other. I figure Flint was sent here to steal it.”
“That means Trenton has the other?"
“That's my belief, but I've no proof," the rancher admitted. "Yeah, I guess I could find this place the paper mentions, but without the further instructions ..." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Well, it's a forlorn hope, like yu said, Dan," Sudden remarked. "We gotta keep eyes an' ears open. One good pointto bite on is that whoever has the second message is wuss off than we are—he don't know where to begin."
“If on'y we could put our paws on that missin' paper," the foreman lamented.
“If—that's one hell of a word, ol'-timer," Sudden smiled. "Just the most provokin' one in the whole darn dictionary.”
The evening of the dance arrived and found the Circle Dot bunkhouse in a state of feverish activity. Shirts had been washed, boots polished, and war-bags were being searched for a hoarded neckerchief or cherished tie, which was not always found in the possession of its rightful owner.
“Hi, who's rustled my red silk wipe?" Lidgett wanted to know, and then, detecting Noisy in the act of slipping the missing article out of sight, pounced upon it.
“Why, you gave it me," protested the silent one.
“It was on'y lent, you chatterin' son of a cock-eyed coyote," Lid retorted. "Think I got nothin' to do with my earnin's but keep you in clothes?"
“You don't earn a cent—what Dan gives you is part o' our pay," Noisy grinned. "We do the work.”
Paddy, the cook, pestered by demands for hot irons to take the creases from seldom-worn coats, and the loan of his razor, which was known to possess an edge, energetically damned the dance and the fools who were going to it. He was remaining at the ranch.
“An', thank Hiven, it's a peaceful night I'll be enjoyin' for once in me loife."
“It's a mercy you ain't comin'—there'd be no space for anybody else," Slim unwisely told him.
“Shure an' there wud for you if the room was full, ye slice o' nothin'," the fat man retorted. "Yer partner'll think she's dancin' wi' a flag-pole.”
Before Slim, who really did justify his name, could hit upon an adequate reply, Blister cut in. "They say the Trenton dame is awful pretty; wonder if she'll take a turn with any of us?"
“Zeb'll 'tend to that," Tiny said. "I'm told the banker's girl ain't exactly a grief to look at. I've most near forgot how to waltz; let's try her out, Blister.”
It was an unfortunate rehearsal—for someone else. The two wash-basins were in great demand, and Slocombe, despairing of getting one, had brought in a bucket of water, and, stripped to the waist, was bending over it, sluicing his face, when the disciples of Terpsichore collided heavily with his rear. Head jammed in the bucket, the outraged victim rose to his feet, the soapy contents cascading down his person, and literally drowning the muffled maledictions which came from the interior of the utensil. Tiny, eager to make amends, tore the strange headgear from the wearer's head. The effort was well-meant, but Tiny was a tall man, his snatch was upward, and he forgot the dangling handle. With an agonized yell, Slocombe grabbed the offending pail, hurled it with a crash of glass through a window, and clutching his almost fractured jaw with both hands, capered around the room spitting out lather and profanity with every leap. The paralysed outfit fought its mirth—one laugh might have turned the comedy into a tragedy. Tiny broke the silence:
“Which I'm damn sorry, Slow," he said, and his voice contained no hint of the laughter bubbling within him. "We didn't go for to do it; we never saw you."
“Sorry?" Slocombe cried. "You lumberin', club-footed elephant—they oughta hang a bell on you to tell folks when yo're movin' around; yo're a danger to the c'munity, an' why in hell did you try to slice the face off'n me with that sanguinary handle?"
“I acted for the best, Slow, honest I did," the big man replied, but his contrite expression was too much for the audience and a storm of merriment broke out.
Slow looked murder for a moment, and then—being a good sport—joined in. The appearance of Sudden stilled the tumult, and he had to be told the story.
“Yo're dead right, Slow," was his decision. "Tiny oughta have a corral all to hisself."
“You'll be late, Jim, won't you?" Blister asked, noting that the puncher had made no preparations.
“I ain't goin'," was the reply. "Someone has to stay an' keep house, if on'y to see that nobody steals our cook."
“Huh, they'd have to fetch a wagon to take him away," Slim chimed in.
“We'll cut the cards to see who stays home 'stead o' you," Tiny said, and the rest voiced approval.
“Mighty good o' yu, but it's all settled," Sudden repliedt "An' I don't care for dancin', anyways.”
Later, as Dan mounted to follow his men, he said, "Why not come along, Jim. Paddy can hold down the ranch."
“I'm playin' a hunch; mebbe there's nothin' in it.”
When the hilarious whoops died away in the distance, he had an idea. Returning to the living-room, he opened the desk. Knowing where to look, it did not take him long to find the hidden drawer. Then, the paper in hand, he pondered. On a shelf, amid a dusty litter of odds and ends, was a spike file of paid bills. Sudden removed half, thrust on Rufe Dover's letter, and replaced them. Then he saddled his horse, leaving it picketed just outside the corral. These preparations made, he returned to his lonely vigil. Paddy was singing in the kitchen, and away over the plain the weird call of a prowling coyote came to him.
“The boys would say there ain't no difference, an' they'd be damn near right," he chuckled, as he lit a cigarette and settled down in his chair by the fire.
The hours crept by and the watcher was beginning to think he had foregone an evening's amusement vainly when a rifle-shot brought him to his feet; something was happening on the range. He stepped swiftly to the kitchen and awoke the drowsing cook.
“Get a gun an' keep yore eyes peeled," he said. "Somethin' odd goin' on.”
He hurried to the hut by the wood-pile; its occupant was squatting by the fire.
“Hunch, I want yu to fork a hoss an' fetch Dan an' the boys; they're at the schoolhouse in Rainbow. Say there's trouble, an' hurry. Understand?”
The old man nodded, and the puncher wasted no more time. He reached his horse, coiled the picket-rope as he ran, mounted, and spurred into the open. He had not gone far when he saw a flash, followed by a crack—this time, of a revolver—and the bellow of a frightened steer. Rustlers! Sudden clamped his teeth on an oath and slowed down—he had no desire to run into a trap. Soon he could hear the beat of galloping hooves, and discern shadowy forms scurrying to and fro in the gloom. They were rounding up cattle in readiness to drive.
Sudden dragged out his Winchester, waited until he could see one of the vague figures, and squeezed the trigger. The crash of the gun was succeeded by a muttered curse which brought balm to the marksman; the bullet had not been entirely wasted. Three fingers of flame stabbed the darkness, but the Circle Dot man had moved immediately he had fired, and the lead hummed harmlessly past him. He replied, aiming at the flashes, three quick shots from different positions, to convey the impression that he was not alone. Apparently he succeeded, for a hoarse voice said:
“Better be movin'—we've given 'em time enough. C'mon." The puncher sent a couple of slugs to hasten their departure and then rode forward. A dark blot on the ground proved to be a dead horse from which the saddle had been removed. Nearby about a score of steers were milling. Sudden broke and scattered them; if the rustlers returned, they would have to start all over again. But he did not think they would; the remark, "given 'em time enough" was sticking in his mind, and realizing the impossibility of running down the raiders in the dark, he headed for the ranch-house.
Approaching quietly, he dismounted and slipped in by the back door. On the floor of the kitchen the cook was lying senseless. Sudden dashed into the living-room in search of whisky. The place might have been struck by a cyclone. Chairs and table overturned, the desk and secret drawer open, rug thrown aside, papers and other articles scattered broadcast. Sudden grinned as he saw that the shelf and its dusty burden had not been touched. There was no whisky, and a smashed bottle on the hearth supplied the reason. He was looking at this when a voice came from the doorway:
“Don't stir if you wanta go on breathin'.”
There was no need to turn; a small mirror over the fireplace told him that a masked man, with a levelled gun, had followed him in from the darkened passage without. Sudden obeyed a further order, but did not raise his hands very high.
“Where's the letter from Rufe Dover?" the unknown barked.
“On the shelf behind me—there's a file," the puncher said.
In the glass he watched the fellow move, noted that as he
reached for the shelf, his eyes instinctively followed his hand.
This was the moment Sudden was waiting for. His own right dropped, whisked out a gun, reversed it, and fired over his shoulder, the whole action taking seconds only. He saw the intruder stagger under the impact of the bullet, drop his weapon, and lunge from the room. At the same moment a voice outside the window said:
“What's doin', Rat? Want any help?"
“No," Sudden gritted, and sent a slug crashing through the glass.
He heard the front door slam, and the same voice asked: "You got it?"
“Yeah, in the shoulder—that cursed gun-wizard showed up. C'mon, beat it.”
A scuffle of hurrying hooves told the rest.
The puncher returned to the kitchen to find that the injured man had recovered his wits and was sitting up tenderly feeling a large bump on the back of his head.
“Glory be, an' phwat's happenin' this noight," he wanted to know.
“S'pose yu tell me," Sudden suggested.
“An' that won't take long," Paddy replied. "I'm settin' in me chair, an' hears someone come in by the front dure. I thinks it's yerself an' stan's up to welcome ye. An' thin, the roof falls on me.”
The festivities at Rainbow were in full swing by the time the Circle Dot contingent arrived and had deposited hats, spurs, and guns. Desks had been removed from the floor, forms arranged against the walls, thus leaving space for the dancers. At one end of the room, a pianist and a fiddler—loaned from Sody's saloon—struggled for the lead in a polka, and bets were laid as to which would win. Trenton, his harsh countenance contorted in what he would have called a smile, had presented his niece to the more important of the townsfolk, and she was now dancing with Malachi. Her glance rested on Dover as the rancher and his men entered, but she at once looked away. The doctor danced well, and had taken the trouble to improve his appearance. But he was his usual flippant self.
“I will wager a waltz that I can guess your thoughts," he said: "Is it a bet?"
“Why, yes," she smiled.
“You are wondering what I am doing out here in the wilds." The girl flushed. "You win," she said. "Now tell me.”
“I might answer with your own question," he parried. "Mister Trenton is my sole remaining relative."
“Tough luck," he murmured, and noting the tiny crease between her level brows, "I mean, of course, being reduced to one. Now I had too many relations, and they all had ideas as to what 1 should do with my life, so I ran away."
“But why choose such a—sordid place?"
“Sordid? Well, I suppose to Eastern eyes it would seem so; a wit once said that Rainbow started with a saloon to supply the necessaries of life, and the store came later to provide the luxuries. But have you reflected that this same sordid settlement may one day become a great city, of which—as an early inhabitant—I may be regarded as a foundation stone?"
“Now you are laughing at me," she protested.
“No, I'm serious. `Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay, may stop a hole to keep the rats away.' At present, I'm only stopping the holes these foolish people make in one another. Which reminds me, you must see our cemetery—it is really pretty."
“You would naturally be interested in it," she replied, paying him in his own coin of raillery.
“Very little," he smiled. "Most of those within it required no aid from my profession to enter the other world. Ah, the fiddle has beaten the piano by a whole bar. Hello, Dan, you've met Miss Trenton?”
The young rancher, by whose side they had stopped, looked into the girl's cool, unsmiling eyes, and said, "No."
“Well, you have now," Malachi replied. "Ask her prettily and perhaps she'll dance with you.”
He left them, and Dan's gaze travelled over the slender, simply but perfectly-clad figure. "Will you?" he queried.
She made a pretence of consulting her card. "I have no vacancy," she said icily. "Besides, only a skunk can dance with a skunk.”
Dan's mouth hardened; it had been an effort to ask, and the scornful reminder of his rudeness made him reckless. His eyes swept the room, noting that many Wagon-wheel riders were present.
“You shore fetched along plenty partners," he flung back, and turned away.
Garstone found her red and angry. "I don't like that young man," she told him.
“That's something else we have in common," he said. "I hate the sight of him.”
He slid a possessive arm about her and steered into the throng. He was easily the best-dressed and most striking man in the company, and in spite of his bigness, light on his feet. Dan, watching with narrowed eyes, was conscious that they made a perfect pair. He was also painfully aware that everyone else seemed to be having a good time. As usual, on these occasions, males predominated, but this did not trouble the cowboys, for when ladies were lacking, they just grabbed another of their kind and jigged about, exchanging quaint expletives when a collision occurred. Blister and Slow—the late fracas now only a matter for mirth—were performing together, and a fragment of their conversation reached him. Blister was the gentleman.
“Never seen you lookin' so peart, pardner," he complimented in dulcet tones. "You bin washin', or somethin'?"
“Yeah, y'oughta try it," the "lady" instantly retorted.
“you'd dance well too, if you knowed what to do with yore feet," Blister went on.
“I'll shore know what to do with one if you trample on 'em any more," was the spirited response.
At any other time this, and the sight of Tiny, carefully convoying the school-mistress—an austere-faced lady of uncertain age—and holding her bony form as though it were a piece of delicate china, would have moved him to merriment, but now...
“Might be goin' to his own funeral," he muttered. "Hell, I'll get me a drink.”
Again he met with disappointment; he ran- into Maitland - and had to be introduced to the banker's wife—a colourless little woman with a tired face. Then he found himself dancing with the daughter.
“When we came here, I didn't think I was going to like it," she confided, "but I am. The cowboys are so picturesque, and I'm longing to see a ranch."
“You'd be disappointed," he told her. "Just a lot o' land, with some cows sprinkled around.”
The expected invitation not having materialized, she changed the subject. "Isn't Miss Trenton charming—quite the prettiest girl here, but perhaps you don't care for brunettes?"
“If a fella likes a woman I reckon the colour of her hair don't matter," he fenced.
“See, she's dancing with that sick-looking boy; she must be real kind.”
Miss Maitland was right, and wrong. Beth, anxious to humiliate the man who had again been rude to her, had hit upon a means; the honour he had solicited should be conferred upon the least important of his outfit. Yorky, feeling rather unsure of himself, despite his contempt for the "hayseeds," suddenly found the belle of the evening sitting by and looking kindly at him.
“You must be the boy Doctor Malachi was telling me about," she said. "Like myself, you come from the East.”
“Yes'm, li'l ol' Noo York," he stammered, and added, "Allus sump'n doin' there."
“Far too much doing," she smiled. "Unending noise and hustle, never any rest. I didn't like it.”
This was another blow to the boy's faith in "li'l ol' Noo York.”
“Jim don't neither," he admitted.
“And who is Jim?"
“He's my pal," Yorky said proudly. "I useter loaf aroun' the house all th' time, but Jim sez, 'Quit smokin', go a-ridin' an' git th' breath o' th' pines.' So I done it, an' I'm better a'ready."
“The breath of the pines," she repeated. "Your friend must be something of a poet."
“Not on yer life," the boy defended. "Nuttin' slushy 'bout Jim. Gee! y'oughter see him stripped—I mean, he's—“
“A finely-made man," she helped him out. "You must tell me about him, and yourself, while we dance. You do dance, don't you?"
“I c'n shake a leg," he said; and conscious that he had omitted something, "but I dasn't ask—"
“Nonsense," she smiled. "I am going to enjoy it.”
And enjoy it she did, for her partner had the gamin'sinstinct for rhythm in his toes. Thus she learned how Old Man Dover had brought the boy to the ranch, and how he had hated it until a black-haired hero had come to change his outlook entirely. She was told about Flint, and what "fine guys" the boys were.
“And Mister Dan, is he a fine guy too?" she asked. "Shore he is, white clean t'rough," Yorky said loyally.
Miss Trenton stole a glance at the rancher as he passed, and failed to experience the exultation she had expected. When the music ceased, she dismissed her partner with a gracious word of thanks. Garstone stepped to her side.
“Why on earth were you dancing with that tramp?" he asked.
There was a warning flash in the dark eyes. "I believe it is a lady's privilege to select her partner."
“Of course, but if you must take one of the opposite camp, surely it need not be the stable-boy."
“The stable-boy behaved like a gentleman," she said coldly. "No, I am tired, and wish to rest a little. Miss Maitland is looking appealingly in this direction; I am sure she will oblige."
“That's a good suggestion—we have to keep in with the fellow who holds the purse-strings," the big man laughed, but there was a frown on his face when he had turned away. Meanwhile, Yorky's sharp eyes had noticed something, and he disappeared to investigate. He returned during the next interval, and got Dan's attention.
“Say, Boss," he whispered. "Five or six o' th' Wagon-wheel fellers, includin' Flint, has beaten it."
“Gone to Sody's to tank up," Dan suggested.
“They ain't—I've bin ter see. Their hosses is missin' too," the boy replied. "Man I asked said he hadn't seen Flint since soon after the second hop."—-
“That's certainly odd, Yorky; it ain't like cow-hands to run off from a dance—they don't get so many. Hello, Bill, wantin' me?"
“Hunch is outside--Jim sent him; sez there's trouble," the foreman said.
“Round up the boys, an' we'll be goin'.”
In ten minutes they had left Rainbow behind and were riding for the Circle Dot. Silently, and with eyes alert, they pressed on through the still, dark night. When, at length, they reached the ranch, all seemed as usual. Then Sudden's voice challenged:
“Who's there?”
Dover replied, and a shaft of light appeared as the door opened; the puncher, gun in hand, stepped out.
“Sorry to have busted in on yore fun, boys," he said. "The excitement's all over, I guess, but when I sent Hunch I didn't know what was afoot." Dan asked a question. "Rustlers. I downed a hors. They didn't get any steers."
“Durn the luck, it would 'a' bin a good finish to have a run in with cow-thieves," Tiny grumbled. "Jim had the best of it after all.”
When Dover and the foreman followed Sudden into the living-room they got a shock, and had to be told the rest of the story. Dan's face fell when he saw the empty secret drawer.
“So they got it," he said dejectedly.
Sudden grinned, reached down the file and stripped off the bills until he came to the letter. "Like hell they did," he replied. "I had a feelin' someone might know o' that hidey-hole an' come for it, so I put it in the least likely place for anythin' o' value. Now we'll make shore; three of us know the contents o' that bit o' paper, so we'll—burn it."
“Yo're right, Jim, an' I don't know how to thank you," Dan said. "It was a smart move."
“Shucks," the puncher replied, and dropped the document in the fire.
“Settles that," Burke remarked. "How did you get on to their plans, Jim?"
“I didn't, but I got to wonderin' why Trenton was keen on an affair which would leave the Circle Dot wide open. Some o' his fellas could show theirselves, ride here, an' get back before the dance finished; no one could prove they hadn't been in town all the time."
“Which is how it was planned," Dan said, and told of Yorky's discovery. "The raid on the cattle was a fake?"
“Yeah. When Trenton learned I wasn't comin'—he had a list, yu know—they had to get me away from the ranch-house. Why, they even fired a gun in case I didn't hear 'em. Havin' played safe with the paper, I went along; yu see, there was just a chance someone was after the cows."
“I guess you've got the straight of it," the foreman said. "Mebbe that dead hoss'll tell us somethin' in the mornin'.”
But this hope proved futile; on the left hip of the animal a square patch of skin had been stripped off. The marauders had not overlooked any bets, as they believed.
CHAPTER IX
Yorky was the proudest member of the outfit. Not only had he eclipsed them all by partnering the peerless Miss Trenton, but promotion had come to him.
“That kid was the on'y one of us to notice that them Wagon-wheel outcasts had sneaked away from the show," Dan told his foreman. "He goes on the pay-roll at twenty a month, an' it's up to him to make it more.”
To the surprise of the bunkhouse, the usually precocious youth accepted his good fortune modestly. "It's mighty good o' Dan," he said. "I ain't wort' a dime to him, but I'm aimin' ter be."
“That rich uncle—" Slow began.
“Aw, go an' fry snowballs," Yorky grinned.
“Honest, I'm glad, Yorky," Blister put in. "I was scared we'd lose you as well as Tiny."
“Lose me?" the boy queried. "An' where's Tiny goin'?"
“Well, I figured las' night you'd soon be ridin' for the Wagon-wheel," was the reply. "An' Tiny's fixed to marry the school-marm an' help lam the kids.”
The big puncher addressed the company. "Blister ain't a natural liar; it's just that his tongue gits ahead o' his thoughts.”
When Yorky appeared for the morning excursion, Sudden noticed, with inward satisfaction, a coiled lasso hanging from his saddle-horn.
“Ain't proposin' to hang yoreself, are yu, son?" he asked. The boy was used to his friend's sardonic humour. "Naw,”
he replied. "Guessed yer might larn me to t'row it. C'n yer rope?"
“Well, I'm not as good as some, but I expect I can give yu some pointers," the puncher admitted.
When they reached the pool, and had enjoyed their swim, Yorky was instructed in the rudiments of roping, which he found to be a much more difficult art than he had imagined. Also, he was treated to an expert exhibition which caused his eyes to bulge, and filled him with an ambition to do the like. In the puncher's hands, the lariat seemed to become a live thing, obeying every twitch of the deft wrist.
“Gawd, I'd give a lot ter handle a rope like that," Yorky said admiringly.
“Yu'll have to—a lot o' time," Sudden told him. "Practice, son, just practice, an' a leetle savvy—that's all yu need." As the teacher was preparing to leave, the pupil asked, "What will a gun cost me, Jim?"
“Probably yore life," was the grim reply. "Yu got enough to keep yu busy with ropin', hawg-tyin', an' learnin' to ride somethin' a bit more uncertain than Shut-eye yonder.”
“I ureter carry a gat."
“The devil yu did? An' what was yore other name—Bill Hickok?"
“Oh, I ain't no sharp-shooter, but I was in with a hard bunch," Yorky replied airily. "I knows which end of a gun th' trouble comes out of."
“It's the trouble that comes outa the other fella's yu gotta keep in mind," Sudden warned. "Yu leave shootin' be for a spell; get a grip o' them other things first.”
And because of his faith in this man who had done so much for him, Yorky pushed into the background his most cherished ambition, and contentedly applied himself to the task of mastering his lariat. As Sudden had hoped, the fresh, bracing air, new interests, and the revival of hope, were working wonders, and "li'l of Noo York" was fast becoming a less glamorous memory.
It was some days later that Yorky went in search of adventure, and found it. He had not yet been raised to the dignity of being assigned a definite job, and time was more or less his own. He knew nothing of the country round, and determined to find out something about it. Particularly he wanted to seethe Wagon-wheel ranch-house, perhaps cherishing a hope of getting a glimpse of the girl who had been kind to him at the dance—kindness, until he had come West, was a rare experience. So, when Sudden had left him, he set out. Casual questions in the bunkhouse had given him the route.
“Foller th' creek, ford her at th' white stone, an' bear right," he repeated. "Sounds dead easy, Shut-eye, but we gotta watch out—them Wagon-wheelers is mebbe feelin' sore.”
Like the rest of the outfit, Yorky believed that a raid on the cattle had been attempted. Paddy had been sworn to silence, explaining the bump on his cranium by an invented fall over a chair in the dark, a solution which evoked ribald reflections on his sobriety.
He crossed the stream, and then headed north-east over an expanse of grass-land plentifully besprinkled with brush, which enabled him to keep under cover for the most part. The necessity for this was soon apparent, for he had gone less than a mile when a horseman swung into an aisle he was about to enter. Just in time he forced Shut-eye headlong into a thicket of thorn—to the discomfort of both of them—and waited while the rider went by.
“Flint!" the boy breathed. "That's onct I'm lucky.”
When the man disappeared he resumed his journey, and presently, in the distance, saw what he knew must be the place he sought. The ground about it was too open to conceal a horseman, so he hid his mount in a clump of brush, dropping the reins over its head as Sudden had told him, and advanced on foot, keeping to the right, stooping and running swiftly from one bush to another.
He had got within a hundred yards of the house when two men emerged and, to his dismay, walked directly towards the tree behind which he was hiding. He looked round, but there was no cover he could hope to reach without being seen. His eyes went upward; the tree was a cottonwood, thickly foliaged. With a bound he managed to grasp the lowest branch and, panting with the unusual exertion, climbed to the crotch above. Since he could only see below through one small opening, he judged he was safe so long as he stayed quiet.
“If I bark, I'm a goner," he murmured, and instantly a violent desire to do this very thing assailed him. Smothering it, he bent down to listen, for they had stopped beneath him. Garstone opened the conversation.
“Well, Bundy, why have you brought me out here?”
“Because it's quiet, an' to ask you one plain question: Are you at the Wagon-wheel to help Trenton, or to help yoreself?”
“What the hell do you mean? How dare you— "Easy, Mister Garstone," the foreman cut in. "Puttin' on frills ain't apt to pay in these parts where "one man is as good as another, 'cept with a six-shooter. Now mebbe yo're fast with a gun—I don't know—but I'm tellin' you that I am—damned fast."
“Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?" Garstone asked.
“No, I want you to talk to me as man to man, an' not as a boss to a dawg who works for him," Bundy returned sourly.
“I am here to help Trenton, and in doing so, I hope for some advantage to myself. Does that satisfy you?"
“It's a law-sharp's answer. I'll put it plainer: are you prepared to sit in at a game what'll help you, but not Trenton?" Yorky, easing a cramped leg, made a slight rustling. Apparently the foreman must have glanced up, for the trembling boy heard Garstone say, "Birds," and add with a laugh, "Hope they don't forget their manners." After a moment's pause, he answered the question. "It would depend, of course, on what the game meant—to me."
“Half the Circle Dot, or around twenty-five thousand bucks, as we might decide," Bundy said coolly.
“You may deal me a hand," the big man replied. "If I like the cards, I'll play; if not, I'll keep my mouth shut.”
“Good enough. Well, here's the layout; with forty thousand we could buy the Circle Dot an' run it ourselves, or sell it to Zeb for fifty thousand."
“Marvellous! Not suggested by our talk with Trenton, of course." His tone betrayed disgust and disappointment.
“All that jaw suggested to me was that we'd be fools to help another fella to a wad o' coin we could have ourselves," Bundy replied.
“And, of course, you know where to find the money?”
The foreman was losing his patience. "The mistake you make, Garstone, is to think eveyone else a blasted fool," he said. "Shore I know; what'd be the sense in talkin' if I didn't?"
“That makes all the difference. Go ahead."
“The cash will be on the ten-fifteen from Washout tomorrow mornin', consigned to the bank at the Bend. It will be a small train, just the engine, one coach, an' a baggage-car, containing the coin."
“Coin? You mean bills, with the numbers known," Garstone commented. "Too dangerous."
“Part of it'll be paper, but by an—oversight—the list o' numbers will be missin'—at the other end; that'll cost us a thousand. The rest will be in gold. There'll on'y be the engine-driver, his mate, one conductor, and the baggage-man to deal with. Three of us oughta be able to handle it."
“Three? Who's the other?"
“Flint. He gits a thousand too—that's arranged."
“So we lose two thousand?"
“What did you expect, money for nothin'?" Bundy asked, his voice pregnant with contempt.
“Oh, all right. What's your plan?"
“Ten mile short o' the Bend the line runs through a thick patch o' brush an' pine. One o' the trees dropped across the metals will stop the train. You cover the driver while Flint an' me take up the collection—we'll have to skin the passengers too an' make it look like a reg'lar hold-up. O' course, we cut the wires first."
“My size is rather outstanding," Garstone objected.
“We'll all be masked, an' dressed in range-rig, nobody'd reckernize you. I'll borrow Jupp's duds—he's about yore build —an' havin' strained a leg at the dance"—this with a wink—"he ain't usin' 'em."
“Well, it certainly sounds feasible," Garstone admitted. "Feasible?" the foreman echoed ironically. "Why, it's cash for just stoopin' down."
“Not much of a stoop for you, perhaps, but it's a hell of a one for me, Chesney Garstone," was the reply. "However, the opportunity is there, and must be taken advantage of. By the way, what did Zeb expect to find at the Circle Dot?"
“I dunno--paper o' some sort, but they failed, so Flint couldn't tell me anythin'. Trenton's got some scheme for raisin' the wind, but he's pretty tight-mouthed 'bout it."
“We'll help him," Garstone smiled. "The more money he has, the higher price he can pay for the Circle Dot. How did you get on to this, Bundy?"
“I ain't sayin'," the foreman replied. "You can take it the facts is correct; that's all as matters.”
They moved away, and it was not until—peering between carefully-parted branches—he saw them vanish among the buildings, did the boy dare to move his stiffened limbs. Dropping to the ground, and bent double, he scurried from cover to cover, and, after what seemed to him an age, reached his pony.
“Us fer home, Shut-eye," he gasped, as he scrambled into the saddle. "An' we ain't losin' no time neither, git me?”
Following Sudden's instructions, he had taken note of landmarks likely to assist him in finding his way back, and presently came almost in sight of the ford over the Rainbow. Here he received a fright—a horse was splashing its way through the water. He was heading for the nearest shelter when a soft voice called, and he saw that the rider was Miss Trenton.
“Why, Yorky," she smiled, as she cantered up. "Were you running away from me?"
“I hadn't seen yer—on'y heard th' hoss," he explained. "It mighter bin—anyone."
“But surely none of our riders would harm you?" she said. "I b'long to th' Circle Dot outfit—that'd be enough.”
She shook her head, unconvinced. "Have you been to visit me?" she enquired.
Yorky's thin cheeks reddened. "Naw, I jus' wanted ter see yer home."
“And what do you think of it?"
“Betche'd be happier at the Circle Dot," was the unexpected answer.
It was now her turn to colour up, though afterwards she could not imagine any reason for so doing. There was a trace of reproof in her reply. "Thank you, but I am quite comfortable.”
Yorky was not slow-witted; he saw that he had displeased her. "I warn't meanin' ter be rude," he apologized, and looked so downcast that she had to smile again.
“And I wasn't meaning to be cross," she said. "So we'll both forget it. Why did you leave the dance so early; weren't you having a good time?"
“The best ever, an' that goes for all of us." He was itching to get away; the trip had taken much longer than he hadthought, and the sooner his news was told, the better. He did not realize the full import of what he had learned, but it was plain that a train was to be robbed and the plunder used to obtain the Circle Dot, though how that was to be done without the present owner's consent was beyond his comprehension.
“Including Mister Dover?" she asked.
“I didn't hear no complaints."
“I think he might have let the men stay a little longer," she persisted.
“Dan's young, but he knows his job," Yorky said loyally—even this lovely girl must not find fault with his boss. He fidgeted in his saddle. "Guess I oughter be goin'; I bin out all day, an' th' boys'll be worryin' ;.I ain't wise ter th' country— yet."
“Running away from me again?" she teased. "Well, so long, Yorky, it is my turn to visit you now, and perhaps I will.”
He snatched off his hat as she moved on, and it might have pleased her to know that it was probably the first time he had paid this tribute to a woman.
Splashing through the ford, he thumped his unspurred heels against Shut-eye's well-padded ribs in an effort to extract a little more speed from that lethargic but easy-going quadruped.
“Yer got four legs, pal—I've counted 'em—use every damn one," he urged. "If we'd met up with a Wagon-wheeler 'stead o' her ...”
He reached the ranch without further interruption, and was unsaddling at the corral when Tiny and Blister rode up.
“ 'Lo, kid, Noo York glad to see you?" the former asked.
“I didn't git as fur, but Rainbow is warmin' up fer th' weddin'.”
The big man swallowed the bait. "What weddin'?"
“Yourn an' th' school-marm's," Yorky cackled, and dodging Tiny's grab, made for the ranch-house. Blister's bellow of laughter followed him.
He entered by the back door, and the cook—noting the flushed, excited face—was moved to comment. "Phwat hey ye been up to, ye young divil, an' how much grub has passed yer lips the day?"
“Oh, hell, Paddy. Where's Jim?"
“In th' front room with Dan an'—Saints, he's gone.”
The impetuosity which took him from the kitchen caused him to burst unceremoniously upon the three men. They stared at him in silence for a moment, and then the rancher said quietly:
“I didn't hear you knock, Yorky."
“I'm sorry, Boss, but 1 got noos, an' it won't keep.”
“Take a seat an' tell us," Dan replied.
It came out with a rush. Ten minutes later they had heard the story of his adventure, minus the meeting with Miss Trenton, and were regarding the narrator with stunned astonishment. Sudden read the minds of his companions.
“Is this the truth, Yorky, or one o' those fine tales yu sometimes invent to amuse the boys?" he wanted to know.
“Cross me heart, it's true, Jim," came the instant reply.
“An' there is a ten-fifteen—I've travelled by it a good few times—a little train, made up like he said," Dan stated.
“Well, it shore beats the band," Burke said. "Garstone an' Bundy double-crossin' Trenton; that's a laugh I'll enjoy."
“I guess not, Bill," Dan said. "We've gotta stop it. With that cash they can make a deal with Maitland, an' we're ditched. They wouldn't buy till the hold-up was stale news, or Garstone would claim to have raised funds East. Oh, it's smart, an' I never suspected Bundy o' brains."
“There's more to him than folks aroun' here savvy," the foreman replied. "Have you noticed that he never wears a glove on his right hand?"
“Gunman, huh?" Sudden said. "An' advertises it. Shucks!”
Dover, remembering the shooting in Sandy Bend, understood the puncher's disdain, and smiled, but his face was soon sober again.
“Question is, what are we to do?" he asked. "If we tell the sheriff, he'll just laugh at us, an' that's all; so would Trenton. We don't know who is sendin' the money so a warnin' ain't possible neither."
“Take some o' the boys an' catch 'em in the act," Burke suggested.
“One of 'em might get away with the booty, an' Foxy would turn 'em loose anyway. What's the joke, Jim?”
For Sudden's eyes were twinkling like those of a, mischievous boy. "Just an idea," he said, and went on to tell them what it was; in a few moments they were laughing too. "Gee! it'd be a great play to make," Dan chuckled. "But could we pull it off?"
“I'm sayin' we can," Sudden replied confidently. "Why not have a shot at it—just the three of us."
“Say, ain't I in on this, Jim?" Yorky ventured to ask. "I could hold th' hosses.”
Sudden's shake of the head was definite. "No, yu've done yore share, an' we're all mighty obliged, but there'll be a lot o' hard an' fast ridin' to-morrow mornin'. Time'll come when yu can keep up with the best of us; just now, patience is yore strong suit. An' mind, not a word."
“I get yer, Jim," the boy replied. "I'm a clam.”
CHAPTER X
Early next morning the three conspirators devoured a substantial breakfast, saddled their mounts and, in the grey light of the dawn, disappeared in the direction of Sandy Bend. They did not follow the regular trail, having no desire to be observed, or to visit the town itself. This meant a loss of time and speed, but was necessary, since to run into the Wagon-wheel men would be fatal to the success of their plan.
Leaving the Circle Dot range at the eastern limit, they plunged into an almost trackless waste of broken country, the natural difficulties of which made anything in the nature of a direct course impossible, but all three were expert in the art of breaking a trail, and having started in good time there was no need to force the pace.
The foreman led the way, and though they were often driven wide of their line, his sense of direction brought them back to it. Nature was awake, birds whistled and called, and in the undergrowth they could hear the stealthy movements of unseen denizens of the woods. Riding in single file, they spoke seldom; each of them was dwelling on the part he had to play; a slip might result in unpleasant consequences. The morning air felt chill on their faces, but the slowly-mounting sun would soon bring more heat than was comfortable.
At the end of several hours, the leader called a halt and got down. Pointing to a sharp ridge on their right, he said:
“Oughta be able to git a glimp o' the Bend from up there. I'll take a peep—better he shore than sorry.”
He trudged away, and they presently saw him come into view on the peak of the height. He was soon back, a grin of satisfaction on his face. He waved a hand to the right.
“The Bend is over there, so we're pointin' slap on the target," he said, and with a glance at his watch, "Time a-plenty, too."
“An' it's a good place for the purpose, is it, Bill?" Dover queried.
“Couldn't 'a' found a better if I'd bin Jesse James hisself," Burke assured him.
Another five miles brought them to a small forest of pines, and threading their way through the slim, straight trunks they came to a strip of thick bush, on the other side of which ran a single line of railroad. They pulled up where the matted foliage of the trees afforded deep shadow.
“Here she is," the foreman said, unstrapping a small axe from behind his saddle.
“No need for that, Bill," Dan said. "That windfall will serve our purpose.”
A rope was tied to the prostrate tree, and one of the horses dragged it to the side of the line. The three men then lifted and laid it across the rails.
“They'll have to get down to shift her," Sudden said. "Yu'll take charge o' them, Bill, while I deal with the passengers, an' Dan attends to the baggage-car. We'll spread along, keepin' in the bushes till the train stops. No shootin', 'less yu have to, an' then—miss.”
The horses were concealed in a group behind the brush, and tied, in case the noise of the locomotive should startle them. Burke consulted his watch again.
“She's liable to be here any time now," he said. "Better pull down the blinds an' git to our stations.”
With faces masked by bandanas in which eye-holes had been cut, and hat-brims drawn low down, they looked at one another and laughed.
“Shore does make a difference," Sudden admitted. "I wouldn't trust either o' yu with ten cents."
“Funny what a sense o' security that bit o' rag gives you," Dover reflected aloud. "I was feelin' a mite nervous about the job, but it's all gone."
“Me, I'll be glad when it's over," the foreman confessed. "Our intentions is good, but we're bustin' the law all to bits.”
A puff of smoke down the line sent them under cover; the train was coming. Laboriously it approached, rumbling along the rails, belching white clouds, and then, with a screeching of brakes, slowed and stopped. The driver thrust his head out of the cab and stared at the obstruction.
“Hey, Luke, there's a blame' tree in the road," he called. "We'll hey to git down an' shift her.”
Clumsily the two men clambered out and moved to the front of the engine. At the same moment, a masked figure stepped from the bushes and, in a gruff voice, said:
“Put 'em up, boys, an' you won't git hurt.”
A levelled revolver, held in a steady hand, added weight to the command, and the railwaymen had no thought of disobeying. As their hands reached for the sky, the driver spoke:
“The pot's yourn, Mister. I'm too wicked to die—yet.”
The train-robber grinned beneath his mask but made no reply. He had done his part, and was wondering how his friends were faring. Actually, they had picked their places to a nicety. The conductor, thrusting out his head to discover the reason for an unusual halt, nearly collided with the muzzle of a six-shooter.
“Shut yore trap an' do just what I tell yu, or ." The threatening gesture was unnecessary—the conductor's pay did not justify heroism. He fell back, and allowed the possessor of the weapon to board the train. The man handed him a small leather sack.
“Collect all the cash an' valuables in the coach, startin' with yore own," he was told. "I'm just behind yu, an' if there's any funny business, yu won't be here to laugh. Sabe?”
Evidently the conductor did, for he emptied his pockets with alacrity, and then entered the coach. There were only half-a-dozen passengers, and every one of them protested, but the sight of the sinister figure stalking behind him silenced all argument. But, as Sudden afterwards related, "What they were to do to the railroad company would—put it outa busi ness.”
When the ordeal was completed, and it did not take long, the bandit took the bag, stepped to the end of the coach, and ,addressed his victims:
“Listen, folks. When yu reach Sandy Bend, go to the bank ,n' yu'll get back yore property. This ain't a real stick-up we're doin' it to win a wager, but—don't try no tricks, 'cause that'll make it serious." As he descended from the train, he motioned the conductor to follow. "I've told those people the truth, but I'm keepin' yu covered till my friend has finished.”
A moment. later Dan appeared, a corded, wooden box under one arm. He had experienced no difficulty—the baggage-man also was too sinful, or poorly-paid, to risk his life. Moreover, he had no knowledge as to the value of the purloined box, which, with some sacks of flour, comprised all his charge. So, white-faced, he watched the marauders vanish into the undergrowth. After all, the banker at Sandy Bend could afford to buy more gun-fodder, for the box—addressed to him—was labelled, "Handle with care. Cartridges.”
Sudden read the inscription and laughed grimly. "Golden bullets, but they won't be fired at the Circle Dot. Well, boys, we've done fine, but the job ain't finished; I've gotta get the plunder to the Bend an' beat the train. I reckon Nigger an' me can make it. Yu two point for home." They demurred a little at this, but he would not listen. "We settled it thataway,"'he reminded. "I ain't knowed there an' yu are.”
Rolled in his slicker, the box and leather bag were roped to his saddle, and just as the engine-driver and his mate pushed the obstruction clear of the line, he set out.
The train resumed its interrupted journey, the occupants excitedly discussing the incident, and speculating on the possibility of recovering what they had lost. The conductor was disposed to a sanguine view.
“No sense in tellin' us that if it ain't so," he said. "We couldn't do nothin', an' it's just the sort o' mad caper them cowboys would indulge in on a dare. Anybody out much?"
“My wallet contains two hundred dollars I'll be glad to see again," a passenger replied.
Smaller amounts of currency, rings, and watches were claimed by the rest, and when the conductor stated that the baggage-car contained only sacks of meal and a box of cartridges, an atmosphere of optimism developed.
“If they're winning a worth-while sum—and they must be to risk a long term of imprisonment—they'll play safe and return the booty," the largest loser argued. "We'll know soon.”
But their troubles were not yet over, for after travelling another five miles, the train slowed down and stopped with a jerk. The conductor stuck his head out—cautiously this time, and promptly drew it in again.
“Damn me if there ain't another tree on the line," he said. "What's the game? We got nothin' more for 'em.”
The bewildered passengers heard a sharp order, accented by a rifle-shot, which brought the two men on the engine tumbling hastily to the ground, hands in the air. The tall, heavily-built cowboy who had given it slanted his smoking weapon on them, and said warningly:
“Stay put if you want to go on living.”
Stealing a glance back along the line they could see that the previous procedure was again in operation; two other men, masked and with drawn pistols, had boarded the train. In vain the conductor—who at once realized that these were not the same visitors—tried to explain.
“Yo're too late, Mister, them other fellas has beat you to it; we're cleaned complete.”
The bandit pushed the gun in his face. "What other fellas?" he barked. "Talk fast, or by the Devil's teeth ...”
The trembling man talked fast, and called upon his passengers to support his story by an ocular demonstration—their empty pockets. The recital did not improve the intruder's temper.
“Can you describe 'em?" he asked.
The conductor's reply was hardly helpful. "They was cowboys seemin'ly, with their faces covered. Said they on'y did it to win a bet, an' we'd git our stuff back at the Bend.”
The stranger laughed sneeringly. "An' on the strength of a lie like that you let 'em git away with it, you lousy cowards." He backed out of the coach, with a parting threat that anyone who stirred would be shot.
In the meantime the custodian of the baggage-car was telling the same story with less success. Bundy, who had allotted to himself the task of securing the real reason for the robbery, was not easily convinced. He, too, wanted a description of the unknown hold-ups, and got no more than his confederate. Then he searched every inch of the van, even tapping the boards with the butt of his gun.
“What's in them?" he growled, pointing to the sacks. "Meal, I s'pose," the man replied.
“Open an' tip it out," Bundy ordered, and when the fellow hesitated, jammed a six-shooter into his ribs.
This produced immediate action, the sacks were untied and up-ended, but no wooden box was forthcoming.
“Like I said, she ain't there," the train-man unwisely remarked.
“Can't I see? you — yella dawg's pup. Go an' look some more, blast you," Bundy snarled.
With a savage swing he drove a fist behind the man's ear, flinging him, face downwards and well-nigh senseless, into the pile of flour, and went out. Flint was waiting for him, and a call brought Garstone. A few words revealed the position, and the big man's face—could they have seen it—might have caused trouble; it expressed only incredulity and rage.
“Are you asking me to believe that?" he cried involuntarily.
“Please yoreself," Bundy snapped. "Go search the train an' question those lunkheads, if you want."
“But it's impossible—only we three knew, unless ...”
“Unless what?"
“That other fellow, who was to have a thousand, got a better offer and sold us."
“Well, he didn't, an' he's losin' his too," the foreman retorted. "He dasn't play tricks on me—I know too much about him. Somebody's got in ahead of us, either by accident, or because they heard somethin'. I'm for home; no good hangin' about here.”
Three very disgruntled would-be train-robbers, each deeply suspicious of the others, climbed into their saddles and disappeared in the shadowy recesses of the pines. Once more the train went on its eventful way.
About the same time the rider of a black horse got down outside the bank in Sandy Bend, took from behind his saddle a box which seemed to be weighty and a small bag. Stepping inside, he asked to see the manager.
“What name shall I say?" the clerk enquired.
“Please yoreself, he won't know it anyway," the stranger smiled. "Just say it's real important.”
After a short wait he was ushered into the private office. The manager, middle-aged, with an astute face and keen eyes, pointed to a chair.
“Have a seat, Mister —. I failed to catch your name.”
“That ain't surprisin'—I didn't give it," Sudden smiled. "My business is on'y to hand over somethin' I reckon belongs to yu.”
He placed the box on the desk, and the banker's eyebrows rose. "It certainly does," he replied. "But you are not working for the railway?"
“I am, an' I ain't," the puncher said. "An', anyway, the train don't 'pear to 'a' come in yet. Yu came mighty close to losin' them—ca'tridges."
“I don't understand."
“Well, last night, me an' a couple o' friends chanced to learn of a plan to hold up the train this mornin'—the fellas was short o' feed for their guns, I expect." The story-teller's eyes were alight with mirth. "We hadn't much time, an' the on'y wagon-trail out we could hit on was to stage a stick-up ourselves—sorta forestall 'em, as it were—an' fetch the plunder to yu.”
The manager stared. "That was a clever but very daring expedient," he said.
“Oh, I dunno, the odds are allus in favour o' the holdups," Sudden replied. "Yu see, they have the advantage o' springin' a surprise, an' the fellas on the train are covered afore they know it."
“you talk like an expert."
“I've studied the subject," the puncher grinned. "Fella can't tell what he may come to."
“Your knowledge seems to have served you well on this occasion. You had no trouble?"
“It was like money from the of folks at home," the puncher said easily. "There's one thing, we had to make it look right an' clean the passengers too. I told 'em to call here for their property—it's all in the small sack. Mebbe yu'll 'tend to that?"
“Most willingly," the manager replied, and laughed. "So the other gang must have held up a stripped train? The joke was certainly on them. Now, see here, my friend, you and your companions have rendered the bank and the railway a great service, and I wish—"
“It don't need speakin' of," Sudden interrupted. "We put this over for personal reasons, an' that's all there is to it.”
The banker was studying him keenly. "I'm perfectly certain I've seen you before, and recently," he observed.
“No, seh, yu ain't seen me afore, nor even now," the visitor replied meaningly.
“Well, it shall be as you say, but if at any time I can help you, count on me."
“I'm thankin' yu," Sudden said, gripping the hand extended. At the door he turned. "Mebbe I oughta tell yu that the record o' the numbers o' them ca'tridges will be found—missin'.”
He was gone before the astounded manager could say another word. An examination of the box revealed the expected gold and notes; in the bag were jewellery, bills, and small change. The banker scratched his head; in all his experience of the West, he had never heard of a prank like this.
The last drop in Bundy's cup of bitterness was added when he met his employer in the afternoon.
“I sent Rattray in to the Bend with the wagon to collect some flour I ordered from Washout," Trenton said. "It was to be on the ten-fifteen, and he should be back by this. Seen anythin' of it?”
The foreman said he had not, which, as he now knew, was a lie; not only had he seen it, scattered all over the dirty floor of a baggage-car, but he had sent a man squattering into the middle of it. The reminder of the chance they had missed seared like a hot iron, and when he was alone he told the world exactly what he thought of it in a flood of abuse which only ceased when a swift suspicion came and gave the Recording Angel an opportunity of re-charging his fountain pen.
Was it by accident that the Wagon-wheel flour was on that particular train? Had Trenton learned of their plan and made his own move to checkmate it? Bundy swore he would find out, and he finished with a blistering promise of vengeance.
CHAPTER XI
The news of the attacks on the train travelled fast, and soon reached Rainbow; the passengers had chattered freely of their unusual experience. Speculation as to the real reason for the quixotic behaviour of the first gang of bandits, and witticisms at the expense of the second, were on the lips of everyone. It therefore resulted that the Wagon-wheel foreman and his confederates had salt unwittingly rubbed into their wounds at frequent intervals. The identity of the actors in the comedy was still unsuspected, for the banker and his clerk both described the person who had returned the stolen property as just an ordinary cowboy. This did not satisfy Bundy, and two days after the event he made the journey to the Bend in the hope of discovering something.
During a round of the saloons, he heard himself ridiculed and had to agree that he was a blundering fool so often, as to make him wish he had not come, especially as he had learned nothing. But, at last, when on the point of giving up, and in a drinking hovel of the lowest type, he was rewarded. The talk was on the one topic, and for about the tenth time in various places he had said:
“Beats me how that fella could ride into a town like this, in broad daylight, an' git away unnoticed. Ain't all blind in the Bend, are you?"
“Not that early in the day," laughed a bystander.
“An' it warn't quite like that neither," chirped a dried-up old fellow. "I seen his hoss—leastways, I reckon it was his'n the time fits—standin' outside the bank.”
Bundy tried to appear indifferent. "Did ye now? What kind of a hoss was it?"
“Big rangy black, with a white blaze on the face; mustang breed, I'd say; a fine critter," the old man replied. "Worth a fortun' to a road-agent.”
The foreman needed no more; there could be only one such horse in all the district. He came out of the dive afire with a fury which increased with every mile of the long ride home. So it was Green and two of the Circle Dot outfit who had cheated him—for so he regarded it. Had they kept the money it would have hurt less, but to be outplayed and made an object of derision by men he hated, cut him to the bone. Once, dismounting, he stood for a few seconds in a half-crouch, then snatched out his gun and sent the six shots in rapid succession at a thin sapling a dozen yards distant. Stepping to the tree, he noted that every bullet had chipped the bark at the same height. Reloading the weapon, he got back into the saddle, his teeth bared in a Satanic grin of satisfaction.
“I'm as good as I ever was," he muttered. "Look to yoreself. Mister blasted Green.”
Arrived at the ranch, he went in search of Garstone, but failed to find him. The Easterner had, in fact, ridden into Rainbow with Miss Trenton. On reaching the place, however, they had separated for the time and so she was alone when Dan almost bumped into her as he came out of the store. He raised his hat and would have gone on, but she stopped and smiled.
“Why do you always try to avoid Me?" she asked.
Dan had little experience of the so-called fair sex, or he would have recognized the age-old device of putting an opponent in the wrong, so the accusation staggered him. But he was a fighter, and he had already decided that this slim, prepossessing girl could only be handled with the gloves off.
“I guess I must be hopin' you'd run after me," he smiled impudently.
The unlooked-for reply discomposed her, and all she could say was, "Not if you were the only man in the world.”
The smile broadened into a grin. "You'd have to travel some then," he said. "Think o' the competition. Gee! I'd shore have to live in the tall timber.”
Despite her irritation, the absurd picture he conjured up made her laugh. The parcel he was carrying provided a change of subject; the shape showed that it could only be a rifle.
“More preparations against your own kind?" she asked sarcastically.
“Precautions is a better word," he corrected. "An' don't you call the Wagon-wheel outfit my kind—they ain't. Anyways, this happens to be a present for a good boy. I fancy you know him."
“Yorky?"
“The same. He did me a service an' I want to even up."
“Wasn't there anything else you could choose? He's only a child." She herself was less than three years older.
“I reckon he never was that, but he's due to be some sort of a man, an' we'd like it to be a real one."
“And that will help?" she enquired, a little scornfully. "Quite a lot. We're gettin' him interested in work on the range an' this is part of it. If you'd seen Yorky two months ago you wouldn't recognize him."
“Well, I hope he'll like his gift."
“Like it?" Dan laughed. "He'll take it to bed with him.”
She laughed too, and then her face sobered. "I must go," she said. "Mister Garstone brought me in, and is waiting." Hat in hand, he watched the two meet, and pass up the street together. The man's face was registering disapproval when the girl reached him, but all he said was:
“Had the cowboy anything of interest to tell you?”
She divined that he was jealous, and the thought thrilled, though she had not yet troubled to analyse her own feeling regarding him. But she was young, and the admiration of a physically attractive man, who had at least a semblance of culture, could not be entirely unwelcome. Still, she had no intention of letting him suspect this, and it was in rather a distant tone that she replied:
“I was under the impression that Mister Dover owned a ranch."
“Thinks he does, but maybe he's mistaken," Garstone told her. "I wasn't asking out of curiosity, Miss Trenton. The Wagon-wheel and Circle Dot are practically at war, and that fellow might have let slip information of value to us."
“Our conversation was confined to the youngest member of his outfit—the boy they call yorky."
“Member of his outfit—that's a good one," Garstone sneered. "I'd call him a bit of useless lumber."
“Hardly that, since Mister Dover has just purchased a present as a reward for good work."
“Dover must have wanted a pocket picked."
“You must not speak ill of my admirers," she said playfully.
“Why, quite recently, he rode to the Wagon-wheel just to see where I lived. There's devotion."
“The devil he did?" Garstone said. "When was that?”
She thought for a moment. "Oh yes, I remember; it was the day before that amusing attempt to rob the train. How awfully sick the second party must have felt on finding they had been anticipated, but it was childish to vent their spite on poor uncle's flour.”
Garstone had little to say during the rest of the ride home, and seeing Bundy as they approached the ranch-house, made his excuses to his companion, and rode towards him. "Any news?" he asked.
“Plenty," the foreman frowned. "The fella who took the stuff back to the bank was atop of a black hoss with a white blaze."
“Green!" Garstone exploded. "I knew it."
“Then you might 'a' opened up an' saved me a journey," the other said sourly.
“I didn't learn of it until a little while ago," the big man replied, and repeated what the girl had told him. "We heard a movement in that tree we were talking under and put it down to birds. That young sneak must have seen us coming, and hopped up there to hide. He'd take the tale back to Green, and that damned cowboy out-planned and made monkeys of us. God! I'll bet the Circle Dot riders haven't stopped laughing yet."
“They'll have somethin' else to grin about afore I've done with 'em," the foreman growled. "As for Green ..." He tapped the butt of his gun. "He's for hell."
“The trouble is, they know who were in it," Garstone said, rather uneasily. "If they split to Trenton ..."
“Can't prove a thing—it's their word agin ourn," Bundy reassured. "As for puttin' Zeb wise, Dover wouldn't do that if he knowed the of fool was to be bumped off tomorrow. No, I ain't worryin' 'bout that; it's the pot we've bin done out of. Why'n blazes didn't I send a slug into that damned tree?"
“No use moaning over a lost opportunity; we must find another. Trenton has a scheme; perhaps that will be luckier—for us," the Easterner said meaningly. "How are you going to deal with Green?"
“Watch my smoke," the foreman said.
Garstone shrugged. "Watch your step; he doesn't look a simple proposition to me," was his reply. "Fie sports two guns."
“A bluff, meanin' nothin'," Bundy sneered. "Take it from me, the fella who can really shoot on'y needs one gun an' one shot; mos'ly there ain't time for more.”
In the front room at the Circle Dot, Yorky was clutching the Winchester and scabbard Dan had brought home and presented to him. Usually loquacious enough, his gratitude and delight in this new possession nearly deprived him of speech.
“I dunno—how ter—thank yer, Boss," he stammered. "I didn't do nuttin'—it was jus' blind luck, an' I ..." He bogged down completely.
“Cut the cackle, Yorky," Dan said kindly. "you did a-plenty, an' I'm rememberin' it. Jim'll show you how to handle the gun, an' you got all outdoors to blaze away in. Now, I'm bettin' you wanta cut along an' show the boys."
“You win, Boss," Yorky grinned, and made for the door. There he paused to add, "I ain't forgettin' this—ever," and was gone.
“I'm thinkin' that li'l of Noo York has lost a citizen," Burke laughed.
“An' Rainbow gains one, thanks to Jim," Dover said.
“Rubbish," the puncher replied. "How long d'yu s'pose afore one o' them Wagon-wheel wastrels comes a-gunnin' for me?"
“But why?" they both asked.
“I rode my own hoss into the Bend; somebody must 'a' spotted it. I needed Nigger to make shore o' gettin' there before the train; I did it easy—the country bein' less difficult than I figured."
“It was certainly a risk, but you would have it thataway," Dan said, so seriously that the puncher laughed.
“Shucks! Fella who never takes one, takes nothin'," he rejoined. "Mebbe I'm wrong.”
And when a week passed without anything occurring to disturb the serenity of the Circle Dot, it began to appear so. Every morning Yorky would depart for what the outfit called his "cure," the cherished rifle slapping against his pony's ribs. and would be absent for hours, frightening the birds, and making life a misery for any wandering jack-rabbit or coyote so unfortunate as to come within range, to return, tired but happy, and with a capacity for food which drew from the cook the ironical suggestion that he had contracted "Wur-r-ms."
“Gwan, yer human gas-bag," Yorky retorted, when the accusation was made. "I'm a small eater."
“Shure it's so, but ye pack away enough for wan twice the size o' ye," Paddy told him.
When late afternoon came and brought no sign of the boy, the cook grew anxious, and went to the foreman. "Faith, he'll not be missin' a meal willin'," he said.
Burke looked grave; it was no country for a tenderfoot to get lost in, and there was a possibility of accident. He told the cook he would send the men out again as they came in. Sudden, with Blister and Tiny were the first to arrive, and they set off at once for the pool, which yorky made the starting-point of his excursions. They found plenty of tracks, but it was impossible to tell which were the most recent.
“Spread out fan-wise, but keep within hail," Sudden said. "If he's hurt, whoever finds him may need help.”
The ground was fairly open, with thickets of scrub here and there, most of them too dense and thorny for anything but a tough-hided animal to penetrate. Save for a brief glance, the searchers paid them no attention; neither Yorky nor his mount would fancy their exploration. The short, dried grass showed no marks, and Sudden rode straight on, trusting to luck. It came his way, for after they had left the pool several miles behind, a horseman loped from the far side of a larger patch of brush some hundreds of yards ahead, and at the sight of the newcomer spurred his pony in an evident attempt to escape.
Sudden shouted a command to halt, but no notice being taken, he spoke a word which galvanized the black into instant action; like a living thunderbolt, the animal shot forward, the ground sliding beneath the spurning hooves and the sound of them clearly reached the fugitive. A quick backward look, an oath, and something fell from his hand. Without slackening pace, Sudden swung down sideways, one legcrooked across the saddle, secured the object, and straightened up. A glance showed him that it was Yorky's rifle. He was now only a dozen yards away from his quarry; his hand went first to his gun, then to his rope. The coils spun out, the loop settled over the shoulders of the runaway, and the black stopped as though shot. Seconds later, the snared man was plucked from his seat as by a giant hand, to be flung heavily on his back. Sudden dismounted, his face pitiless. The other two cowboys, who had heard his shout, now came up.
“Why did yu run, Bundy?" was the first question.
“Didn't wanta git shot in the back," was the impudent reply.
“Didn't like yore own medicine, huh?" Sudden went on, and did not fail to note the flicker in the man's eyes. "Yu came damn near gettin' a dose, would have, if I hadn't wanted some information."
“Go ahead. Mebbe I'll give it."
“Mebbe you'd better; I've got ways o' persuadin' folk—ask yore friend Flint, if yu ever see him again. Yu can stand up on yore hind-legs an' shuck the rope. I don't s'pose yu'll try anythin' but I hope—yu will." When the man was on his feet, he added sharply: "Where did yu get that gun yu dropped?"
“Found it."
“Right. I'm lookin' for the owner, an' yo're goin' to help. Lead his hoss, Tiny—the gent prefers to walk."
“Me, walk?" Bundy protested angrily. "You can't do that.”
“Not likely, but yu can," Sudden grinned. "An' I hope, for yore sake, we don't have to go far.”
The prisoner's fury deprived him of caution. "How'n hell should I know where the brat—" He stopped, aware that he had been betrayed into a folly. The grim faces of the three men apprised him that he was in grave peril. An inspiration came. "Awright, I'll tell, though I promised not to," he said. "I met the hobo kid totin' that gun, which I figured he'd pinched. He sold it to me for twenty bucks—told me he was sick to death o' the West an' wanted to git to Noo York. Last I see of him he was makin' for the Bend.”
Sudden stepped forward, snatched out the man's gun, and examined it; one chamber contained an empty shell. "I shot at a rattler—an' missed," Bundy explained.
Bleak eyes bored into his. "Another lie from yu an' I'll be shootin' at one, an' I won't miss," Sudden rasped. "Climb yore hoss; if we don't find Yorky, alive an' well, yu hang."
“Say, Jim, why not string him up now, an' if the kid's all right, we can come back an' cut him down," Blister suggested.
Bundy's expression became more uneasy; he knew that the proposal was not so jocular as it sounded; there was no mirth in the speaker's voice.
“There was nothin' the matter with him when we parted," he said. "I'm tellin' you."
“What yu tell us ain't evidence," Sudden replied dryly. "Lead on to where yu last saw him, an' if yore memory fails yu, pray—hard.”
Grey-faced, the prisoner got into his saddle, and Tiny dropped the loop of the lariat over his shoulders again. He was trapped, and the only hope of saving his skin lay in finding that accursed boy. For this saturnine, black-haired stranger, who had thwarted him for the second time, had not the appearance of one to make idle threats. So he obeyed the order, conscious that, at the least sign of treachery, the drawn guns behind him would speak. Fifteen minutes later he halted his horse.
“It was somewheres aroun' here," he said. "Wanted the way to the Bend, he did, an' I told him to point for that block o' pines, an' keep goin'.”
They reached the trees, dark and forbidding in the fading rays of the sun.
“He wouldn't go through," Sudden decided. "Which way round did yu tell him?"
“To the left," Bundy returned sullenly.
“We'll try the right—he may not have believed yu neither.”
They circled the little forest, and had gone less than half a mile when the search ended; at the sight of the boy lying beside the body of his pony, Sudden rapped out an oath, and the grip on his gun tightened; the Wagon-wheel foreman was very near to death at that moment. Had not Yorky lifted his head...
“Jim," he cried. "I knowed yer'd come." His red, swollen eyes rested on Bundy, and then travelled to the new scabbard hanging on the puncher's saddle-horn. "Gimme my gat," he added hoarsely.
“Easy, son," Sudden replied. "What happened?”
The tale was soon told. He had strayed further than he intended, and had the bad luck to meet Bundy, who chased, roped, and threw him. When he stood up, he was knocked down again, despoiled of his rifle, and ordered to get out of the country for good, or he would be shot. "Then he killed pore of Shut-eye, the rotten, cowardly—" The quavering, high-pitched voice trailed off in a venomous string of epithets to terminate in a spasm of coughing.
“Yu didn't go," Sudden said.
“I started, but when he rid off, I come back—ter my pal.”
Bundy saw the faces of his captors grow more and more rigid as the damning recital proceeded. He must say something, or wish the world good-bye.
“All lies," he said. "I bought an' paid for his gun, an' he asked me to finish off the hors—claimed to be scared the Bend folk might think he'd stole it."
“Blister, search the boy, an' his saddle pockets, an' see how much coin he has," the puncher ordered.
The cowboy did the job thoroughly, even making Yorky take off his boots. "One dollar an' two bits," Blister announced, when the operation was completed.
Sudden looked at the convicted liar. "Get down," he said. A turn of the wrist sent the noose clear of the captive's head, and the puncher coiled the rope as he walked towards him, and threw it on the ground.
“I've met up with some pretty scaly reptiles, but yu top the list, Bundy," he began quietly. "yu know this lad is in pore health, yet yu yank him out'n the saddle, beat him up, steal his gun, shoot his hoss, an' turn him loose to tramp to the Bend. Even if he knowed the way, with night comin' on, no food an' no blanket, it was a shore thing he'd never make it, an' yu meant he shouldn't. What yu aimed at was plain murder. Got anythin' against him, or was it just because he belongs to the Circle Dot?”
The foreman's face grew darker. "He's a dirty little snitch; it was him wised you up 'bout the Bend affair, an' lost me twenty-five thousand bucks," he growled. "Ain't that enough?”
Sudden was surprised, but did not show it. Where had Bundy obtained this information? Only he, Dan, Burke, and Yorky knew the inner history of the hold-up; perhaps the boy himself had boasted. Anyway, that problem could wait; there was a more pressing one on hand. He replied to the ruffian's question.
“Dessay yu've killed for less," he said acidly, and paused, weighing up the situation. "I oughta leave yu on a tree, but mebbe yu were a man once, an' yu shall have a chance to die like one." He threw Bundy's gun on the grass. "If yu get me, yu go free. Pick her up."
“An' be downed while I'm stoopin'," the other jeered.
“I won't draw till yo're all set," Sudden said contemptuously.
The promise—which he did not doubt—made the Wagon-wheel man think. To offer such a great advantage, his opponent must be infernally fast or a fool, and Bundy had good reason to know that he was not the latter. His confidence in his own prowess was shaken. Another thought came, a desperate expedient; if he could kill Green, he did not fear his companions—they would be taken by surprise and unable to act immediately.
He bent quickly, grasped the gun and, instead of rising, tilted the muzzle upwards and pulled the trigger. Even as he did so, Sudden—watching for some such act of treachery—drew and fired. Bundy's shot missed by a bare inch, and before he could repeat the attempt his weapon was driven from his grip by the puncher's bullet. He clawed for it with his other hand, but Sudden sprang in, kicked it away, and sheathing his own gun, cried:
“Stand up, yu yella dawg, an' take what's comin' to yu.”
Bundy was ready enough; he knew that ninety-nine men out of a hundred would instantly have driven a bullet through him after the failure of his dastardly trick; he had been lucky to meet the hundredth; but with the passing of the shadow of death, his hatred of the man who had spared him increased. Truly, with some natures, a favour from a foe is a bitter pill to swallow.
Bandy had one more remark to make. "Them friends o' yourn keepin' outa this?"
“They won't be my friends if they interfere," Sudden said.
"Good enough," the foreman replied. His confidence in
himself was returning. He had a well-earned reputation as an
exponent of the rough and tumble frontier method of settling quarrels. "I've bin waitin' to put my paws on you for an interferin' houn'."
“Yu couldn't find me, o' course," Sudden sneered. "I bide my time. I got the kid, an' yo're here."
“Well, what are yu waitin' for, the dark, so that yu can run away again?”
The taunt got through the foreman's hide, tough as it was. "No," he bellowed. "Here I come," and rushed in with fists flying.
“An' there yu go," Sudden retorted, as he drove a lightning left to the face which sent the man reeling.
He staggered to his feet and fought back with blind fury, reckless of the hurt he received, driven by an insensate desire to get his enemy by the throat and slowly squeeze the life out of him. But he had little chance against one who used his head as well as hands; straight jolts to the jaw and body met his wild rushes, and battered down his feeble defence. Opposed to that scientific hammering, his savage lunges were of no avail.
Once only a swinging fist got past the Circle Dot man's guard, and floored him. But he was up instantly, and when Bundy, with a shout of exultation, dashed in, he was met with a tempest of blows which drove him back, foot by foot, until, with every bone in his body aching, and both eyes nearly closed, he dropped his arms. Only for a second, but like a flash, Sudden's right came over and sent him, spent and apparently helpless, to the ground. There he lay, breathing heavily, and making no effort to rise.
“I reckon he's through," Tiny remarked. All of them had watched the combat in silence. "There ain't a kick left in him.”
Tiny was wrong; no sooner had he voiced the thought than Bundy's head lifted.
“yo're a damn liar," he mumbled through puffed lips. "I'm goin' to show you.”
Incredible as it seemed, after the punishment he had taken, he heaved himself upright, shook as a dog might after rolling, and stood, long arms swinging. Then he bent and plunged forward. Sudden waited, wondering; there could be no more fight in the fellow, and yet ... The menacing figure was on him, fists raised, before he realized the fell design—he had but a second to act; the ruffian's right foot was sweeping up to deliver a savage kick in the stomach which might kill, or disable a man for life. Quick as thought, Sudden jumped aside, seized the ascending limb behind the ankle and forced it upwards. The foreman, thrown completely off his balance, struck the ground violently with the back of his head; this time, there was no movement. The victor cold, inscrutable, stood over him.
“Ain't bruk his neck, have you, Jim?" Tiny asked.
“No, that still remains for a rope," Sudden replied. "Put Yorky's saddle an' bridle on this brute's hoss.”
Bundy heard the order, and had sufficient life left in him to understand what it meant. "You settin' me afoot—after this?" he snarled.
“Yo're gettin' a taste o' what yu cooked up for the boy, an' lucky at that—we oughta be plantin' yu.”
The foreman knew it, and said no more. Not until they had melted into the growing dusk did he struggle, with many groans and curses, to his feet, and, carrying his riding-gear, set out on the nightmare journey to the Wagon-wheel. For to one who spent nearly the whole of his waking hours in the saddle, and whose body was one big bruise, the long march over rough ground could only be unspeakable torture.
Something of this was in the puncher's mind when Tiny reproached him for not settling the affair straight-away after Bundy's cowardly attempt had failed.
“I wanted him to suffer, an' I'll bet right now he's near wishin' I'd downed him," Sudden replied harshly. "After what he fixed up for Yorky ..." He turned to the youth. "Mebbe yu oughta go away for a spell."
“I'm stayin'," Yorky said stoutly. "Me an' that foreman feller ain't finished yet.”
The puncher smiled into the darkness, glad of this fresh proof that his protégé was game. "Well, keep clear o' the Wagon-wheel, though it bothers me how they got hep. Anybody see yu there?"
“I met Miss Trenton on th' way back," the boy admitted.
“She may've mentioned it, an' if my hoss was spotted in the Bend, that'd be enough," Sudden decided.—- The whoop of welcome which went up when the rest of the outfit saw that the missing one was of the party, broughta warmth into the waif's heart; these were his friends. In that moment the big city lost him for ever.
CHAPTER XII
Trenton and Garstone stared in undisguised astonishment when, in response to a summons from the former, Bundy came to the ranch-house in the afternoon. He had reached the Wagon-wheel about sunrise, almost dead on his feet, and dropping on the pallet-bed—he had his own quarters—slept like a log from sheer exhaustion. Despite his attempt to do so, he could not remove all traces of the terrible treatment he had undergone; the blackened, swollen eyes, gashed lips, missing teeth, and battered face told an eloquent tale.
“What in hell's happened to you?" Zeb enquired. "Been trampled on by a herd?”
The foreman had his version ready. "I was ridin' back last evenin' when I run into Green an' two o' the Circle Dot fellas. They come on me unawares, roped an' threw me, an' got my gun. Then they set about me—I'd no chance agin three, an' one of 'em that big chap they call Tiny. When I was all in, they went off with my hoss. I had to hoof it home, an' I warn't in any good shape for that neither.”
The rancher's face grew purple as he listened; he took the affair as a personal insult. "Three to one?" he cried. "It's a fine thing if my men have to ask the Circle Dot's permission to ride the range. I've a mind to call the boys an' have it out with Dover an' his bullies right away."
“What would that get you?" Garstone asked.
“Somethin' I've sworn to have—the Circle Dot," Trenton replied.
“No, only a forty thousand dollar mortgage which you couldn't meet," the other returned coolly. "I don't suppose Maitland would be any more generous to you.”
Trenton's bluster collapsed like a punctured balloon. "Yo're right," he said moodily.
“I usually am," Garstone agreed serenely. Modesty was not one of his weaknesses.
“If yo're worryin' over payin' my score you needn't to," Bundy growled. "I'll 'tend to that my own self—int'rest an' all."
“Touching the acquisition of the Circle Dot, we don't seem to be getting any nearer," the Easterner remarked sarcastically. "Have you made any progress?"
“Very little. Maitland might renew on the security of the two ranches, though we owe him quite a lot already, but that would only mean gettin' deeper in. No, we'll have to fall back on the plan I had in mind—to find Red Rufe's Cache."
“A tale for a tenderfoot?" the foreman fleered. "If that's our on'y hope, we can wish the Circle Dot a fond fare-youwell as' no error.”
The rancher's face stiffened. "The thrashin' seems to have destroyed yore manners as well as beauty, Bundy," he said coldly. "You can go.”
Like a scolded dog the man came to heel instantly. "Sorry, Boss, I was disappointed," he pleaded. "If there'd bin any-thin' in that yarn, the Cache would 'a' come to light by this; plenty has searched for it."
“True, but the Cloudy country is large and terribly difficult; unless one knew just where to look, findin' the proverbial needle in a haystack would be child's play in comparison."
“And you have this information?" Garstone asked eagerly. "Not quite, or I should have made use of it before now," Trenton replied. "This is how the matter stands: Red Rufe was Dave Dover's elder brother. He left Rainbow, went further West, an' made a fortune and reputation as a gambler. Report has it that he sent a letter to Dave, statin' that he had hidden his wealth, an' givin' the approximate location—said to be in the Cloudy Hills. A second message was to follow with instructions for findin' the exact spot. This one miscarried, an', quite by chance, came into my hands."
“So that's why Flint and Rattray visited the Circle Dot?" Garstone said.
“Certainly. I hoped they would find the first letter. Flint was on the track of it when he made a fool of himself an' got fired."
“Then you are not sure it is concealed in the Cloudy Hills?"
“No, but the fellow who fetched the first letter said Rufe handed it to him there; that's all anyone knows except—Dover.”
Garstone made a gesture of impatience. "That means our knowledge is useless," he said irritably.
“yore wits don't seem to be workin' this afternoon, Ches," Trenton returned equably. "Listen: the Circle Dot needs money even more than we do; what do you suppose they will do?"
“Try to find the Cache, possibly."
“Certainly, 1 should say, an' in doin' so will give us the information we now lack," the rancher said triumphantly. "I'm havin' a watch kept on their movements, an' when they start, we'll follow. Once we know the locality, we have the advantage of being able to go straight to the hidin'-place while they are gropin' in the dark."
“That's a great scheme, Boss," Bundy complimented, his damaged features contorted in a painful grin. "If we can collect the pot, we'll have Dover an' his crowd yappin' for mercy—an' not gettin' it."
“It's undoubtedly a fine chance," Garstone admitted, and he was looking at the foreman when he spoke. "Any idea what the Cache consists of?"
“No one knows," Trenton replied. "Gold, in coin or dust, possibly paper too."
“What became of this Rufe person?"
“Vanished after the second message. Went back to his cardsharpin', I expect, an' got wiped out. He was a big fellow, very upright—his back was the only straight thing about him. He had red hair, like all the Devers, an' a fiend of a temper, the sort of man to make more foes than friends."
“We oughta be ready to set out on the word," Bundy put in. "How many will you want?"
“We three, with Flint, Rattray, an' another should be sufficient. We'll need plenty of supplies, an' a small tent for my niece."
“Takin' her?" Bundy asked in surprise. "It ain't a job for a dame."
“Nonsense," the rancher said. "Just a little trip into the mountains; she'll enjoy it. We shall avoid trouble, an' probably not encounter the other party at all.”
The foreman was not satisfied, but Garstone did not support him, and after the earlier rebuff he was taking no more risks; this thing was too good to miss.
Garstone had not objected because the presence of Miss Trenton fitted in with his plans, already partly formed, but which were now beginning to expand more widely than either of his companions suspected, even Bundy, who was having thoughts of his own.
That same evening, at the Circle Dot, a very similar conversation was taking place. Dan, who had been to Rainbow earlier in the day, broached the subject.
“I had a talk with Maitland an' there ain't any possibility o' the bank givin' us an extension," he began. "Told me his people wouldn't hear of it, an' that—as a business man—he agreed with 'em. So that's that."
“An' there's no other way o' raisin' the wind?" Burke asked. "On'y one," the rancher replied. "We gotta find the Cache." The foreman's face was anything but optimistic. "It's one hell of a chance," he muttered.
“Bill, if yu were in a poker game, with the cards runnin' badly, an' had just one stake left, what would yu do?" Sudden said.
“Bet it, o' course," was the prompt reply.
“Shore yu would," the other grinned. "Well, that's our position. So what?"
“I ain't baulkin', Jim," the foreman returned. "I've bin up agin the iron before. Whatever Dan sez, goes, with me.”
“I know that, ol'-timer," Dover said. "An' because I do, I'm goin' to ask a favour: I want you to stay here an' look after the ranch; I'll feel easier in my mind with you in charge.”
Burke made a brave effort to conceal his disappointment; he would have dearly loved to make one of the search party, but he recognized that his employer was right—it would be more than unwise for both of them to be absent; the Wagon-wheel might seize the opportunity to try something.
“Very well, Dan," he agreed. "Who you takin'?"
“No call for a crowd," Dan told him. "I figure that myself, Jim, Tiny, Blister, an' Hunch oughta be plenty.""Hunch?" Bill said in surprise.
“Yeah, he knows the Cloudy district probably better than anybody around here, is a good woodsman, an' can cook an' make camp. We might take Yorky along to help—just as well for him to be outa the way till Bundy's bruises lose some o' their sting."
“When do you aim to start?"
“Soon as we can arrange things," Dan replied. "We'll want some stores, which I'll get in town to-morrow."
“An, no one must know a word about it, not even the rest o' the outfit," Sudden supplemented. "Also, we'll slide out in the middle o' the night.”
The other two looked at him in astonishment. "What's on yore mind, Jim?" Dan questioned.
“Just this: the possessor o' the second part o' the directions don't know where to begin searchin', but he's on'y gotta trail us to find out."
“Holy Moses, he's right, Bill," the rancher cried. "We're a couple o' sheep-heads. Trenton may have this place picketed, an' be waitin' for us to move."
“We'll try to keep him waitin'," Burke grinned. "How long d'you expect to be away?"
“Can't say," Dan told him. "If we have any luck—but there's no sense in guessin'."
“Yorky'll be tickled to death over this trip," Sudden remarked. "How'd he get on with his new mount this mornin'?" They had not had their usual jaunt.
“Well, he got on, an' off in quicker time," the foreman twinkled. "Shore, it's a good little hoss, no vice in him, just a mite fresh. The boy warn't hurt, 'cept in his feelin's mebbe, an' he comes up smilin'. `That's first t'row to you, partner,' he sez. `Let's roll 'em agin.' He climbs on, an' gits piled, which makes him scratch his head some. But he's game. `Third time lucky,' he grins, an' by cripes, it was; we seen daylight between him an' the saddle pretty offen, but he hung on, an' it was the hoss got tired first. When the fun was over, Slow asked which o' the names Yorky'd called the animile he was goin' to choose. 'I'm namin' him "Dancer"—he's so damn lively on his toes,' the kid sez.”
Sudden laughed. "Yorky's all right; he's goin' to bring good luck to the Circle Dot, mark my words. Yu do well to take him with us, Dan.”
In the morning Dover journeyed again to Rainbow, and to the youngster's extreme satisfaction, took Yorky with him. Arrived there, they separated, the rancher to deal with various business matters, and Yorky to do as he pleased. His first visit was to the post office, where he mailed a letter, with many furtive glances around to make sure he was not observed. Then he went to finish his "shoppin'." This actually meant displaying himself in all his glory to young Evans, who was now assisting his father in the store. Yorky hung about outside the place until he saw that the boy was alone, and then, hat pulled over his eyes, and regretful that he had not brought his rifle, he swaggered in.
“Got any feed for a Winchester forty-four?" he enquired, making his voice as gruff as he could.
“Yessir," the youth behind the counter replied, diving into a drawer.
Yorky choked down a chuckle; he was not recognized. Casually he examined the packet of cartridges, tossed down a bill, and received his change. The young salesman noticed that the customer did not appear to be wearing a pistol, and, anxious to do business, ventured to ask solicitously:
“C'd I int'rest you in a second-hand six-shooter, sir?" yorky squirmed with delight—this was better than his dreams. "Dunno as I care fer other folks' leavin's," he replied carelessly. "I'll take a peep at her.”
The gun was reached from a shelf and the customer revolved the cylinder, cocked and pressed the trigger, tried the grin, and hefted the weapon as he had seen cowboys do when examining a new one.
“What yer askin'?"
“Twenty dollars—the price is on the ticket."—- Yorky was aware of the fact. "I'd say fifteen's a-plenty," he said disparagingly.
“I'll see if Dad will take that," the salesman replied, and disappeared into the rear of the shop.
Yorky looked disconcerted; he had been showing off, and much as he would have liked to possess the weapon, had nointention of buying it. He was seeking a means of backing out without loss of dignity when Dover came in, and brought an inspiration.
“Say, Boss, c'n you let me have an advance?" he asked anxiously. "I've offered fifteen bucks fer that gun an' I'm shy th' coin.”
Dan picked up the six-shooter. "She's good an' cheap at the figure," he said. "Here's the necessary."
“Thanks a lot, Boss," Yorky replied with great relief. "I didn't want ter eat dirt afore this kid. He don't know me; ain't it a scream?”
The "kid" returned and, after a very respectful greeting to the owner of the Circle Dot, addressed his other customer: "I can accept yore offer, sir. Will you be needin' any cartridges?"
“Them I got will do—she's a forty-four, same as my rifle," Yorky said, and paid over the price. "Yer needn't to wrap her up, an' yer can't int'rest me no more, neither.”
He thrust the gun under his belt, pushed his hat back, and stood rocking on his heels. Goggle-eyed, the beefy boy on the other side of the counter gawped at him, remembered and suffered. The ragged, sick little tramp he had fought and beaten—as he maintained—had now beaten him, by becoming what he would have given his ears to be—a cowboy. He could strut into the store, and he—Evans—would have to serve and be polite to him; only a lad could plumb the bitterness of this. His job, of which he had been so proud, became as dust and ashes in his mouth. And then, unable to bear those triumphant eyes any longer, he bolted.
“I guess that levels up some with him," Yorky said. "I'll be outside."
“The durn li'l monkey," Dover muttered. "Fancy him thinkin' up a game like that.”
The store-keeper came in, and his orders given, the rancher rejoined the boy. A little way along the street they met Fox-well, who stopped, his beady eyes alight with malice.
“'Lo, Dover, gittin' ready to quit the Circle Dot," was his greeting.
Dan suppressed a start. "Any reason why I should?" he asked.
“Well, everybody knows yore of man was up to his neck in debt, an' it's said now that the bank won't give you no more rope," came the insolent answer.
“Lies," Dan replied airily. "Big, fat lies which no respectable representative o' the Law should be passin' on. Lemme see, Sheriff, how long have you managed to hold office?”
The officer's not too acute intellect missed the innuendo. "Goin' on four year," he said, even rather pridefully.
“Yeah, I remember; it was you who found the murdered man on the Cloudy trail—the man who had neither money nor papers on him, not even a letter addressed to someone else, huh?”
The sheriff's gaze shifted uneasily. "That's so; the fella what downed him took everythin'."
“I don't doubt it." Again the implication passed unobserved. "A month or two later you were elected by a small margin, one provided—so some folks said—by the Wagon-wheel outfit because you had done Trenton a considerable service."
“What are you drivin' at?" Foxwell cried, his face crimson.
“Lies, Sheriff, big, fat lies like I was tellin' you about," Dan retorted, and then, "God Almighty!”
They were standing a few yards from the Parlour Saloon. On the opposite sidewalk, Miss Trenton had apparently made up her mind to brave the terrors of the rutted and hoof-torn strip which was Rainbow's only thoroughfare; just past this point, the street took one of its uncertain turns. She was halfway across when, with a stertorous bellow, six wild steers, enveloped in a cloud of dust, charged down upon her. The girl saw the cruel branching horns, fierce eyes, and lolling tongues, and made a despairing effort to hurry. But this only led to disaster; her feet slipped in the powdery sand and she fell to her knees right in the path of the infuriated animals, behind whom now appeared a perspiring horseman, shouting and gesticulating.
Leaving the pop-eyed sheriff, Dover sprinted along the sidewalk, dragged out his revolver, and fired at the leader, a little in front of the herd. The brute hesitated, stumbled and went down, only a yard from where the girl lay. The fall of the foremost halted the others, but Dan knew it would be only momentary. Jumping into the road, he floundered to the spot, and raised the now senseless form. A man on foot has no terrors for range cattle, and the sight of him put them inmotion again. By a superhuman effort, he regained the sidewalk with his burden; a grazed arm and a ripped shirtsleeve from a slashing, needle-pointed horn was the only damage.
“Close work, boy," Bowdyr said. He had come out to see what the noise was about. "Bring her into my place."
“Ain't hurt, is she?" the sheriff enquired anxiously.
“I guess not." Dan replied. "If you wanta do Zeb another service, go an' ask that butcher's lout what he means by bringin' cows through the town an' drivin' 'em into a frenzy with his fool yellin'; must be mad or drunk." He caught the saloon-keeper's enigmatic expression, and added, "Might 'a' killed the pair of us." The sheriff went; he did not enjoy the company of Mister Dover in this mood.
When Miss Trenton returned to the world again, she was sitting in a strange room, with a rugged but kindly-faced man bending over her, glass in hand.
“Drink this, ma'am," he said. "It's good stuff, an' will put new life into you.
She obeyed, and the strong spirit—though it made her cough—sent the blood racing through her veins. She looked curiously at her surroundings.
“What place is this?" she asked.
“The Parlour Saloon an' I'm Ben Bowdyr, the proprietor," he explained. "Dan's gone for Doc Malachi, an' to git hisself another shirt."
“Is Mister Dover hurt?"
“Shore, no, just a spoilt garment," Ben assured her. "Ah, here's the Doc.”
Malachi hurried in, the concern on his face giving way to relief when he saw the patient. "You are not harmed, Miss Trenton?"
“I foolishly fainted," she replied. "Mister Bowdyr kindly gave me some—medicine, and I am quite well again."
“Medicine?" Malachi echoed. He picked up the glass she had used, sniffed, glanced at the saloon-keeper, who had retired to his bar, and smiled whimsically. "Then Ben has done all that is necessary and robbed me of a case. And from the way Dover carried on, I really thought it was a serious one."
“It would have been but for his courage and prompt action," she said soberly. "He also escaped injury I am told."
“Yes, these cattlemen are tough animals—very discouraging to a doctor," he mourned. "Fortunately they are quarrelsome. But you have made a conquest, Miss Trenton." He saw the colour creep into her cheeks. "That brandy—I should say, medicine—was laid down by Ben's grandfather, 'way back in Virginia, in the days when people of position had cellars, and he wouldn't take fifty dollars a bottle for it.”
Her gaze went to the saloon-keeper. "He was most kind," she murmured.
“The first thing I learned out here was not to judge by appearances. Ben is a fine fellow, and one day, when settlements like Rainbow become cities, such men will be sent to Congress, and have a word to say, not only in the affairs of our country, but of the whole world."
“Still your dream," she smiled. "Why, isn't that Yorky?" Malachi stared as the boy came to them. “By all that's wonderful, it is."
“I'm hopin' yer ain't hurt much, ma'am," Yorky said. "I seen it all an' shore t'ought yer was a goner."
“Thanks to Mister Dover, I am not a—goner," she smiled. "And how are you, Yorky?"
“Fine, an' I'm on th' pay-roll," he blurted out. "S'cuse me, I got a message for Ben."
“An amazing improvement," she said. "There's a case to make you proud of your profession."
“Not my work," he told her. "I prescribed a cessation of nicotine poisoning and fresh air—”
“The breath of the pines," she murmured.
“Precisely, but I didn't put it so prettily."
“No, I remember it was his friend, Jim."
“Really? After all, why shouldn't a puncher be poetical—he's at grips with Nature all day long. Anyway, Green saved that lad's life, by supplying the missing ingredient in my treatment." Her look was a question. "Yorky had lost his self-respect, and lacking that, my dear lady, a human being is—finished; he cannot fight disease." Then, in a flash, his gravity was merged in a laugh, as he added, "I should be a preacher.”
She was about to reply when Dover came in, and before the door swung to again, she saw Miss Maitland pass.
“I must be going," Malachi said rather hurriedly, and ashe departed spoke in an undertone to the rancher, "Not leaving town yet, are you?"
“I'll be here for a while," Dan replied, and stepped to where the girl was seated. "Doc tells me you ain't injured. I'm glad. Is there anythin' else I can do?”
His manner was stiff and distant, and she suddenly comprehended that the red-haired youth who so impulsively rushed to rescue her from the quicksand had—short as the time was—become a man. Grief and responsibility had brought about the transformation.
“I think you have done enough, and more," she replied. "It is hard to find words to express my thanks."
“Then don't try," he said bluntly. "I don't want 'em, an' if it will ease yore mind, I would 'a' done just the same for any tramp in the town."
“Very well, but you cannot prevent me feeling grateful," she said. "you risked your life."
“Which is no more than I've done many times for one o' my father's steers," he told her. "I'm not meanin' to be rude, Miss Trenton, but to be forced to help one o' yore family is plain hell to me."
“I understand," she said coldly. "But you must remember that to be forced to accept your help is also plain hell to my family.”
With a slight inclination of her proud little head, and a smile of thanks to the saloon-keeper, she walked out. The rancher's gloomy gaze followed her. What had possessed him to speak that way? He recalled how his heart had seemed to stop beating when he saw her in the path of the cattle. Perhaps it was the reaction at finding her unharmed when he had feared . Or maybe it was the encounter with the sheriff, which still rankled? Well, what did it matter—she was a Trenton anyway. He went to the bar, and Bowdyr's first remark might have been an answer to his last thought.
“She's a fine gal—even if she is kin to Zeb," he said.
“Looks ain't much to go on," the young man observed cynically. "The meanest hoss I ever owned was a picture.”
The saloon-keeper, being a wise man, kept his smile and his thoughts to himself. Malachi, returning presently, found them drinking together, and to the surprise of both, declined their invitation.
“How's the arm?" he enquired.
“Fine, it was just a touch."
“Yes, touch and go; if you'd been two seconds later the horn would have pierced your heart," the doctor said. "I didn't tell Miss Trenton that."
“I'm obliged—she's over-grateful a'ready. You ain't here to ask after my health, are you, Phil?"
“No, my errand concerns my own. When are you going away?"
“So you've heard that damn silly rumour too?"
“I pay no attention to idle chatter, and get it into your head that I'm on your side," Malachi said seriously. "Listen: I happen to know—never mind how—that you have to raise a large sum of money in a short time.”
Dan swore. "So my financial position is common property?" he said bitterly.
“Whose isn't, in this place?" was the rejoinder. "Where are you going for it? With the cattle business as it is, your chance with the Eastern capitalist is nil; north and south are only ranches in the same predicament as yourself; in the west, there is Rufe's Cache—if you can find it."
“What do you know about that?" Dan demanded.
“The story is common property also," the doctor reminded. "Your father himself gave me the facts, and asserted that if necessity arose, he could go to the spot. Probably that is why he did not worry about his debt to the bank.”
Dan was silent; it was disturbing to think his affairs and plans were known. Then he said, "Who told you I was leavin' Rainbow?"
“No one. Aware of the difficulty you are in, I tried to reason out a line of action, that's all. The Cache would appear to be your best bet."
“What's yore interest?"
“The purely selfish one of wanting to go with you.”
Bowdyr had been called away, so Dover got the full shock of the surprise, and it certainly was one. That this man, whom he liked, but had always regarded as an effeminate, should desire to undergo the danger and discomfort of a journey into the mountains seemed quite incredible.
“It'll be damned hard goin', we'll have to break trail a lot, live rough an' sleep in the open, an' it's cold too, nights," he warned. "Also, there's a risk o' fightin' if—
“Trenton gets the idea. Yes, he needs cash as much, and perhaps more, than you do. Well, I can ride and shoot, I'm fitter than I look, and I'll obey orders. Also, if anyone gets hurt ..." The rancher voiced his last and chief objection. "You'll be a devil of a long way from a saloon," he said pointedly.
“Which is exactly why I want to come," Malachi smiled. "It is an experiment, Dan, and I'm asking you to help me." They shook hands on the bargain.
CHAPTER XIII
Beth Trenton returned to the Wagon-wheel sound in body but perturbed in mind. Naturally generous by nature, the attitude her rescuer had adopted distressed and saddened her. Coming from the East, she could not comprehend the stark animosity which could keep two families at war for years. And rude, primitive as he seemed, there was much that was likeable in Dan Dover. If only she could bring about a peace.
Her uncle was alone in the living-room. As she related her adventure, she saw concern, relief, and then both were swept away in a gust of anger at the mention of her preserver's name.
“That fella again?" he stormed. "What cursed ill-luck arranges for him to be handy every time you get into trouble?”
“I am afraid I cannot regard it as ill-luck," she replied. "He saved me, and might have died himself."
“Bah! Only one thing kills that breed—a bullet," was the brutal rejoinder. "I'm not ungrateful, girl; any other man could ask what he liked of me, but Dover ..."
“He does not want even thanks," she said. "He threw my own back in my face."
“The insolent young hound," Trenton growled. "He needs a lesson, an' by Christopher, I'll see that he gets one.”
“Uncle, what was the beginning of the trouble?" she asked.
“Oh, it's a long story; I'll spin it for you one day, but you can take this to go on with—a Dover murdered my father," the rancher said, and stood up. "Yo're a Trenton, Beth, an' our enemies must be yores too; we don't forget or forgive.”
He had meant to tell her of the coming trip into the hills, but judged this was not the time; better to let the memory of this latest obligation to Dover fade a little. Women were kittle cattle, and he wanted her wholly on his side. He struck another blow.
“Have you noticed Bundy's face?"
“Why, yes, he seems to have met with an accident."
“Yeah, the accident of runnin' into three o' the Circle Dot riders out on the range," Trenton said. "They threw an' savaged him, stole his horse, an' he had to foot it home, over ten miles, in the dark."
“Three to one?" she cried. "The cowards! Was Mister Dover there?"
“No, but his new man, Green, was, so you can be certain his boss approved; probably it was a put-up job, an' they were waitin' for the chance."
“But why?"
“Simply because he's foreman here; it's a blow at me." She could not doubt, although she found it hard to credit that Green, of whom the doctor had spoken highly, could take part in such a sordid enterprise. But she was learning that the Westerner was a creature of fine impulses, strong in his likes and dislikes.
“Isn't there any law?" she ventured.
“No, only a sheriff," was the satirical answer. "Now, don't you worry yourself about these things, my dear. Bundy can take care of himself, an' so can the Wagon-wheel.”
Dover also journeyed home in a worried state of mind. He had called on Maitland before leaving town, and the interview had been anything but helpful. It was, the rancher moodily reflected, a fitting climax to a thoroughly imperfect day. So Yorky, to whom it had proved exactly the opposite, found him a morose and pre-occupied companion. Jocular references to his encounter with young Evans met with no encouragement. In the bunkhouse, it was much the same;the boys listened to his story, but it failed to arouse the amusement he had looked for.
“Got back on him for the lickin' he gave you, huh?" Blister commented.
“Never did lick me," Yorky retorted heatedly. "He took as much as I did."
“Then you had nothin' to square up for," the cowboy replied.
Even Yorky's quick wits could find no answer to this, and he subsided into silence. It began to dawn upon him that he had not been so clever after all. This suspicion was strengthened when he showed his new acquisition to Sudden, with an account of how he had got it.
“She's good value," the puncher said. "Told the boys?”
“yep, they didn't seem to think it funny," Yorky admitted, and repeated Blister's remarks.
“They were right—it ain't a bit funny," Sudden said gravely. "Yu fought Evans, an' come out even. Well, nothin' to that, but now yu've put yoreself in his debt by shamin' him, probably made him hate his job. That's bad."
“Never thought of it that way, Jim," the boy said contritely. "What c'n I do?"
“Next time yo're in town, go to Evans an' eat dirt," the puncher said. "That's a meal we all gotta be ready to take, an' if it gets yu a friend, it's worth while.”
The boy promised. He had learned another lesson.
Not until the evening meal was ended did Dan unburden his mind to Sudden and the foreman. They had already heard of the cattle incident—Yorky having given a graphic and highly-ornamented version of it to the company in the bunkhouse.
“So you had to git a Trenton outa trouble agin, Dan," Burke remarked. "That girl didn't oughta be allowed out alone."
“It wasn't her fault," the young man found himself saying, and then, "We got somethin' more important than that to discuss. Maitland is beginning to put the screw on—he won't even let me have cash for runnin' expenses. There's tradesmen in town to be settled with, an' pay-day comin' along."
“The boys won't mind waitin'," Burke put in gruffly.
“I know, Bill, an' that's why I don't want 'em to," Dan said. "I've an offer for a hundred three-year-olds; the buyer will take over an' pay at the Bend. It's a poor price, an' will mean hangin' up our start for two-three days, but—"
“Needs must, when the banker goes on the prod," Sudden misquoted.
“You said it," Dan replied with a smile, the first they had seen from him all the evening. "Well, that eases my mind. I wouldn't like to go leavin' debts to folks who can't afford to lose, an' Bill here without a shot in the locker. An' talkin' of goin', Doc Malachi wants to come along; I said he might.”
The foreman looked dubious. "Does he understand what he's lettin' hisself in for?"
“I made that plain," Dan replied, and repeated the conversation, finishing with, "He might be useful."
“Shore, but how come he knows we're in a jam?" Burke asked.
“He wouldn't say, but I can guess. He's been seein' a lot o' Maitland's girl since the dance, an' she helps in the bank. Her father trusts her—he told me as much."
“That explains the 'experiment' too," Sudden smiled. "I hope he wins out on it. What about hittin' the hay—we got a coupla busy days to shove behind us?”
With the coming of daylight, they were at work, rounding up, cutting out, and road-branding the steers to be disposed of. Small as the herd was, these operations took time and entailed much riding, for the cattle were spread over a wide range. About half a mile from the ranch-house, a big bunch of steers was collected by four of the outfit, and from these Dover and Sudden roped the selected beasts, dragged them to the nearby fire, where Lidgett hog-tied them and Slow applied the iron.
The bellowing of the branded brutes, blinding sun, swirling clouds of dust, acrid smell of burnt hair, and the varied objurgations of the toilers, who sweated and swore with equal fervour, presented a scene of confusion from which it seemed impossible for order to emerge. By the arrival of dusk, however, the herd was ready to take the trail, and the discarded cattle dispersed again. The boys raced for the river, to rid themselves of the real estate they had acquired during the day. When they arrived at the bunkhouse, Paddy affected astonishment.
“Shure, Dan should 'a' told me he was takin' on new han's," he said.
“Gwan, you of grub-spoiler," Slow retorted. "Hump yore-self. I'm hungry enough to eat you—raw—if I had a ton o' salt."
“An' it's on'y a mouthful I'd be for ye," the Irishman grinned, and Slow, whose mouth was built on generous lines, retired from the combat.
At daybreak the herd was on the move, Dover in charge, with Blister, Tiny, Noisy, and Sudden as his crew.
“They're in prime condition an' the trail ain't difficult," the ranoher said. "If we drive 'em middlin' hard we oughta make the Bend before dark to-morrow. Me an' Tiny'll be in front, Noisy an' Blister on the flanks, an' Jim'll keep the 'drag' goin'." Very soon the riders had the steers lined out, and travelling at a steady pace. Cattle on the trail can, in normal circumstances, cover from fifteen to twenty miles a day, according to the nature of the country. Dan was hoping to do better than this on a short drive, but he was too good a cowman to "tucker out" the animals by pressing them too early.
The hours slid by, and the drive proceeded uneventfully. Now and then an adventurous beast dropped out of line and made a break for freedom, to be chased, brought back, and called uncomplimentary things by a sweating rider. Sudden, in the rear, was kept busy hazing the few stragglers always to be found in any trail-herd.
The approach of night found them on a plateau some miles in extent and nearly half-way to their destination. As the feed was good, and a stream adjacent, Dan decided to halt there. The tired cattle were watered, bunched together, and the rancher, with Noisy, took the first spell of night-herding. The other three squatted round a fire, and having fed, smoked and talked. In the distance, where a black blob showed indistinctly in the half-light, they could hear the watchers crooning to their charges.
“Dan's a fine fella, but as an opery singer he'd shore be a total loss," Blister laughed. "Cows can't have no ear for music, or you couldn't soothe 'em down with a voice that'd scare a kid into convulsions."
“They sleep to git away from it," Tiny explained. "That's why I'm a pore night-herder—the critters stay awake to listen to me."
“That won't win you nothin'—you take yore turn," Blister chuckled. "Fancy tryin' that one; you got about as much savvy as a mule.”
Before the outraged cowboy could reply to this aspersion, Sudden cut in: "An' there, though he ain't intendin' it, he's payin' yu a compliment, Tiny. Lemme tell yu somethin' I actually witnessed. An' of darkie was drivin' a buckboard behind a big, hammer-headed mule with ears like wings. All at once, the beast stalled on him, just stiffened his legs and stood stock-still like he'd taken root. Well, the nigger tried persuasion first; he got down an' talked.
“ `Now looky, Abram, dis ain't no way to act. Ain't I allus treated yoh well? W'at foh yoh wanter play dis trick on Uncle Eph?'
“He said a lot more, but it didn't do any good; Abram just curled his lips back over his teeth an' laughed at him. So the darkie goes to pullin' him, then to pushin' the buckboard on his heels, but he might as well have tried to shift a house. Then Uncle Eph got his dander up. He climbs into his wagon, unearths a stout ash-plant, an' lays into that mule like all possessed. Yu ever seen a fella beatin' a carpet what ain't been cleaned for years? Well, that was how it was. I reckon yu could 'a' heard the racket half a mile off, an' the dust came out'n that critter's hide in clouds—it was like a sand-storm. But Abram never stirred an inch, an' when at last the nigger dropped back on his seat too tired to lam any more, that mule lets out a sort o' sound—jeerin' like—which made his master madder'n ever.
“ `Light a fire under him,' one o' the onlookers advised.
“This put new life into Uncle Eph. He scouted round in the buckboard, produced wood an' paper, built his fire an' put a match to it. `I burn de damn belly off'n yoh, Abram,' he said viciously, an' when the flames shot up an' the mule stirs hisself, he lets out a yell of triumph. But he was a bit previous; that durned animal moved just fur enough forward to bring the buckboard right over the fire, an' took root again; if Uncle Eph hadn't got mighty active he'd 'a' had nothin' but a fiery chariot to ride in. An' then Abram turns his head an' closesone eye in the most deliberate wink I ever saw. No, sir, don't tell me mules ain't got savvy.”
They laughed at the story, and Tiny said, "I remember once—“
But what it was they were not to hear, for from over the plateau came the crash of guns and bellowing of scared steers, followed by the thunder of many hammering hooves. "Hell's joy, the herd is gone„” Blister cried.
Springing to their saddles, they scampered towards the hubbub, dragging out their rifles as they went. Sudden caught sight of a whitish object flapping in the gloom, and took a snap shot. The object vanished, but he did not stay to investigate—the important thing was to stop the stampeding cattle. By hard and, in the dark, hazardous riding, they got ahead of some of the frightened brutes, turned, and drove them back to camp.
“Stay here an' ride hard on this lot, Blister," Sudden said. "We'll go hunt for more.”
On their way they met a horseman shepherding about a dozen steers; he proved to be Dover.
“We'd just got 'em settlin' down nicely when the hullabaloo began," he said. "Somebody loosed off a gun, an' another of 'em flapped a sheet or blanket an' shouted. You got some, you say? Good work. Lucky they was tired—ain't liable to run far. yeah, Noisy's all right; he's takin' in a small gather.”
Throughout the hours of darkness the search went on, and when dawn arrived, a count showed that they were only ten short.
“Better'n I hoped," Dan said. "We may pick up one or two more on the way.”
As they returned to snatch a meal at the fire, a dark, huddled form, lying where the grass was longer, attracted their attention. A dead man, and beside him, a lightish slicker. Sudden remembered his chance shot. He turned the body over; the features were familiar. He visioned again the saloon at Hell City, into which this same Mexican had limped, footsore and weary, come to report failure and risk death at the hands of Satan, the master brigand. He had saved the fellow's life then, and now blind Fate had ordained that he should take it.'
“Couple o' twenty dollar bills with the Rainbow bank's stamp on 'em," Tiny announced. He had been searching the corpse.
“Better take those, Dan; we might be able to trace 'em," Sudden advised. "An' we'll bury this hombre if yu got no objection; I once saw him act mighty like a man—for a Greaser.”
The drive was resumed, and as Dover had predicted, they came across several of the runaways, and so could deem themselves well out of what might easily have been a disaster. They saw nothing of their unknown assailants, and as the latter part of the journey was over a regular cattle-track, they reached their destination in good time.
The business of handing over the herd did not take long, and after a satisfying meal they drifted into the Paradise Saloon.
“Remember this joint, Jim?" Dan asked.
Sudden grinned; it was there he and the rancher had adjourned after the shooting test; somehow it seemed a good time ago. Grouped at the bar, they discussed the question of the return trip, whether to start at once, or wait for daybreak. All of them were tired, but as Tiny finally expressed it:
“A bed listens fine to me, Dan, but you on'y gotta say the word an' I'm ready."
“What do you think, Jim?”
Sudden did not reply for a moment; his gaze was on a short, shabby, bearded fellow sitting a few feet away. Then he asked, "Yu acquainted with the landlord o' this shebang, Dan?" And when the young man nodded, "Find out if he knows the whiskery gent just behind yu.”
The rancher ordered another round of drinks and, after a whispered colloquy with the proprietor, turned to his friends. "Never set eyes on him afore, but that don't mean much—strangers ain't no novelty in the Bend."
“Mebbe not," Sudden replied, and raising his voice a little, "We'd better be on our way.”
The last to leave, he saw—by the aid of a mirror—that the bearded man was also making for the door. Leading his party along the street, he swung round a corner and halted. Almost immediately the object of his suspicion appeared, and seeing the group of cowboys, hesitated and then slunk past.
“He was interested in our conversation, an' now he follows us. What d'yu make o' that, Dan?"
“I'm no good at riddles, Jim. You tell me."
“Those coyotes back on the trail missed the beef, but if they knowed when to expect us, they might try for the dollars."
“Likely enough, an' that hombre would have plenty time to get here ahead o' us," Dover admitted. "What's our best plan?"
“With that fella trailin' us we got no hope o' trickin' 'em. I vote we catch some sleep an' start in the mornin'," was Sudden's suggestion. "If they waylay us, we'll stand a better chance in the daylight.”
The others agreed that this was the wisest course, and being already short of one night's rest, they gave the attractions of the town the go-by, and turned in early.
There was no sign of the bearded man when they set off soon after daybreak, but none of them doubted his being in the vicinity. Sudden only grinned when Tiny mentioned it. One precaution was taken: Dover called Sudden aside and slipped a packet into his hand; it was the money received for the cattle.
“You got the fastest hoss in the bunch," he said. "If things get tight, make a dash for it."
“Unless they're watchin' the trail, we'll have no trouble.”
“They may be, or it's possible that jasper has gone on a'ready to tell 'em we're comin'."
“He ain't," Sudden chuckled. "Over-keen, Mister Whiskers. He took the room next to mine, an' when I found my key would open his door, I slipped in, hawg-tied an' gagged him, in' told the landlord my neighbour wanted to sleep late.”
Dover laughed. "Gosh, Jim, you don't miss any bets," he complimented. "I'm damn glad you didn't go over to Trenton."
“Well, that settles Whiskers, but we still gotta remember that the others may be the patient kind.”
The three cowboys had to be told, and they looked at Sudden with added respect. Blister's tribute amused them all.
“Jim," he said gravely. "One o' these days you an me won't have a game o' poker."
“Blister," was the solemn reply. "When it comes to cards. yu wouldn't believe how dumb I am."
“Yo're dead right, I wouldn't," Blister agreed.
Having no herd to hamper them, a good pace could be maintained. Sudden led the party, and Dan brought up the rear, each man riding a little behind the next so that all of them could not be covered at once. The first score of miles were negotiated without incident, and then they drew near to where the stampede had happened. The sun was climbing the sky, and in the growing heat they did not hasten; it was necessary to spare the horses in case speed should be urgently needed.
East of the plateau, as Sudden remembered, the trail traversed a shallow gully, both walls of which were hedged by thick brush. Immediately on entering this, he slackened pace still more, eyes alert. Half-way through the sun glinted on something in the depths of a bush; it was the barrel of a rifle, and directly opposite was another.
“Shove 'em up," barked a voice. "We got you set—both sides.”
Sudden's reins were already twisted round the saddle-hornhis knees told the horse what to do. When, in apparent obedience to the order, his hands rose, a gun was in each, spouting flame and lead. Left and right, the shots crashed, the rifle-barrels disappeared—one exploding harmlessly—and there was a sound of breaking twigs and violent movement in the veil of vegetation. At the same instant, the black sprang onward, a few mighty bounds carrying it clear of the gully. The rest of the party followed, bending low and raking the brush with their revolvers. Scattered, ill-aimed replies came from the ambushers. When he had ridden about a mile, Sudden waited for his companions.
“Anybody hurt?" he wanted to know. "What's the matter with yu, Noisy?"
“Ain't nothin'," the silent one replied. "Just a graze.”
“We'll tie it up," the puncher said. "I figure them fellas have had a full meal.”
The "graze" proved to be a nasty flesh-wound in the forearm, and when this had been attended to they went on their way. Blister and Tiny, riding together, discussed the occurrence.
“I never see his han's move, but both guns was out an' workin'. I'll bet he got both them smarties," the big cowboy remarked.
“Smart nothin'—a pair o' bunglers," said a quiet voice behind. "Lemme give yu a tip, Tiny; next time yu go bushwhackin', don't show yore gun; the slant o' the barrel tells the other fella where to aim."
“Speakin' from experience, Jim?" Tiny came back. "Shore," Sudden grinned. "I was a road-agent afore I came down in the world an' had to take to punchin'.”
In due course they reached the Circle Dot, and once more the bunkhouse had a story to hear. Blister told it, finishing in characteristic fashion:
“An' after the ruckus, the on'y trouble we had was listenin' to Noisy yowlin' like a sick cat over that triflin' scratch he got."
“Turn anythin' Blister sez the other way round an' yo're liable to git the truth," the wounded man replied, a statement which evoked a general chorus of "Yo're tellin' us.”
CHAPTER XIV
Miss Maitland and Malachi had walked as far as the cemetery. It was, as he had told Miss Trenton, a pretty place, though the oblong mounds of stones—several with staggering, homemade wooden crosses—did not add to its beauty. The customary bitter expression was absent from the man's clever face.
“They all seem to be nameless," the girl commented.
“Rainbow has no monumental mason yet," he told her, and pointed to the most recent heap. "That is the resting-place of Dave Dover, who was kind to every living thing—except an enemy." A touch of his old sarcastic humour returned. "Yet, if any other citizen had brought you here, the grave he would have shown with pride would have been that of a scoundrel who killed seven people—and he wasn't a doctor. The town hanged him, most justly; he was a fool—he should have taken a degree before indulging his appetite for blood.”
She did not smile. "I don't like to hear you' joke about. your profession," she said. "Great soldiers, who use their lives to take life, are honoured, but a doctor, who devotes himself to saving life receives—what?"
“All that every human being wins in the end—that," he said flippantly, and pointed to the nearest grave.
“You are not yourself to-day," she reproved.
“That's the trouble—I am," he replied cynically. "Forgive me, Miss Maitland; I sometimes talk, and act, like an idiot. What I really wanted to tell you was that I am going away.”
The colour came into her cheeks and receded; she had suddenly realized what this man's absence would mean. It had begun in pity on her part for one who, still young and talented, was leading an aimless, sordid existence. A bed in a shabby hotel, meals at an eating-house, and many hours of every day in saloons; the tragedy of it shocked her. And now ... She tried to speak casually:
“Are you going for good?"
“For my own good, I hope," he smiled. "Would it matter?"
“I have not so many friends," she told him, and there was a note in her voice which brought a gleam into his eyes.
“I expect to be away only some two or three weeks," he said. "Where, when, and why, I am not at liberty to tell even you. The town—if it troubles to ask—will be informed that I have gone East, and supply its own reason—a debauch."
“But—you have been—"
“Abstemious lately? Precisely, and therefore the wiseacres will argue that a breaking-out was inevitable." He saw the fear in her glance. "No, it isn't that; if it were, I would stay here and be damned to them.”
She smiled again; this was the old Malachi, reckless, contemptuous, but likeable. They spoke only of trivialities on the way to Rainbow, but when parting, Malachi said, "You will be glad when I return, Kate?"
“Yes—Philip," she replied.
“That is all I need to know," he murmured. "I shall come back—sane.”
The same evening, the doctor visited the Parlour Saloon, as usual, but drank nothing. He left early, and some time later rapped at the door of the Cirole Dot ranch-house. Dover opened it, and conducted the visitor to the front room, where the rest of the party to go into the hills were assembled. Burke was also present, having taken his final instructions from theowner. After greetings had been exchanged, the doctor said: "I enquired about those two twenties, Dan; they were paid by the bank to Trenton a week ago, but they could have changed hands more than once, so it doesn't prove much."
“Mebbe it don't, but it shore looks like he'd got news of our drive an' hired some scallawags to bust it," the rancher replied. "That's my view, an' I'm holdin' it till I know different."
“He wouldn't risk usin' his own men," Burke contributed. "I'm obliged, Doc. Got all you need in the way o' gear?" Dan went on, and receiving an affirmative nod, reached a bottle from a cupboard. "We'll have just one li'l drink to success—it's the last liquor we'll see till we reach town again."
“Leave me out, Dan," Malachi said quietly.
“Me too; I don't use it," Yorky echoed.
They all laughed at this, save Hunch, sitting in one corner, a big revolver thrust through his belt, and the great axe between his knees. He took the spirit handed to him, tipped it down his throat with a single gesture, and replaced the glass on the table. The action was that of an automaton, no expression showed in the blank face. The doctor was studying him curiously. Dover looked at the tall old grandfather clock.
“Gone midnight, Bill," he said. "Might as well be on the move.”
One by one they stole out, secured their mounts, and with Hunch astride a huge rawboned bay as guide, and Blister, leading a pack-horse loaded with supplies, bringing up the rear, they were swiftly merged in the murk. Silence reigned, but for the far-off cry of a questing coyote, and the plaintive hoot of an owl in trees they could not see. There was no moon, but the velvet sky was pricked with a myriad pin-points of light which only seemed to make the obscurity more profound. They moved slowly but surely, the leader appearing to know his way despite the darkness. So far, all had gone well.
But no one of them had seen the lurking man in the shadow of the corral, who, having watched their departure, ran to his hidden horse, and stooping low over its neck, followed them. The first news they had of him came as a finger of flame and the crack of a rifle. Blister reeled and would have fallen but for the quick clutch of the rider next him, Tiny. Sliding to the ground, the big cowboy lifted the hurt man down and laid him on the turf. Sudden raced in the direction from which the shot appeared to have come; nothing was to be seen, but he could hear the diminishing beat of hooves.
“On'y one of 'em," he muttered, and returned to his friends.
Malachi, by the light of an improvised torch, was making an exclamation. "Bullet struck the thigh and went through," he said. "Nice clean wound, but it will keep you on your back for some weeks, my lad. Give me some water." A canteen provided this, and he washed and deftly bandaged the injury. "He'll have to go back to the ranch."
“Shore, one of us will take him," Dover agreed.
“Aw, Boss, there ain't no need," Blister protested. "Doe's fixed my pin fine, an' I can make it; I ain't no kid. It's just too bad, missin' the trip, damn the luck."
“I'll go tuck him in his li'l cot, an' catch you up," Tiny offered.—
“You won't know the way, an' if that snipin' houn' has gone to wise up the Wagon-wheel, we can't afford to wait," the rancher said perplexedly.
“I don't want no nussin', specially from a ham-handed freak," Blister declared. "Lift me into the saddle an' Paddy will be loadin' steak an' fried into me in less'n an hour.”
Tiny obeyed, adding solicitously, "Rest all yore weight on the sound leg."
“Awright, Solomon. Which rein do I pull if I wanta go left?"
“Neither of 'em; you just naturally jump off, pick the hoss up an' point him that way. Gwan—an' take care o' yoreself," Tiny chuckled.
They watched him start, sitting straight up, but they could not see the lean brown hands clutching the saddle-horn, nor the clamped teeth as the throbbing pain of a damaged limb increased with every movement of his mount. Dan was anxious.
“Think he'll be all right, Phil?" he asked. "I'd sooner lose the damn ranch than anythin' should happen to Blister."
“He'll get there," Malachi said confidently. "He's got grit, that boy." And added, under his breath, "He makes me ashamed.”
Zeb Trenton was awakened early by the announcement thata visitor was waiting to see him on urgent business. Going down to his office, he found Garstone, Bundy, and the bearded man from the Bend, whom he greeted with a frown.
“Well, Lake, you've been long enough comin' to report," he said aggressively.
“I'd nothin' but bad news to bring," was the sullen answer. "So you failed?"
“You can call it that. We stampeded the herd awright, but the beasts were too tired to run far or scatter enough. The punchers rounded 'em up again, an' they got one of us•Benito.”
Trenton shrugged impatiently—the passing from life of a Greaser was of little moment to him. "Well?" he snapped.
“Havin' lost the cattle, we decided to try for the money on the back trip," Lake proceeded. "I went on to the Bend, figurin' to shadow Dover an' give the boys word. It didn't work out thataway." He paused for a second or two, and then, in a voice which dripped venom, he told of the trick Sudden had played on him, and the subsequent abortive ambush. "Two of our chaps was crippled, an' by the bastard who tied me up, a prisoner in a damned hotel bedroom for half a day—tall black-haired cowpunch, with a coupla guns. I'm a prompt payer, an' I meant to git that hombre, so I goes to the Circle Dot an' lays for a chance."
“Don't tell me you downed him," Bundy said. "He's my meat."
“He's still yores—if I don't see him first," Lake replied. "I didn't have an openin'—too many others around, but just after midnight I got on to somethin' I figured might interest you: Dover an' six more, with a pack animal, sneaked away from the ranch-house an' headed for the Cloudy country. I follered, an' sent 'em a slug for luck; nailed one, for shore, but I'll bet it warn't the perisher I was after.”
The effect of his news was electrical. Trenton's face grew purple, as he rose to his feet and stamped with rage. "Blast them, they've diddled us an' got a start," he cried. "You any good at trailin', Lake?"
“I can read sign better'n most," was the modest answer. "We'll take you with us; you'll be well paid, an' have an opportunity of wipin' out your score against Green. Is every thin' ready, Bundy? Right, we set out as soon as we've eaten.”
In less than two hours they were on their way. Avoiding Rainbow, they cut across the wagon-road leading to the Circle Dot, forded the river, and rode in the direction of Dover's western boundary. Presently they came to the spot where Lake had ceased his spying. It was daylight now, and the marks of a group of horses were easy to find. Lake pointed exultantly to some burnt-out matches, and a smear of blood on the grass.
“Told you I got one," he cried. His eyes swept the ground. "On'y winged him, seemin'ly—they sent him back. Well, that's one less to deal with.”
Trenton asked a question. "We'll catch 'em whenever you say," was the confident reply.
“We don't want to," the rancher warned. "An' it is important that they shouldn't know we're followin' them."
“I get you; tailin" 'em will be just too easy," the fellow sneered. "These cow-thumpers don't know nothin' 'bout hidin' tracks.”
There he was wrong, for one of the despised "cowthumpers"—to which class he himself once belonged and disgraced—had the redskin's skill in detecting or concealing a trail. Sudden's childhood had been spent with an old Piute horse-dealer, who, in his sober hours, taught him the craft of his race. The puncher had never forgotten that early upbringing which, on more than one occasion, had stood him in good stead.
A mile or so later, the leader halted, and when Trenton wanted the reason, had to admit that the tracks had ceased on the edge of a small stream. Obviously the quarry had taken to the water.
“No call for that if they don't know we're follerin'," Lake grumbled.
“O' course they know," Bundy said. "You told 'em yoreself when you fired that fool shot." He did not approve of the man's inclusion in the party.
“How the devil was I to guess what was afoot?" Lake threw back.
A search of the banks of the stream in both directions resulted in the trail being again picked up, but not until considerable time had been consumed. A recurrence of these delays atfrequent intervals soon showed that they were not accidental. and drew another caustic comment from the foreman.
“I'd say there's a cow-thumper ahead who's smarter at blindin' tracks than you are at findin' 'em," he jeered. "Is there anythin' yo're good at?”
The little man glared at him through reptilian, half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, killin' vermin," he said quietly.
Garstone had early attached himself to Miss Trenton, and if he admired the trim figure in its neat riding-suit, the skirt reaching only to the tops of her high boots with their dainty silver-spurred heels, and the soft grey hat above the ebon curls, she too could not but admit that he looked well on horseback. As usual, he was carefully dressed: his cord breeches, top boots, loose coat, and soft silk shirt and tie, lent him distinction among the roughly-garbed others of her escort. She was full of curiosity about the expedition, for her uncle had told her little.
“Why do we have to wait about like this?" she asked, while the trail was being found again. "I understood it was to be just a pleasure trip."
“Business and pleasure, especially the latter, for me," Gar-stone smiled. "The fact is, Miss Trenton—and I tell you this in confidence—we are on a treasure hunt."
“Really?" she cried. "But how exciting. "What form does the treasure take?"
“We don't know—gold, money, or jewels, maybe all three. It is reputed to have been hidden somewhere in these hills by an outlaw named Red Rufe."
“What became of him?”
Garstone shrugged. "Who knows? Probably returned to his old haunts for more plunder and got wiped out."
“And Uncle Zeb knows where the treasure is?”
He smiled into her sparkling eyes. "No, it isn't so easy as that; he has certain indications, but it may take time." His tone grew warmer. "I hope it does.”
She reddened a little under his ardent gaze. "But why is it necessary to search for tracks; they cannot be Red Rufe's."
“No, others have got wind of our enterprise and stolen a march upon us; we want to know where they are bound for. You see, success means everything to your uncle. Cattlemen 1,1 have had a lean time for several years, and he is heavily in debt."
“Poor Uncle Zeb," she said. "I always thought him wealthy."
“Most people think so—he has his pride," Garstone returned. "I have a great regard for him, and after the fine fight he has put up against overwhelming odds, it will be too terrible if he should lose the Wagon-wheel."
“Is it as bad as that?"
“Yes," he replied gravely. "And your uncle has ideas for the development of Rainbow; it will break him up if he is not able to carry them out. He doesn't talk of these things, but I am in his confidence."
“Who are the others you spoke of?"
“Who but the Circle Dot? Dover would sell his soul to see your uncle ruined," came the bitter reply.
She did not doubt it; Dan had shown his animosity plainly enough. "We must find that treasure," she said.
“We certainly will," he assured her. "I'm prepared to do anything rather than let Zeb go under."
“I'm sure we all feel like that," she agreed.
This being the admission he was waiting for, he dropped the subject, satisfied that he had done a good day's work for his employer, and a better one for himself. Which was as it should be, according to the ethics of Chesney Garstone.
CHAPTER XV
Sudden was the culprit. He it was who devised those vexatious and time-eating problems which were exercising the wits of the bearded man, and fraying the tempers of his companions. The Circle Dot puncher had little expectations of throwing the pursuers entirely off the trail, but the greater the distance between the parties, the more chance there was of doing so. So, whenever they encountered a rivulet, they splashed along it, either up or down, before crossing; patches of hard ground, which would record no hoof-prints, were traversed diagonally at the widest points, and once the tracks led straight to the edge of a morass and ended, with no turn to right or left.
This apparent miracle was accomplished by patience and the alternate use of blankets, of which each man carried a couple; the first was spread—from the saddle—at right angles from the trail, and the horse led on to it, then the second, and before the animal moved from that, the first again. By this means, Sudden, who took the lead, covered a considerable space without leaving a mark, and the others followed his actions exactly. When they had all reached him, he returned on foot, with a pair of blankets, and brought the pack-horse. The operation took time, but would cost those who followed much more.
“That was a smart ruse, Jim," Malachi complimented, as they went on their way. "Do you think it will baffle them?"
“It's an old Injun caper," the puncher replied. "If Trenton has a real tracker with him, he'll guess it, but they've still to find our trail again.”
Soon afterwards they reached the verdure-clad foothills and, plunging into the welcome shade, began a gradual rise. Hunch, jogging steadily along at Sudden's elbow, spoke never a word, but his usually lack-lustre eyes were a little brighter as they neared his beloved forests. Through an occasional break in the trees they caught a glimpse of the distant snow-capped peak of Old Cloudy, thrusting up into the azure sky.
As Dover had warned the doctor, they were breaking their own trail, winding in and out through thick brush, along stony ravines, climbing up-flung ridges of rock, yet making for a definite point. Once or twice, Sudden spoke to the old man, but getting only a gesture for answer, made no further attempt; his Indian training had taught him the value of silence.
Mile after mile they paced on, treading at times a tortuous path through tall timber, in a twilight due to the matted, leafy roof overhead. Frequently they had to turn aside to avoid a prone monarch of the forest, snapped off and thrown down to rot by a greater monarch—King Storm. Only in places where the trees thinned a shaft of sunlight came to tell them it was still day. There was little life in these dim solitudes.
The nearness of night found them on a grassy ledge hemmed in by vegetation, save at the back where a plinth of gaunt, grey stone rose straight up for a hundred feet. Here Sudden called a halt.
“Best camp here, Dan," he said. "There's feed for the hosses an' the smoke of a fire won't show against that bluff.' The beasts were picketed, lest a prowling bear or mountain lion should stampede them. Hunch and Yorky soon had the fire blazing, and the music—to hungry men—of sizzling bacon mingled with the odour of boiling coffee.
“Likin' it, son?" Sudden asked, as Yorky passed him with an armful of dead wood for fuel.
“I'll say I am," was the enthusiastic answer. "Why, Jim, this beats a dance all ter blazes.”
During the meal, Sudden asked how they were getting on.
“I reckon we're about half-way, but it's on'y a guess," Dan told him. "What d'you think, Hunch?" He got the invariable nod for reply, and in a lower tone continued, "I believe he came up here with Dad, though he wouldn't know for what purpose; that's one o' the reasons why I fetched him along. How you feelin', Phil?"
“Tired, but never better," Malachi smiled. "A few weeks of this and I'll give up rolling pills to ride for you."
“You could do a lot wuss," Tiny told him. "Plenty o' fresh air, exercise, an' four squares a day, when yo're to home—which ain't offen. What more does a fella want?"
“A stated number o' dollars per month an' time off to throw 'em away, I find," the rancher grinned. "An' let me tell you, when Tiny does miss a meal, he makes up for it at the next. Pleased to have you, Phil, so long as you don't give the boys anythin' to improve their appetites.”
Soon afterwards, one by one, they rolled up in their blankets; it had been a long and strenuous day, and their surroundings held out no hope for a less arduous one on the morrow. Only Sudden remained awake, squatting cross-legged by the fire, his Winchester by his side. Though every sense was alert for any sound he could not explain, his mind was on the curious enterprise to which he found himself committed. He fell to considering the men of the other faction. That Trenton was following he had no doubt; the rancher was an astute and unscrupulous man, aggressive and intolerant of opposition. Bundy he dismissed with a gesture of disdain, a common enough rogue, who would commit any crime for sufficientgain. Garstone he had not yet fathomed; one thing seemed certain—he was not the type to serve as jackal to one of the rancher's calibre. What was the fellow doing so far from the East? He could hit upon no satisfactory answer, and presently, when Tiny—rubbing his eyes—came to relieve him, he sought sleep.
At a camp some fifteen miles away, much the same procedure had taken place, save that there were two fires—one for the rancher, his niece, and Garstone, the other for the men. Bundy had protested against this arrangement, but had been curtly ordered to do as he was told. The fires were sufficiently far apart to prevent conversation being overheard, and near one of them stood the small tent in which the girl was to sleep. Despite the fact of their slow progress, Trenton was in high spirits.
“Well, Beth, how does roughing it in the open appeal to you?" he asked.
“Very much indeed—it's so thrilling," she replied. "Do you really think we shall succeed?”
Neither of the men answered until Rattray—who was acting as cook, and serving them—had retired to his own fire, and then Garstone said:
“I told Miss Trenton of our main object in coming here; she is very interested."
“Indeed I am," she agreed eagerly. "But very sorry it should be—necessary."
“That's all right, my dear," Trenton said heartily. "Every man who gets anywhere has to face up to a stiff fight now and then. We'll make the grade."
“To be sure," Garstone supplemented. "That red-headed rascal, Rufe, is going to put us all on the top of the world.”
“Had he red hair?" she queried.
“I really don't know," the big man prevaricated. "I presumed it to be the origin of his nickname."
“He might have got that as a killer," Trenton suggested, in a voice which had suddenly lost its geniality. A burst of laughter from the region of the other fire seemed to remind him of something. "Bundy expected to feed with us—he's been gettin' uppity lately. I had to remind him that I'm boss."
“Quite right," Garstone concurred. That the foreman and his employer should not be on the best of terms might well further the nebulous schemes beginning to take shape in his brain. "He appears to have got over his grouch."
“Just as well. People who work for me have to obey, without question.”
The Easterner did not subscribe to this sentiment quite so entirely, and said nothing; it sounded too much like a hint to himself. And he felt convinced that the foreman had not forgotten.
In this he was right, for even as the rancher spoke, Bundy was inwardly brooding over what he regarded as an insult, and vowing it should be paid for. Nevertheless, having been driven to "herd with the hands," as he phrased it, he might as well be comfortable, and so devoted himself first of all to smoothing the ruffled plumage of the newcomer.
“Well, Lake, I'm allus ready to own up when I'm wrong, an' I was 'bout you," he commenced. "You shore can read sign; that dodge they tried at the bog would 'a' razzle-dazzled an Injun.”
It gave us a lot o' trouble," the tracker said modestly.
“Warn't yore fault; you tumbled to the trick; it was pickin' up the trail agin that cost the time.”
The bearded man was not proof against this fulsome flattery. The foreman, he thought, was after all not such a bad chap. So prone are we humans to approve those who approve us.
“Thanks, friend," he said. "But there's one puzzle 'bout this trip I can't find the answer to, an' mebbe you--as foreman—can tell me."
“Give it a name," Bundy replied, pleased in his turn by the use of his title.
“What are we after?"
“Well, I dunno as there's any need to keep it quiet now,”
the foreman said, but lowered his voice. "Treasure, that's what. Mebbe you've heard o' Red Rufe's Cache?”
Lake laughed derisively. "Heard? I've looked for it—like a-many other idjuts. Still, I don't mind wastin' some more time if I'm well paid."
“You didn't know where to go, seemin'ly." This from Rat-tray, a spare-built but wiry cowboy, whose features suggestedthat the first syllable of his name could not possibly be accidental.
“yo're damn right, I didn't, or would I be here?" the other retorted. "But is Trenton any wiser? If he is, why are we moseyin' along on the heels o' them fellas in front?”
He got no answer to his question. Flint and Rattray could not give him one, and Bundy was far too cunning to empty his bag—yet. The appearance of knowing a little more than they would give him a hold over them. So all he said was:
“There's a good reason for that, an' you can gamble on it; Zeb ain't a fool—in some ways."
“I take it we all git shares," the new man said, his eyes agleam with greed.
“Seein' as we're four to two—not countin' the gal—we'll be dumb if we don't," the foreman replied meaningly.
Flint and Rattray nodded their agreement with this view. Lake said, "Pardner, I like you more'n more.”
Bundy was satisfied; if the rancher did not treat him fairly, he had a card up his sleeve. Also there was Garstone, who had shown himself quite willing to double-cross his employer in the affair of the train robbery; he provided another card, making three in all, counting Trenton.
“An' if you play 'em properly, Bundy, of scout, yo're on velvet," was the conclusion he came to.
CHAPTER XVI
Throughout the greater part of the next day, the Circle Dot men pressed steadily on. Though they deemed themselves to be well ahead of possible pursuit, they neglected no opportunity of blinding their trail, and were successful—had they but known it—in straining the vituperative powers of the bearded man to the utmost.
The scenery on all sides was wild and awe-inspiring. Dense masses of pine which defied the sun, thickets of thorny scrub, clumps of bright-flowering bushes, and, from time to time, enormous chunks of rock weighing thousands of tons, "fragments" which had broken away from the mother mass towering in the distance. The slope was slight but definite, and sometimes they advanced across wide, almost level benches of grass and cactus. They skirted deep, wedge-shaped gorges where the side of the mountain appeared to have split open, treading narrow ledges where a slip would have spelt destruction.
Game seemed to be plentiful, quail, squirrels, rabbits, and once they came upon a small herd of deer feeding in a patch of lush grass. For a few seconds the dainty beasts stared in amaze at the unwonted intrusion of their domain, and then, in a flash, were gone. Yorky, fingers itching for his rifle, looked longingly after them.
“Lots o' time for that," Sudden consoled. "Business first, an' there ain't no sense in advertisin' our. whereabouts.”
The boy sighed. "I wouldn't know where to aim, anyways."
“Just behind the left shoulder—the heart's there," the puncher told him.
As the climb continued, the trees became smaller and less numerous, a sign that a higher altitude was being reached. Then, when the westering sun was rimming the mountain tops with gold they came to a spot entirely at variance with all they had seen.
It was a shallow basin, perhaps a hundred feet deep at the centre, and less than half a mile in diameter. The sides sloped gently up to the encircling lips of ragged rock. The surface was a grey, powdery sand, and the only vegetation, scattered greasewood and cactus. On all four points of the compass, V-shaped breaks provided openings to the basin. Hunch got down, stepped to Dover's side, and gestured with one hand.
“Is this where you came with Dad?" the young man asked, and getting a nod of assent, went on, "Well, boys, this appears to be the scene of operations.”
Right ahead, seeming to loom over them, although many miles distant, was Old Cloudy. Sudden, studying the mountain, saw that the round knobbed top, and wide sloping flanks might well suggest the head, shoulders, and dropping arms of a sitting man, and that viewed from where he stood the basin might--with no great stretch of imagination—be described as a bowl on the knees of this Gargantuan figure behind which the sky was now turning to a blood-red."What d'you think of it, Jim?" Dover asked.
“Seems to fit. What's the next move?"
“We gotta settle which way to go—this is no place to camp." He tilted his hat back and scratched his head reflectively. "West is north," he repeated. "Well, that gap in front of us is west."
“We gotta reckon it as north," Sudden said. "An' north is noon, that is, twelve o'clock. We were told on reaching here, to watch out. Now that might be a warnin', but I figure it's a pointer." His gaze swept round the almost perfect circle of the basin. "S'pose we're lookin' at a mammoth watch-face, with that western break as twelve. Then the one we came in by must be the half after the hour which would be too soon. That means our way is by the opening on the left, which would be three-quarters past."
“Holy cats! I believe you've hit on it, Jim," the rancher cried. "Can we stop 'em followin' us, in case they get so far?"
“I'll 'tend to that. Yu take the boys an' ride in single file till yo're clear o' the basin.”
Starting from where the trampled sand plainly showed that a group of horses had paused there, he galloped straight for the gap to the right. Reaching it, he found it to be a little pass with a stony surface which would show no tracks. Returning to the basin, he backed his mount along the line by which he had approached. Repeating this operation twice resulted in a trail apparently made by six riders, the hoof-marks all pointing in the same direction. He then followed his companions, dragging a rolled blanket attached to his rope, and thus obliterated the traces of them all.
Passing out of the basin, he found himself in another narrow gorge, the floor of which consisted of rock detritus, with frequent patches of cactus and coarse grass. The wall on the right was much higher than that on the left, and along the foot of both were bushes; above these, they were bare and inhospitable. Half a mile from the basin, under an overhanging shelf of cliff, camp was being established. There was sufficient feed for the animals, and a few yards away, a rock pool, fed by a trickle from the height above.
During the meal, the puncher explained what he had done. "It may keep 'em outa here fora spell, but I guess they'll try all the outlets in turn, an' we don't have to waste time.”
“How about playin' their game—lettin' 'em find the stuff, an' takin' it away from 'em?" Tiny suggested.
“That would mean a fight, an' I'd ruttier avoid that, if possible," Dover replied. "But the money is mine, an' I intend to have it, one way or another."
“We've no actual evidence that anyone is dogging us," the doctor pointed out.
“Shore, but I know Trenton," Dan said grimly. "Dad's death, the searchin' o' the Circle Dot, an' the attempt to scotch our drive to the Bend happened for a purpose. Zeb is comin', an' he'll have some o' the Wagon-wheel scum along.”
Therefore they kept watch, and in the early morning, Sudden—relieving the doctor—caught him in the act of re-corking a bottle, which he had been holding near his lips.
“Cure for headache, Doc?" he asked superciliously.
Malachi looked rather shame-faced, and with an effort at bravado, replied, "More often the cause of one, Jim." And then, "God! what weak creatures we are—some of us.”
He opened his hand, disclosing a small medicine phial, quite full, as the puncher guessed, of whisky. "You know why I came here," he went on bitterly. "Well, it seemed to me that I was running away from temptation, so I brought temptation with me. I fancied myself strong enough to have the odour of it in my nostrils and resist. I was wrong—it makes me mad for the taste."
“Is that all yu fetched?"
“Yes, and had you not come, it would have gone, and at dawn I should have been sneaking off for Rainbow—to get more."
“No, to lose yoreself an' die in despair," Sudden told him. "Yu never could make it; yu gotta stay."
“You don't realize what it means," Malachi cried. "Have you ever had to combat a craving which, like a devouring flame, possessed your body and mind so utterly that all else in life became of no importance?”
Sudden laughed harshly. "Listen," he said. "Once I was left, tied hand an' foot, in the middle of a desert, by a Mexican guerilla chief, the most inhuman devil I ever met. After usin' nearly all my strength to free myself, I set out to walk endless miles of sand in search o' water. My tongue was swollen-Icouldn't close my mouth, I was near blind with the glare, my body was dried an' scorched till it felt like a red-hot coal, an' if ever a man suffered like a tormented soul in hell, I did. My limbs were lead, an' every movement—agony. What I had to beat, Malachi, warn't thirst, but the desire to lie down, an' die.' That's yore case, man; yu have to fight, not the want o' liquor, but the urge to give in. Now, drop that bottle an' put yore foot on it."
“I can't, Jim; don't ask me," the doctor pleaded.
“Then drink an' be damned," the puncher said roughly, and turned away.
The brutal contemptuous tone had its effect; he had moved. but a yard when there was the tinkle of glass on stone, and the grind of a heel. The doctor had won a victory.
In the early morning, the search of the gorge was begun, any feature which might suggest a hiding-place being carefully examined. The only discovery of any value was a cave, and as it was dry, and large enough to conceal the horses if necessary, they moved the camp there. It proved to be more spacious than they had imagined, with a high vaulted roof from which hung hundreds of stalactites, flashing like spearheads in the leaping flames of the logs. Seated round the fire after a tiring and fruitless day, the adventurers looked about them with some misgiving; in the darkness, the cavern appeared to have no limits.
“If this is Red Rufe's bank he's shore given us a job to tie into," Tiny informed the company, and thereby expressed the thoughts of all.
“We'll give the outside another look-over before we tackle this," Dan replied.
“Looks a likely spot, till yu get inside, an' then it don't," was Sudden's contribution.
Malachi took no part in the conversation and ate almost nothing. He seemed to be ill and depressed, evidently suffering from the lack of his customary stimulant. There had been no sign of other visitors in the vicinity.
“Either they ain't come or you've fooled 'em, Jim," the big cowboy decided.
“Yu can bet on both them reasons an' still lose," Sudden told him. In the afternoon, Malachi, alone, sick and oppressed by the intense heat, and not conscious of where he was going, wandered out into the basin, and suddenly saw the world go black. When he recovered his senses there was a familiar taste in his mouth, and a voice he knew was speaking:
“That's better, Doc. Burn my soul, but I thought you was cold meat. Take another sup o' corpse-reviver.”
A flask was held to his lips and tilted. He took a big gulp, and the fiery spirit steadied his shattered nerves and cleared his vision. He was in the basin, sitting with his back against a small boulder, and Bundy was kneeling beside him.
“Stupid of me—must have fainted—touch of the sun," he muttered.
“Shore, might happen to anyone," the foreman agreed. "But what in hell are you doin' up here? Thought I was dreamin' when I clapped eyes on you.”
The liquor, working on an empty stomach, was muddling the medico's mind, but he had a hazy idea that he must not tell the truth. "Just taking a little vacation, Bundy," he replied. A happy thought occurred to him. "I've always wanted to shoot a big-horn." He pushed away the proffered flask.
“Oh, come, Doc, it ain't like you to refuse good liquor, an' this is good—some o' Ben's best of bourbon—not a headache in it. You know the stuff.”
Malachi did—too well. He heard the swish of it against the glass, the pungent smell assailed him as the foreman removed the cork, and his whole being thirsted for it. His hand, trembling, came out.
“Just—one small sip."
“Drink hearty," Bundy replied generously, and whether the doctor heard or not, he obeyed.
This further dose completed the job, the drunkard's eyes glazed a little, and his voice thickened as he said, "Thanksh, Bundy, but what bringsh you to 01' Cloudy?"
“Same as yoreself—takin' a holiday," Bundy grinned. "Trenton wanted his niece to see the country, an' I had to come along.”
Malachi blinked at him owlishly. "Mis' Tren'on here? Thash wrong; no place f'r lady. Have to shpeak to Zeb when I shee him." He hoisted himself to his feet. "Mus' go now. Goo'bye.
Staggering and stumbling through the sand, he reached the gorge, and, in the shade of a bush, lay down and slept. Atthe evening meal, when they were wondering what had become of him, he walked in, his face deathly white, hands shaking.
“Dan, I've done an unpardonable thing—betrayed you," he began, in a harsh, unnatural voice, and not sparing himself, told his story.
They listened in silence, and then Dan said, "So they are here. How many?"
“I have no idea; I was too drunk to try and find out any- - thing," Malachi replied miserably. "All Bundy said was that Miss Trenton is with them.”
Dover stared. "Did you say Miss Trenton?" he asked. "Zeb must be loco to drag a girl into this. If he fancies her presence will help him, he'd better think again."
“Worth while gettin' acquainted with this place—we may have visitors in the mornin'," Sudden said, and as he passed Malachi, added, "Don't yu fret, Doc, we all make mistakes, an' they were bound to find us sooner or later.”
The doctor looked at him dumbly; these men were beyond his comprehension. He had failed them—terribly, perhaps destroyed their hope of success, and instead of reproach, there was only a calm acceptance of the situation, and a readiness to face it. He shook his head.
“I'm just a cheap Judas, who has sold his friends for fifty cents'. worth of whisky," he said moodily. "And I'm a poor fighter, Jim."
“Shucks! the man who never lost a battle ain't been born yet," the puncher consoled.
With the help of blazing pine-knots, they carried out an inspection of the cavern, to the apparent concern of thousands of bats in the dark dome above, but no indication that any human being had ever before set foot there rewarded them. Sudden was curious about the back of the cave, where the walls and roof closed in leaving only what seemed to be the mouth of a tunnel leading into the bowels of the earth. The floor was fairly level, as were the walls, but it was clearly Nature's handiwork. Probably, he conjectured, many thousands of years ago, it had formed a channel for a great volume of water.
Anxious to know whether it provided another exit, he went on and had proceeded something less than two hundred yards when an intuition of danger caused him to pull up sharply and hold his light lower. His nerves were in perfect condition, but what he saw sent a shiver up his spine. A stride from where he stood yawned a gap in the floor, about twelve feet across, and extending from wall to wall. He knelt on the brink, moving the torch to and fro, but could only see that the sides of the abyss were perpendicular, and hear, from far below, the rumbling roar of a racing torrent.
“An' I nearly walked into it; fools for luck," he soliloquized, as he turned to retrace his steps. "I must warn the boys that this ain't no way to run.”
CHAPTER XVII
Bundy, having watched his drunken victim out of sight, hurried with all speed to his own camp, and called his employer aside. His cunning eyes were alight with triumph.
“Boss, I got news—big news," he cried. "I've found out where them Circle Dot dawgs is holed up. They never come this way a-tall, they just tricked--"
“Never mind that," the rancher said impatiently. "Where are they?"
“The other side o' that hollow, right opposite to here.”
“Have you seen any of them?"
“Yeah. Come across Doc Malachi.”
Trenton regarded him with disgust. "You've been drinkin', dreamin'," he sneered.—"Damnation, I'm tellin' you the truth," Bundy raged. "Don't strain yore system," the other said acidly. He was in a bad temper; they had lost the trail, and this fool had raised hopes only to dash them again. "Get on with the fairy tale.”
The foreman swallowed his wrath, and explained. Trenton listened to the end, still only half-convinced.
“Malachi," he muttered. "Why should he be with them?”
“Claimed he was takin' a holiday—to get a sheep," Bundy jeered. "Wanted me to believe he was alone." He laughed. Trenton did not join in the mirth; the presence of the doctor seemed to worry him. As he turned away, he said, "Well, if what you say proves to be correct, it will add, maybe, a hundred dollars to yore share, my man.”
He did not see the grimace of hate this patronizing speech produced, nor hear the hissed words: "Throw yore chicken-feed to them as needs it, you stingy of buzzard; I'm helpin' myself, an' be damned to you.”
When Garstone, who had been riding with Beth, returned, the rancher told him of the foreman's discovery.
“Good," the Easterner said. "We'll pay them a visit in the morning. You got that paper all safe?"
“Do you think I'm dumb enough to bring it here?" Trenton enquired satirically. "No, sir, it might get into wrong hands. I played safe, an' destroyed it, after learning the contents.”
Chesney Garstone concealed his chagrin only by an effort. "My God, you took a; risk," he said. "If you should—die ..."
“The secret would be lost. I appreciate yore anxiety, but would that matter to me?"" The big man forced a smile. "I suppose not, but—
“I have a niece. True, but I'm a selfish man, an' I don't care two flips of a cow's tail what happens in this world after I've left it," was the callous reply.
There was a great deal of low-toned conversation that evening round the men's fire. The foreman could not keep his achievement to himself, though he took care to make clear that it was due mainly to his sagacity, and not—as in fact—to blind chance.
“So now, thanks to me, all we gotta do is walk in an' collar the plunder," he concluded.
“Have to locate the Cache first, ain't we?" Lake wanted to know.
“No trouble a-tall," Bundy assured him. "The 0I' Man has a paper givin' exact directions, which is somethin' them other guys ain't got, or they'd 'a' bin off by now."
“Sounds good," Rattray remarked casually.
“Shore does," Bundy said ironically. "Why, in three-four days we'll be back in Rainbow, git our two hundred bucks apiece mebbe, an' live 'appy every after."
“Two hundred—hell," Lake ejaculated. "Is that Trenton's notion o' things?"
“He half promised me an extra hundred for what I done to-day," was the sneering reply. "Figure out yore chances.”
No one answered, but the black looks of his hearers betrayed their feelings plainly enough. The foreman said no more; he had sown the seed, and was willing to await the harvest.
In the morning, Garstone approached the rancher. "What about Miss Trenton? Taking her along?"
“Nothin' else for it," was the reply. "Can't leave her in this wild spot, unless you'd keep her company.”
The suggestion was not at all to Garstone's liking. "I would enjoy it, of course, but I want to be in on this thing," he said.
“And I doubt if it would be wise to weaken our force; we don't know how strong Dover is."
“Oh, he won't fight," the rancher returned contemptuously. "But perhaps yo're right. You can look after Beth.”
A little later Trenton led the way across the basin, his men in pairs behind, the girl and Garstone in the rear. Excitement shone in her eyes, and there was a tinge of colour in the slightly-tanned cheeks. A wave of passion swept over the man by her side. He bent towards her.
“My dearest ambition has come to pass this morning," he whispered.
“We haven't found the treasure yet," she replied, wilfully ignoring his meaning.
“I have found mine already, and have been deputed by your uncle to take care of it—for to-day. I would like the task to last longer—a lifetime. Do you understand, Beth?”
The words, spoken in a low, ardent tone, quickened her pulses and brought a hot flush to her face. For days she had expected the avowal, had almost decided to accept, but now that the moment had come, she hesitated.
“Yes, I understand," she said gently. "But we have known each other such a little while. You must give me time."
“Well, that's fair, my dear," he replied. "Perhaps when this trip is over, you will know me better.”
She thanked him with a look which bred a desire to take her in his arms then and there, but he fought down the im
pulse; with this girl—even had they been alone—it would be an act of folly.
“What has become of the Circle Dot people?" she asked. Evidently, Trenton had told her only that they were to unearth the hidden wealth.
“We are on our way to visit them," he said. "They are camped on or near the spot we wish to search."
“Do you think Mister Dover will be—difficult?"
“No, since your uncle knows where to look, and he doesn't, a wise man would admit that he has lost."
“I'm afraid he's not very wise."
“A hot-headed young fool describes him better," Garstone said. "If he asks for trouble, he'll get it.”
By this time the gorge was reached. Beth Trenton was conscious of a cold tremor as she looked at the barren, sterile walls, broken only by stunted growths clinging precariously where fissures in the cliff provided a semblance of soil; she had a premonition of impending tragedy. Despite the bright sun, and the twittering of birds in the bushes which lined their path, the place seemed to convey a threat. A sharp command rang out.
“That'll be far enough, Trenton.”
The Wagon-wheel owner dragged on his reins. "Who the devil are you to give me orders?" he called. "Afraid to face me?”
Dover stepped from behind a shrub some twenty paces away. "No, but I'd think twice o' turnin' my back on you," was his cutting reply. "What's yore errand here?"
“None of yore business."
“I'm makin' it mine."
“How long have you owned the hills," Trenton retorted. "I go where I please."
“An' it pleased you to follow my trail, foot by foot," Dan sneered. "Quit lyin'; you've come to steal somethin' that belongs to me, but I got here first.”
Anger and surprise betrayed the rancher into forgetting his customary caution. "You've found it?" he cried.
Dan's laugh was not mirthful. "The cat's out," he said. "Found what? The charmin' view you came all this way to show yore niece, an' fetched along five armed men to help you locate it?”
The taunting tone and the fear that he might be too late after all, roused the rancher to fury. "You damned whelp," he stormed. "If it weren't for my niece—
“Skittles!" Dan interposed. "She'll be in no danger 'less you all try to hide behind her. Set yore dawgs on when you've a mind.”
Without looking round, Trenton gave an order. "Scatter and take cover; we'll cut this cockerel's comb right now.”
Even as they moved to obey, he snatched out his revolver and fired at Dover. He was too late; the young man had guessed right and vanished just in time. A volley from the Wagon-wheelers followed but was ineffective since they had not even a protruding rifle-barrel to aim at. Trenton, with a curse of disgust at having missed, jumped his horse for the bushes. At the first shot, Garstone had seized the rein of Beth's mount and dragged it to the side of the gorge.
“Get off and sit down," he ordered, and set the example. "We should be safe here if the idiots don't aim low." He noticed her expression of surprise. "I'm from the East, and I don't hold with these primitive ways of settling differences," he went on. "Maiming or killing an opponent only proves proficiency with a weapon, so the greater ruffian is always right.”
She did not reply; it was all very plausible, but even with her own Eastern upbringing, the sight of this big fellow sitting beside her in probable security while his friends fought, seemed wrong.
“What did Dover mean by saying the treasure belongs to him?" she asked.
“Obviously a lie," he replied carelessly.
The crash of the firing increased as the defenders of the gorge got busy, and several bullets zipped through the branches above their heads, sending down a shower of twigs and leaves.
“Damn them, they're shooting wild," Garstone muttered. "Lie close.”
He took her hand, but she drew it away. "I'm not afraid," she told him.
“I am—for you," he replied warmly, but got no response.
The spiteful crack of the rifles continued for a space, and
then came a long-drawn groan. Garstone, peering from their retreat, saw Trenton, his gun falling from nerveless fingers, stagger from the bushes and fall headlong in the open. "Damnation! the swine have got Zeb," he cried.
Beth scrambled to her feet. "I must go to him," she said, and disregarding his remonstrance, ran to where her uncle was lying.
Bundy was already kneeling beside him, apparently searching for the injury. Garstone followed the girl, calling out for the firing to cease, and energetically waving a white handkerchief. He need not have troubled; even the appearance of Dover and Malachi produced no shot. The latter's examination was brief.
“He's not dead," he announced. "But the wound is serious."
“Can we take him away with us?" Garstone enquired.
“Yes, if you want him to die," the doctor replied tersely, and looked at Dover. "His only hope is to remain here, and in my care."
“Anythin' you say, Doc," Dan agreed. "We'll do all we can.”
“I shall stay to nurse my uncle," Beth said quietly, her steady eyes challenging a refusal.
Dover lifted his shoulders. "I ain't objectin', but we're not fixed to entertain yore sex.”
The Easterner drew Beth apart. "My mind is made up, so please don't attempt to dissuade me," she told him.
“I should not dream of doing so," he said. "you are acting bravely and rightly, but there is something I must tell you. These scoundrels have tried to kill your uncle because he alone knows exactly where the treasure is hidden; they have failed to find it. You will admit that they should not benefit by this dastardly deed."
“I will do anything to prevent that," she replied, her face cold and set.
“Good. Zeb had set his heart on securing this money and so saving the Wagon-wheel. We must try to carry out his wishes. Listen: he may become feverish and talk, or recover consciousness long enough- to confide in you. Keep everyone away from him, except the doctor, of course, and if you learn anything, let me know at once."
“How can I do that?"
“You know the place where we sheltered? I will come there every evening soon after dark in the hope of seeing you. Is it agreed?"
“Yes," she replied. "I care little about the money, but I want to see this gang of murderers defeated.”
By this time the wounded man had been bandaged and laid on a blanket. "Two of you take him to our camp," Dan directed, and when Bundy and Flint at once stepped forward, added brusquely, "Not you.”
The scowling pair fell back; Tiny and Hunch raised the burden and carried it carefully away. The doctor and the girl went with them. Dan turned to Garstone.
“You an' yore pack o' curs can scratch gravel, an' if you got any regard for yore skins, you'll keep clear o' here," he warned.
“You're taking a high hand, Dover," the other replied. "Miss Trenton is my promised wife, and I shall certainly come to see her."
“At yore own risk; if I catch you near my camp, I'll shoot you, an' that goes for yore thievin' bunch too. Now, roll yore tails; the play's over.”
Garstone's face became ugly. "That's where you're wrong," he snarled. "This is just the first act—there's a second to come.”
His four followers were behind him, waiting for a word. But Dover's men were back now; Sudden, thumbs hooked in his belt, watching sardonically, Hunch, indifferently swinging his great axe in one hand so that the sun flashed on the gleaming blade; Dan and the big cowboy, alert and ready, and Yorky, his new gun gripped in both fists, eyes alive for the least movement. Garstone did not give the word—the odds were not sufficiently in his favour. So he sneered and went in search of his horse. The others tailed in after him, but presently Bundy spurred alongside.
“We could 'a' cleaned 'em up," he said regretfully. "But where's the use? Zeb didn't have it on him."
“Didn't have what?"
“The paper, o' course, tellin' where the dollars is cached. Why'n hell d'you s'pose I downed him?”
For an instant Garstone gazed at him, petrified, unable to credit his ears, and then, "You—shot—Trenton?"
“Shore, I'd never git a better chance," came the callous reply. "He was just in front o' me, an' with all that firin' ...”
He paused, aghast at the fury in the other's face. "You clumsy bungler," the big man rasped. "Why don't you leave the planning to those whose heads are not solid bone throughout? Did you imagine that Trenton would carry a secret like that on his person for rogues like you to steal?"
“Where else?" Bundy asked sullenly.
“In his brain, you dolt, after destroying the paper," Gar-stone told him harshly. "So you've probably slain the only man who can tell us where the treasure is, damn you.”
The foreman was too appalled by the magnitude of his mistake to resent the abuse showered upon him; it seemed to be the end of their hopes, and if the other men got to know ... "Mebbe Zeb'll come round enough to talk," he faltered.
“Yes, to them," Garstone snapped.
“There's the gal." Hopefully.
“You're a little late with that idea," came the sneer. "What do you think I was speaking to her about? She's our one chance, and until I get news from her, we can make no move. Understand?”
Bundy nodded. He did not like the tongue-lashing, but he liked still less the prospect of losing his share in the contents of the Cache, so he endured the first in the hope of getting the second. Which did not mean he forgave. A cowboy once described the foreman as having been "raised on vinegar," and the only comment from the company was, "an' the meanest vinegar, at that.”
CHAPTER XVIII
The Circle Dot men watched the discomfited band leave the gorge, and then returned to the cave. Dover walked to a small recess near the entrance, where a second fire had been lighted, and the wounded cattleman made comfortable on a pile of blankets. Miss Trenton was seated on a chunk of stone at his side, and the doctor was standing near.
“How is he?" Dan asked.
“Pretty bad," Malachi replied. "Bullet through the chest, but he's physically fit an' has a chance—a slim one. I've done all that is possible.”
Dover nodded, and the doctor went, leaving the young man staring moodily at the helpless form of his enemy. He was recalling the stark, outstretched figure of his father. What part had Trenton played in that tragedy? Was this retribution, or ... His reverie was broken by a cold, scornful voice:
“Admiring your work?"
“This is no work of mine," he returned quietly.
“Why quibble? You or your men—it is the same thing," she said passionately.
“Trenton fired the first shot, direct at me, without warnin'," he reminded.—-
“You had insulted him," was all she could find to say.
Dan's laugh was bitter. "So, a Trenton may lie, steal, or murder, but he must not be insulted. Oh, yo're one o' the breed, all right."
“I'm glad of it."
“An' so am I, otherwise He did not finish, but her woman's intuition told her what was is his mind—that he might have cared for her. She bit her lip, conscious of an intense desire to hurt this man who showed his scorn so plainly.
“You would have been too late," she said. "I am already—"
“Promised to Garstone," he ended. "He bragged about it just now, this brave fella who cowered with you behind a bush while his friends fought.”
He had seen that. The hot blood in her cheeks was partly due to the taunt, but also to the fact that the Easterner had taken her consent for granted, "He was asked to look after me and did so."
“An' his own skin at the same time. Well, let's drop an unpleasant subject. I want to know whether you'd ruther feed with us, or over there?"
“I am not used to the company of ruffians," she said loftily. "You oughta be, by this time," he retorted. "One thing more: you are not to go more'n twenty yards from this camp without my permission.""And if I do?”
She saw his jaw harden. "I'll put you across my knee an' spank you good an' plenty," he said.
Before she could reply to this amazing threat, he had joined the others at the fire. Tiny was chaffing with yorky. "How'd it feel to be loosin' off yore gun at a human bein'?" he wanted to know.
“I warn't—I was aimin' at Bundy," the boy grinned.
The chuckle this produced reached the girl's ears, and she shivered; she found herself unable to fathom these men, who slew or attempted to, and in the same hour, could be amused by trivialities. She looked at her charge; only the faintest rise and fall of his breast showed that he still lived. He, too, was of the same type, hard, relentless, violent, in keeping with the savage character of the country. She gazed round the gloomy cavern, rendered even more eerie by the dancing flames of the fires, and it all seemed like an evil dream. The low, clear voice of Dover came to her during a lull in the chatter.
“What you say don't surprise me none, Doc," he said. "All the more reason why we gotta pull him through.”
Beth had not heard Malachi's remark, but it was evident they were speaking of her uncle. It set her wondering. Why should Dover be anxious to save the life he or his had tried to take? Then she remembered what Garstone had told her.
“They shan't know," she murmured, through shut teeth. "I'll beat them, the brutes.”
But she could not dismiss Dover from her thoughts. The red-haired boy who had so gallantly twice come to her aid, had become a stern, harsh-tongued man, lacking even the common courtesy accorded to her sex. Anger welled up as she recalled his threat.
“And he would do it," she reflected. "He—hates me—just because I am a Trenton.”
A more sophisticated woman would have solved the secret, divined that Dover's attitude was due to anything but hatred, and that in the blundering fashion of an inexperienced youth, he was trying to build up an impassable barrier between them, lest worse befall. Her mind failed to envisage the completeness of a malignity which could hand down a war from one generation to another.
Later, when she was striving, unsuccessfully, to arrange the blankets upon which she was to sleep, she heard the rancher say, "Tiny, go an' help Miss Trenton," and to Malachi ,"Hell! a woman who can't make a bed.”
The big cowboy came over, gave one glance at the tumbled coverings, shook the sand out of them, and started from the beginning. In five minutes an attractive couch was awaiting her. He threw more logs on the fire.
“Lie with yore feet to the flames an' you won't git cold." He gazed curiously at the sick man. "Any better?”
“There is no change," she replied.
“Well, he shorely asked for it," Tiny said. "Shootin' at Dan thataway was a dirty trick."
“ `Like master, like man,' " she quoted to herself, thanked him, and lay down. It proved to be very comfortable, and her last waking thought was that she must get one of the cowboys to teach her the knack. After all, a woman really ought to know how to make a bed.
Sudden, Malachi, and the rancher spoke together when supper was over.
“Phil has some news for us, Jim," Dan began. "He claims that Zeb was shot by one of his own outfit."
“Likely enough," the puncher said.
“More than that—certain," Malachi pronounced. "The bullet entered the back, travelled upwards, and through the chest; it must have been fired by someone behind and near."
“Bundy was the first to reach him," Sudden reminded. "Also, he was too long lookin' for a wound in plain sight."
“After the instructions for findin' the Cache, huh?" the rancher asked.
“There were no papers on Trenton," Malachi remarked. "I made sure of that when dressing his hurt. Unprofessional, I fear, but ..."
“Then Bundy may hold the key."
“I guess not," Sudden said. "Trenton's no fool; that document would be a dangerous thing to carry about; he would learn and destroy it, as we did."
“Yo're probably right, Jim," Dan agreed, and to the doctor, "Miss Trenton thinks one of us shot her uncle; don't put her wise. No need to tell the boys either—yet.”
In the morning Malachi came to inspect his patient. Dover was with him. Having satisfied himself that the dressings werein place, the doctor said, "Well, he is no worse. Anything to report, nurse?"
“Once in the night he groaned, and I think, tried to move.”
“Shows there's a kick still in him. He's a tough old sinner is Zeb, and he'll fight."
“Did you sleep well?" Dover asked the girl, and when she nodded, went on, "I've told Hunch to get some birch." The flash in her eyes advised him that she had misunderstood. "Birch twigs make the best bed one could wish for," he explained dryly.
“I see," she said slowly. "They have, I believe, other uses" Dan hit back. "I told him to fetch in plenty." As he stalked off, his reflection was, "Damn the girl. Why can't I keep away from her?" The eternal call of youth to youth was the answer, had he but known it, but he blamed his weakness. "Like a fool moth, flutterin' round a flame an' on'y gettin' singed," was his angry conclusion.
Yorky, who had been on guard, arrived with a vent for his annoyance. "Say, Boss, that Garstone guy is a piece down th' alley. I telled him to stay there till yer came."
“Is he alone?"
“Couldn't see no others."
“Ask Jim an' Tiny to be on hand," Dover said, and went out.
The visitor had dismounted and was leaning against the tree to which he had tied his horse, smoking a cigarette, and with a small grip-sack at his feet. No greetings were exchanged.
“I've brought some things Miss Trenton may want," he began. "I wish to give them to her."
“I'll take 'em," Dan said, picking up the bag. "What's inside o' this?”
Garstone looked indignant. "I wouldn't presume—"
“Then I will," Dan said coolly, and opened the grip. On the top lay a loaded revolver. "That's somethin' she won't need—don't s'pose she ever pulled a trigger in her life. Wonder where she got it."
“Provided by her uncle, I imagine.”
Dan laughed unpleasantly. "Yeah. Zeb would know the company she had to ride with." He slipped the weapon into his own belt. "I'd give it to you, but I don't want to walk backwards to my camp.”
The obvious implication brought a venomous expression to the big man's face. "Scared, eh?" he sneered.
“Scared nothin'," the rancher said harshly. "I'm on'y rememberin' that Trenton was shot from behind.”
Garstone's start of surprise was quite well done. "Impossible!" he cried.
“Doc Malachi knows his job."
“And is on your side."
“True, he ain't a skunk neither."
“You keep adding to the score, Dover. Don't forget that there'll be a day of reckoning."
“My memory's fine," was the nonchalant answer. "Wait here; I'll send the girl to you.”
Indifferently he turned his broad back and strode away. Garstone watched him with a brooding frown, fully aware that Sudden and Tiny, rifles across their left arms, were in sight. That they knew the manner of Trenton's hurt was disturbing. Had they informed his niece? But when she presently came to meet him, he did not ask. His first enquiry concerned the patient. She told him the little there was, adding that she believed the doctor was doing everything possible. Garstone saw his opportunity.
“Yes, having done their best to take his life, they are now desperately eager to save it," he said bitterly. "And we know why."
“It would seem so," she admitted.
Her reply was a great relief to him; evidently she had not been told. At the same time, he sensed a change in her; she did not appear to be so pleased to see him as he would have liked.
“Are these fellows treating you decently?"
“Yes, but I am virtually a prisoner."
“It won't be for long," he consoled. "Once we get the location from your uncle, you will be released, and I will deal with these dogs as they deserve.”
She found herself wondering what form this promised retribution would take, and how it would conform to his views as to the use of violence in quarrels. Before she could come to any decision, he spoke again:
“We must be vigilant, my dear—everything depends on your being present when Zeb regains consciousness. I don't trust that tippling doctor; he is working for them."
“I think he is honest," she said. "There are worse things than love of liquor—greed of gold, for example; the first may kill one man, the second, many."
“I thought you were anxious to discover the treasure," he protested.
“For my uncle's sake, but if it is to cost lives ...”
Garstone was a gambler; he played a desperate card, to win or lose all. "If you've changed your mind, we'll give up the affair and sneak back to Rainbow with our tails tucked in," he said. "The Circle Dot will be delighted.”
The fire in the dark eyes told him he had won. "No," she replied, through clenched teeth. "I will do my part; they shall not profit by an attempted murder."
“That's the Trenton spirit—I knew you wouldn't back down," he cried exultantly. "And soon, when the old man is on his feet again, and the ranch in the clear, we'll—"
“I must get back," she interrupted hurriedly. "Even now, uncle may be needing me.”
He let her go without demur—it would be a calamity if the enemy learned the secret first—but his expression, when she had turned, was anything but that of an adoring lover.
A week passed, spent by the Circle Dot in a continuance of the search. The gorge had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, and every foot of the floor of the cavern probed, but beneath the layer of sand only rock was encountered. The task appeared to be hopeless, yet they persevered.
The condition of Trenton had improved, the wound was beginning to heal, and his pulse was stronger. Between long spells of sleep, he would lie like a log, gazing vacantly intc the vaulted roof. He knew no one, and uttered no sound Beth, watching constantly by the bedside, earned the admira tion of all, save Dan, for her devotion.
“Got the right stuff in her, that gal," Tiny remarked. "Ii she hadn't enough to do a'ready, I'd fall sick my own self."
“We'd have ter send fer th' school-marm then," york) grinned, and then went in pursuit of his hat, which had beer sent spinning across the cave.
Malachi was optimistic. "He's better in body, but doesn't seem to get his wits back," he reported to Dover.
“If he don't, it looks like a stalemate for all of us," the young man said despondently. "That damned banker will sell us out."
“Well, the Wagon-wheel can't buy anyway. What has become of Garstone and company?"
“They're around. He sneaks up the gorge every night, an' the girl goes to talk with him. They think they're puttin' one over on me."
“Aren't you a trifle hard on her, Dan?" Malachi suggested. "She's having a middling rocky time and standing up to it well.”
The rancher laughed ironically. "Do you know why she offered to nuss that of crook? Not because he's a relative, but to get a line either from him or us, on where to look for the dollars. So far, she's had nothin' but failure to report to her—boss."
“If that's so, Garstone has lied to, and is using her," the doctor asserted. "The girl is not mercenary.”
Late that evening, with only the stars to light her path, Beth slid noiselessly out of the cave and crept through the bushes to meet Garstone. He was there, and greeted her with outstretched arms, but she recoiled.
“I must hurry," she whispered. "I believe Dover suspects we are meeting. Thank Heaven, this may be the last time I need come here.”
In the excitement her words caused, he forgot the rebuff. "You have news—at last?"
“Yes, my uncle spoke, to-day, when we were alone," she replied. "Only two sentences, but they may supply the clue."
“Quick, tell me, girl; at any moment we might be disturbed." In his anxiety, the mask of culture he affected slid aside, and she saw the gleam of covetousness in his eyes, heard it in his husky voice. At that moment she knew that she was nothing to him but the bearer of tidings which might make him rich.
“His speech was faint, and very slow, like that of one trying to remember," she said. " The—cave—of—the—bats.' There are hundreds of them over our heads. Then, after a long pause,he went on, `The—finger—of—the—ages—points—thespot.' "
“And that was all?" His disappointment was patent. "He has not said anything more."
“The devil, it only sets us another problem. The cave is probably the right one, though there may be others with bats in them, but what does finger of the ages mean? Has the place any unusual feature?”
Beth strove to visualize her prison. She was weary of the daily and nightly vigil, sick of the whole sordid business. "It contains many stalactites, hanging from the roof like great fingers—"
“By the Lord, you've got it, girl," he burst in. "Fingers of the ages—the products of millions of years. It will be under one of them, but which? Surely the longest or largest; we'll find it."
“Don't be too sanguine," she warned. "Dover and his men have scanned every foot—the floor is rock.”
He laughed confidently. "Never fear; with the tip you've given us, it'll be easy. Now, cut along back, in case of accidents. By the way, what sort of guard do they keep?"
“They take turn, in pairs, through the night. What do you intend to do?"
“No plans yet, but be prepared for quick action," he said briskly. "We'll have you free, pronto, as these barbarians put it.”
With scant ceremony, he left her, and as she returned to the cave her thoughts were not of the pleasantest. Without being yet in love with the man, his bigness, good looks, and evident knowledge of the world had made that an undoubted possibility. He had put the money first, and herself second in the night's enterprise, and she knew that was how they ranked in his mind. The fact disturbed her. Creeping along under the cliff, she reached the entrance to the camp, and stole through. Her patient was asleep, and four recumbent forms round the fire showed that all save the sentries had turned in. With a sigh of relief, she followed their example, and, despite her anxiety, slept soundly.
CHAPTER XIX
Garstone drove his horse hard in his haste to deliver the good
news to his companions. They had been difficult to control
for the past week, though he had made it clear that, in consequence of Bundy's blunder, patience was their only policy. Lake had been the principal objector.
“Drive 'em out'n their camp an' we got as good a chance as they have," he argued. "While we're messin' about here, they may find the stuff an' light out."
“My information is that they're no nearer success than when they started," Garstone had retorted, and as the other three supported this view, he won his way. And now he could enjoy his triumph.
He must tell them, for he needed their assistance, but when it came to a division of the spoils, he saw breakers ahead. His brow became furrowed as he dwelt on the problem. Their idea was equal shares—as much had been said—and the very thought of it filled him with rage. He found himself regretting his cavalier treatment of the foreman, but the fellow was an ignorant boor, anyway, and could no doubt be talked over.
They were sitting round the fire, smoking and chatting, when he arrived. Their changed attitude towards him was clearly shown by Lake's greeting:
“Yo're back early, Garstone. Warn't yore Lulu too kind this evenin'?”
The Easterner drew himself up. "Use a civil tongue when you speak of that lady," he said. "And for myself, remember that, in the absence of Trenton, I'm your chief."
“Oh, yeah," the other sneered.
“If you don't like that, you can clear out—now," Garstone added.
“Who's makin' me?" The fellow's hand was stealing towards his gun.
With amazing speed for one of his bulk, Garstone leapt,pinned the threatening wrist, and wrenching away the weapon, flung it down. Then his great fingers closed on Lake's throat, lifted and shook him with such ferocity as to well-nigh dislocate his neck.
“You insolent hound," he gritted between his teeth. "I've a mind to tear you in two with my hands.”
He shook him again as though about to carry out his threat, and then hurled him to the ground, to lie there panting and beaten. Garstone turned to the others, who had watched the scene in silence.
“Curse the foul-mouthed fool," he growled. "He might have been useful to-night in the clean-up, but we must do without him."
“The clean-up?" Bundy cried.
“Certainly—that's what I said," Garstone replied coolly. "Miss Trenton, as a great sacrifice of her personal comfort, has found out what we wanted to know, and this—reptile—insults her.”
The "reptile" was climbing to his feet; he had heard, as the speaker intended, and was not going to be left out if he could avoid it. Vengeance would wait.
“Aw, Boss, I warn't meanin' nothin'," he whined. "Just a bit o' joshin', that's all. Us fellas is a mite loose speakin' of women, but I reckon we all respec's Miss Trenton.”
Garstone hesitated—purposely. His gust of passion had been partly premeditated, an attempt to regain the authority which had been slipping from him since the rancher's injury, and he had no desire to lessen the number of his force, few enough already for the task in view. Also, a dismissed man might turn traitor, warn, or even join, the enemy.
“That type of humour does not appeal to me," he said coldly. "I am willing to overlook it, this time, but you fellows must understand that what I say, goes, or I am finished with the business.”
Being completely in his hands, for ‚the present, there could be only one answer to this, and Bundy voiced it:
“I guess we're all agreed on that." The others nodded assent, Lake leading the way. "That's all right, Boss. I s'pose with what Miss Trenton has told you, we can go straight to the Cache?”
Garstone suppressed a smile at this clumsy attempt to pump. "Hardly so simple, Bundy," he replied. "My information will enable me to find the treasure only when we have driven Dover and his men away."
“Why can't we make tracks with the dollars an' leave them Circle Dot pilgrims to go on lookin' for what ain't there?" Rattray wanted to know.
“Because, my clever friend, the said pilgrims are camped right on top of the dollars," was the crushing reply.
Shortly after midnight, they set out, crossed the basin, and entered the gorge. Fortune favoured them, for the night was dark, and they were able to approach unseen. Fifty yards from the cavern, they dismounted and continued the advance on foot. Moving slowly and silently against the black background of the bushes, they presently paused at the sound of a voice—the doctor's.
“Did you hear anything, Hunch?" it enquired.
No reply came; they did not know that the old man had answered with his customary movement of the head, useless in the darkness. So they waited, and then went a few more paces. The shadowy forms of the sentries could now be dimly discerned.
Flint and Rattray crept up behind them, the soft sand muffling their tread, a rifle-butt rose and thudded on the head of Hunch, spreading him senseless on the ground. At the same instant, vicious iron fingers encircled Malachi's throat from behind, preventing the escape of any sound, he was flung down, tied, and effectively gagged by men who, accustomed to handling cattle and horses, found his spare frame an easy task. That they went to this trouble in his case was due to Garstone.
“Mustn't damage the doctor," he had said grimly. "We may need his services.”
Leaving their victims on the ground—having first bound the old man in case he recovered—the attackers moved towards the cavern. The glow of the fires, while emphasizing the darkness, enabled them to see the blanketed sleepers, four at one, and two at the other. The latter interested them not at all. With cat-like tread, and invisible until they got within the circle of light, they spread out and then closed in on the larger fire. A low whistle from their leader, and they charged.
Outnumbered and taken by surprise, the Circle Dot men had little chance. Sudden. awakened by a stumble followed by a stifled oath, only thought it was his turn to take guard, andgot to his feet. Then, across the flames, he saw Yorky, kicking and struggling in the grip of a formless shadow, and heard him yell:
“Look out, Jim; they's on to us.”
He turned just in time to escape a swinging blow from a gunstock. His hands dropped to his belt, but ere he could pull a weapon, his arms were pinioned in a band of steel and he was dragged violently backwards. He saw Yorky felled to the earth by a savage fist, and a fitful flare showed him that it was Garstone who dealt the blow; the sight of this big fellow beating up a boy disgusted and infuriated him.
With a swift wrench, he got one arm free, and twisting, drove a fist where he imagined the face of his assailant must be. His guess was a good one, he felt his knuckles connect with flesh and bone. The man fell away, but before Sudden could make any use of this advantage, another hurled himself upon him, clutching and grabbing for a hold. Every muscle braced to keep his feet, he struck fiercely right and left in an endeavour to break away and use his six-shooters, but the two men gave him not a second's respite.
Guns began to crack spitefully, but in the flickering light and violent action, aim could only be erratic. In one flash, Sudden saw Tiny drop, and his opponent run to the aid of the two with whom Dan was fighting furiously. Biting on an oath, he redoubled his efforts, shooting out short-arm jabs with such speed and venom that one of the clawing forms fell back, and panted:
“We got you to rights, Green. Give in, or I'll blow you apart." The words were followed by the click of a cocked revolver.
It was Flint's voice, and the puncher was about to tell him where he could go when a woman's shrill shriek of despair rang out, and he saw Beth Trenton—apparently panic-stricken —running in the direction of the tunnel. The memory of the abyss awaiting her chilled his blood.
The interruption had startled his adversaries into a moment's slackness. Stooping, he snatched a blazing pine-knot from the fire and thrust it into their faces. Scorched and half-blinded by this unexpected weapon, they recoiled, and dashing between them, he followed the girl, calling her by name. Only the hollow echo of his own cry came back to him.
He raced on, realizing that her life depended upon his over taking her in time. Fit as he was, his breathing power, already taxed by the fight against two, began to weaken under the strain he was now putting upon it. Moreover, his high-heeled cowboy boots were built for riding, not running, and the uneven nature of the ground provided another obstacle to speed.
But Sudden was not the man to boggle at difficulties, he had met and overcome too many; so he stumbled on as best he could, and in silence, for he needed all his breath. Presently, scuffling step warned him that she could not be far away. He dared not call out, lest he frightened her; the death-trap must be near. A moment later, holding his torch high, he saw her, only a few yards ahead, staggering blindly on, apparently oblivious to all save a desire to escape. With a last desperate effort he reached and dragged her back on the very brink of the chasm.
“It's all right, Miss Trenton," he said. "Yu were headin' for danger.”
She looked at him with dazed eyes, made a feeble effort to release herself, then saw the gaping void before them and shuddered violently.
“I lost my nerve," she murmured. "The shooting and fighting, I couldn't bear it. I wanted to get away—anywhere.”
“Shore, I understand," he replied.
Behind them in the tunnel, a shout, followed by two shots which whistled by them in unpleasant proximity, reminded Sudden that he was a hunted man. He had no intention of allowing himself to be taken, and if he left the girl, she might be hit in the random shooting. He took a quick glance at the bar to their retreat; it appeared to be about twelve feet wide, and the far side was slightly lower. The pursuers, who had no light, were still a little distahce off and advancing slowly. It was a hazardous chance, but still—a chance. He pitched his torch carefully, saw it fall safely on the other lip and remain alight. Then he turned to his companion.
“Fellin' better?" he asked.
“Yes, I am all right again," she replied. "What are you going to do?"
“We gotta get over that—ditch," he said.
“Impossible," she cried.
“Or stay an' be shot.”
As if to drive home his grim alternative, the tunnel reverberated with two more reports, and the bullets chipped fragments from the rock walls; they were shooting at the light. Sudden acted promptly. Seizing the girl's arm, he stepped back ten careful paces, then stooped and lifted her.
“Keep still, an' don't be scared," he said.
Filling his lungs, he started to run, gaining momentum with each stride and counting them. At the tenth, with a mighty effort, he launched himself and his burden into the air. Sickening seconds, more like long minutes, ensued, during which they seemed to be hanging over the unseen, terrible trough of blackness beneath. Sudden felt that the girl's weight was dragging him down, and the fear that he had failed to jump far enough flashed through his mind. They were falling fall- ing, and then his feet jarred on solid earth, he stumbled, and went headlong. Beth, forced from his grasp by the impact, was lying, faint and dizzy, just in front of him.
“Don't move," he whispered.
He need not have troubled; she had no desire or strength to do so. Prone in the darkness they waited; the torch had flickered out. Steps sounded, and a voice:
“C'mon Flint. We must be most on to him now."
“Don't like this damn place—too much like a perishin' grave," was the grumbling reply. "I'm for goin' back; can't see his light even."
“Must 'a' died on him, 'bout here too. Thought you wanted this hombre?"
“Shore do, I'd like to flay him alive."
“Sam here, an' I ain't losin' a—Christ!”
The imprecation was succeeded by a blood-curdling shriek of terror, and then a second, dulled, like a weird echo, appearing to come from the depths below.
“What's happened, Rat?" Flint cried anxiously. "Where are you?”
A match spluttered in flame. Evidently the surviving ruffian was investigating. Then came a horror-stricken "Gawda'mighty!" and the pad of hurried footsteps dying away in the direction of the cave.
Sudden pawed about, managed to find and light his precious pine-knot, and then assisted the girl to stand up. She was unhurt, but trembling as one in an ague.
“He has died—a terrible death," she whispered. "Why did I come to this awful country?”
Sudden's reply had a touch of sternness. "Don't blame the country because there are evil men in it, they are everywhere, in the big cities as well as the small settlements. What has happened is just that one o' them has gone to the hell waitin' for him, an' the world is the better for his goin'. Now, we ain't quit o' trouble yet—we gotta find a way out.”
His cold-blooded view of the tragedy steadied, if it did not convince her. They resumed their journey, the puncher slightly in advance, and keeping a wary eye for further pitfalls. Beth was silent for some time, and then asked:
“What do you suppose has happened in the cave?"
“Most probably yore friends are on top by this," he replied dryly. "Tiny and Yorky were out of it when I left, an' Dan was battlin' against three—big odds for any man."
“Why did you run away and leave him?" she demanded, and there was something of anger in her tone.
The darkness hid his grin. "I was scared," he said.
The answer, coming from one who had recently dared that desperate leap, was too absurd. "I don't understand."
“Scared you would suffer Rattray's fate," he told her.
The blood raced into her pale face, and she was thankful he could not see it. "Forgive me," she murmured. "You knew of that awful place then? I should have guessed there was a good reason for your leaving Mister Dover. You saved me, and I haven't even thanked you."
“I'd like yu to forget it, ma'am," he said, supremely uncomfortable. "Ain't that a blink o' daylight ahead?”
She failed to see anything, and small wonder, for it was still night outside, as the puncher well knew, but it served his purpose. Presently he noticed she was limping, and asked the reason.
It is nothing—just a bruise, when we fell," she explained. "Why didn't you leave me on the other side? Those men would not have harmed me."
“They were shootin', in the dark, an' might have hit yu," he pointed out. "Mebbe I took a risk, but there warn't much time to chew things over.”
After another silence. "You could have warned Rattray.”
“Did yu hear what they wanted to do to me?" he asked caustically, and when she could not answer, added, "They would have thanked me with bullets.”
They plodded on, resting on the ground at intervals. Progress was tedious, for the friendly pine-knot had burned out, and they had to grope their way through the blackness. At length, however, Sudden was conscious of a freshness in the heavy atmosphere, and away in the distance there really was a spot of faint light. Beth saw it also, and it revived her flagging energy.
“An opening," she breathed. "Heavens, I feel as though I had been buried alive.”
They reached it, and stepped out into the chill air of the dawn. They were on the side of a steep hill; the country below was shrouded in mist, and from out of it came the roar of a river.
CHAPTER XX
In the cavern, the battle was over. Tiny, smiting lustily, had held his own against Garstone and Lake until a wild shot from Bundy, intended for his own antagonist, struck the big cowboy above the knee and brought him down. Having first secured his six-gun, the released pair went to help the foreman, who was wishing he had taken on an easier task than the owner of the Circle Dot. Awakening to find himself already in Bundy's clutch, Dan had fought furiously. Hammered relentlessly, the attacker had to let go, and both pulled their guns. Dodging about in the uncertain light of a fire, however, does not make for good shooting, and beyond a graze or two, both were unhit.
“Best give in, Dover, we're three to one," Garstone urged, as he and Lake arrived.
“you can go plumb to hell," the young man panted.
They came upon him from all sides. He fired once, doing no damage, and then the weapon was struck from his hand. He had a glorious moment when he felt his fist smash into Gar-stone's lips, and that was the end; someone jerked his feet from under him, and though he continued a hopeless struggle, they soon had him bound and helpless. The Easterner, blood drooling from his gashed mouth, bent down, eyeing him with malevolent satisfaction.
“Well, Dover," he jeered. "You've made a pretty mess of things. But for you, we'd never have found this place. Thanks."
“Which takes in the pretty mess I've made o' yore face, I s'pose," Dan countered.
“No, I'll be showing my gratitude for that later," Garstone frowned. "After we've collected the dollars.”
Dan managed a laugh. "Oh, I can wait; I ain't one o' them impatient fellas."
“What's a few hours anyway?"
“If you think Zeb'll talk that soon, yo're wrong; you did too thorough a job.”
It was the other man's turn to laugh. "That's where you're wrong—he has talked," he said triumphantly. "I had the news I was waiting for last evening.”
This time he scored. Dan understood; it was the girl who had brought this disaster upon them. In fairness, however, he could not blame her; she was on the other side, and he should have remembered. He had missed a bet.
“What's come o' the two men who were outside? Did you kill them?"
“Certainly not. We had to tie them up, and I fancy your aged lunatic got a rap on the head. You have yourselves to thank for any rough treatment."
“We can take it," Dan retorted. "I noticed you picked on the kid for yore share. Where's Green?”
The taunt penetrated the big man's skin. "I neither know nor care. When Miss Trenton lost her wits and ran screaming for that opening at the back of the cave, he appeared to lose his courage, and followed her. Two of my men went in pursuit, and have not returned.”
Even as the words left his mouth, Flint staggered into the firelight. His labouring lungs told that he had been hurrying. "Well, did you get them?" Garstone asked.
“Get them?" the man repeated.
“Yes. Green and Miss Trenton."
“My Gawd! Was she there too? Funny, I had a notion Green was chasm' somebody; that explains it."
“Explains what, you idiot? Tell a straight tale," Garstone said impatiently.
“Me an' Rat was scrappin' with Green when, all unexpected, he grabs a chunk o' the fire, shoves it in our faces, an' runs hell for leather into that hole over there, with us on his tail. It's a kind o' underground passage, black as the inside of a nigger, but we could see his light dancin' ahead so we kept on. It was chancy work, runnin' in the dark, an' he was goin' fast. We couldn't gain any, so we spilled lead, but that didn't stop him. Then he seemed to slow down, an' his torch dropped an' went out.”
Flint paused to draw a deep breath, and resumed, "Rat was a bit in front, an' called me to hurry. Afore I can git to him, there's an awful screech, follered by another, kind o' smothered, like it came from deep down. I yelled to Rat but got no answer, so I crept forward on han's an' knees, feelin' the floor in front till—there ain't no floor. I struck a match, an' I was kneelin' on the edge of a big crack, wide—an' deep? well, I'd 'a' figured it dropped clear to hell if I hadn't heard runnin' water below.”
His ghastly effort to be facetious drew no smile from his audience.
“What do you suppose happened?" Garstone asked sharply. "I guess Green an' the gal got catched in the trap, an pore of Rat blundered in after 'em.”
Garstone's face showed no emotion. "We'll look at this place," he said.
“Turn me loose," Dan pleaded. "I give you my word I won't try anythin'—I just wanta help."
“No doubt—help yourself," was the sneering reply. "Flint, you and Lake keep an eye on the prisoners, see that they don't `try anything.' You come with me, Bundy.”
Armed with lights, the pair traversed the tunnel and reached the chasm. The foreman lowered his torch and pointed to some small footprints.
“She got as far as this, anyway," he remarked. "Obviously," Garstone agreed curtly.
He stepped to the brink of the rift and stood peering down into the abysmal depths, listening to the murmur of the subterranean river hundreds of feet below. Callous as he was, the vision of Beth, young, beautiful, instinct with life, hurtling to a dreadful death in the darkness chilled him. But the feeling soon passed; there were many other women in the world, and ere long, his crafty brain was considering how he might turn even this tragedy to his advantage.
“It would seem that Flint was right," he said. "A fine athlete could get over, if he knew the danger was there, but with the girl ..." He shook his head to complete the sentence. "Bad news for Zeb; she was his only relative."
“If he cashes, who gits the Wagon-wheel?" Bundy enquired. "I have an interest in it," Garstone told him. "I shall arrange with the bank to take over the ranch."
“Trenton ain't gone yet," was the sour reminder.
“True, but I do not think he will recover."
“Well, if he don't, an' you git the Wagon-wheel for the mortgage on it, you'll owe me somethin'," the foreman said brazenlyt
“Yes, I shall owe you a lot, Bundy, and I always pay my debts," Garstone replied. "Singular spot this; I should say that anyone so unfortunate as to fall in there, would never be seen again, alive or dead. Well, we can do nothing; let's get back.”
The foreman was more than willing; his companion's tone made him uncomfortable. One who accepted the tragic loss of his lady-love so cold-bloodedly would have little hesitation in sending a man he feared to keep her company. Garstone, physically, was more than his match if it came to a tussle. So, until they were well away from that gaping black gulf, Bundy carried his torch in the left hand, keeping his right close to his gun.
The cave was as they had left it, save that the early light of day was stealing in. Flint and Lake were busy at the fire, preparing breakfast. The captives sat or lay in a group apart. Garstone went to inspect them, something in the manner of a conqueror. The sentries had been brought in.
“Sorry to find you in such bad company, Malachi," he said.
“I couldn't prevent you and your friends, coming," the doctor retorted. "Did you discover anything about Miss Trenton?"
“I am afraid there is no hope," Garstone said. "I imagine that, fleeing down the tunnel in a distraught state of mind, the approach of Green—also running away, these gunmen are all cowards at heart—would seem like pursuit and hasten herdestruction. He also appears to have perished, for which I am sorry; a rope would have been a more fitting end."
“You quite shore they weren't killed by yore toughs, an' that Flint's yarn isn't just a cover-up?" Dan asked, adding with a reckless disregard of the fact that the man was one of his gaolers, "Lyin' is the thing Flint does best."' The big man turned away without answering, and went to where Trenton was lying. Dan got a poisonous glare from the receiver of his compliment, but that did not worry him. The bottom had dropped out of his world, and though he tried to persuade himself this was due to the loss of his friend and ranch, he knew it was not so; a dark-eyed slip of a girl, with an oval, slightly tanned face, and firm lips which could smile so sweetly, meant more than all. He had striven to erect a barrier between them, and, so far as he was concerned, had failed. And now, Death had done a better job. He could see that slender young body, battered and broken, the plaything of some rough torrent in the dark depths of the earth. He closed his eyes in an effort to shut out the picture, and groaned. "Hurt, Dan?" Malachi whispered.
“Yeah, but it's somethin' you can't cure, Phil.”
The doctor understood. "Don't give up hope yet," he consoled. "I've a lot of faith in Green."
“That's th' talk, Doc," Yorky chipped in. He was next the rancher. "Jim'll show up—he'd git outa hell if th' lid was on. Me? I'm awright; th' big stiff knocked me cold, that's all. One day he'll come up agin a feller his own size an' run like a scalded cat.”
Garstone, who had returned in time to hear this unsolicited testimonial, kicked the author of it savagely in the ribs. "Keep your dirty tongue still, you city vermin," he flared, and to Malachi, "I am releasing you to nurse Trenton. Come over now, I don't like the look of him." He cut the doctor's bonds, and added, "If you take any other advantage of your freedom, you'll be shot.”
Malachi's eyes were blazing. "Garstone, if ever I have the pleasure of performing an operation upon you, I shall forget my profession and do the world a service," he said. "Meaning you'd murder me, eh?"
“Yes, but I should call it an `execution.' “
Garstone's laugh was ugly. "No wonder Zeb is not getting better," he fleered.
The wounded man was motionless, eyes closedt The doctor turned down the blankets, examined the wrappings, and felt the pulse.
“He's no worse," was his decision.
“But he hasn't got his sense back," Garstone expostulated. "He opened his eyes just now and didn't know me."
“Which might indicate that he had," Malachi said caustically. "I am doing all I can to remedy your foolish blunder—if it was one."
“What the devil do you mean by that?" Garstone demanded. "By God, I'll—
“you know what I mean, and your threats don't frighten or interest me. The Almighty gave you a fine big body, and by a mischance put into it the soul of a louse.”
Turning on his heel, he walked back to his companions, leaving the Easterner white with fury, and yet a little afraid of this quiet-spoken, acid-tongued man who defied him so openly. The fellow knew too much, and must be dealt with. The approach of Bundy gave him an idea.
“Just been talking to Malachi," he remarked carelessly. "He seems to think his patient will pull through."
“Good," the foreman replied, trying to speak as though he meant it. "I hope he's right."
“You have every reason to, for if Trenton doesn't recover it becomes murder, and as the doctor knows who fired the shot, his evidence would be—awkward.”
Both fear and suspicion were in the look Bundy darted at the speaker."How in hell—?" he began.
“I didn't tell him, my friend," Garstone interposed. "These scientific gentry have their methods, and the nature of a wound may tell them much. Did you have anything to say to me?"
“The boys wanta know when we start searchin' out the gold.”
Garstone did not reply at once; recent developments had altered the situation. Now that he found himself practically sole possessor of the secret, he was not eager to unearth the booty. His cunning brain had been busy with the idea of securing the whole of it for himself, but he could see no wayno safe way. He had told his followers that he could find it, and if he did not .... So he replied jovially:
“No time like the present, there's plenty of light now. Get the men and the tools.”
Walking to the centre of the cave, he gazed up at the dark, domed roof from which hung scores of stalactites, like gigantic icicles their points sheathed in steel by the incoming daylight. They were of varying size, and one—almost in the middle—exceeded the others in girth and length.
“The finger of the ages, indeed," he mused. "Strange; nature toils for millions of years to make this marvel, and a gambler uses it to mark his hoard—I hope." And as the men came up, "We'll try here.”
Flint, stepping forward with his pick, glanced up. "Hope the shock won't shake that damn spike down on me," he grinned.
“You needn't worry, it would take an earthquake, and a big one at that, to shift it," Garstone assured him.
The man swung the tool, brought it down, and dropped it; the resounding clang of metal upon rock was followed by an oath from the striker, whose arms were jarred to numbness. Lake took up the pick and tapped all over the spot indicated; in no place did it penetrate more than an inch or so, and he threw it aside in disgust.
“That ain't no use—giant powder's what we need," he said.
“Shore you got the right location?" Bundy asked.
“Certain," Garstone replied, with a confidence he was far from feeling, and not unmindful of the doubtful looks directed at him. "Clear the muck away and let's have a view of this rock.”
This was done, exposing an uneven stone floor which promised little. Garstone was puzzled. Was there a further clue which Trenton had not mentioned? He did not know, but the demeanour of his companions was beginning to disturb him. Flint flung down the spade he had been using and commenced to roll a smoke.
“Wonder how long it took the fella to dig a hole here?" he speculated.
“Mebbe he found one ready," Lake suggested. "Then he'd just have to plant the dinero an' ask the rock to kindly grow over it.”
Bundy laughed sneeringly, but the sarcasm brought a 'glint into Garstone's eyes. "Even the bray of an ass may be useful," he snapped, and, snatching off his hat began slapping the cleared space vigorously, sending the dust flying in clouds. The others watched his antics in amazement, fully convinced that ,he had suddenly gone mad. On his knees, he studied the ground closely, and then rose.
“I was right," he said exultingly, and pointed to a crack which the displaced dust had revealed. "There's a loose piece, and I'm betting it's the lid of the treasure-chest.”
This magically renewed their activity. Bundy seized the pick, drove the point into the crack, and threw his weight on it. A small, roughly rectangular section of the floor moved. Flint went to the foreman's assistance, and they managed to lever up one side. Garstone bent, got his fingers under the raised portion, and with a mighty heave overturned what proved to be a flattish slab of stone. Beneath was a shallow hole, and in it a stout rawhide satchel. At the sight Flint let out a whoop and made a grab, but the big man pushed him back.
“Hands off," he said. "The first thing is to find out what the contents are, and it is for me to do that.”
He lifted the satchel, and undid the two straps by which it was secured.
“It's heavy, but not so large as I expected," he said, but went no further with the opening; his gaze was on the place from which he had taken it. "You were right, Lake, that's a natural hollow. All he had to do was find a lid to more or less fit; the dust would do the rest. A perfect hiding-place—it mi ght have remained undiscovered for a thousand years.”
“Seein' it ain't, s'posin' we git on with the business," Bundy suggested impatiently.
Garstone had to comply. Squatting round, their avid gaze following his every movement, the others waited. He might have been a conjurer, about to perform an intricate trick, and perhaps the fear that he would was at the back of their minds; honour among thieves is only proverbially prevalent. Their attention entirely occupied, they failed to see Malachi creep round the wall of the cavern, glance at his principal charge, and slip out.
Garstone's hand came from the bag holding a short roll of paper which, unwrapped, revealed, a row of golden coins. Hecounted them, and the musical chink as they dropped from one hand to the other, set the eyes of his audience aflame. "Fifty yellow boys—double eagles—a good start," he announced. He rolled them up again, and reached out a second, so obviously a replica of the first in size and weight that he did not trouble to open it. One by one, similar packages appeared until a score were stacked beside him on the ground. The men were breathing hard, so absorbed by the fascination of a visible fortune as to render them an easy prey had the prisoners been free. The lure of the gold held them; they could not wrench their eyes from it.
“Twenty thousand bucks," Bundy said thickly. "That bag ain't empty yet."
“I'm aware of the fact," Garstone replied, "But the dollars should more than satisfy our claim, and the rest belongs to Trenton."
“To hell with Trenton," the foreman growled. "We found, an' we keep it."
“That goes," Lake added. "Out with it—Boss.”
The last word was a palpable jeer, and Garstone knew it. He looked at Flint, but saw no support in that quarter. There was nothing for it but to continue. A thick wad of paper currency came next, bills of large denomination mostly, all of which had to be duly counted; they amounted to forty thousand dollars. Then, two at a time, Garstone handed out small buckskin bags, heavy, and tightly tied. He opened one, and gloated over the yellow dust within. Gold! His lips curled into a sneer as he reflected that men had sweated under a blistering sun to fill those bags, only to throw them away on the turn of a card. The men passed them round, hefting them, and grinning widely; they were in high good humour.
“Can't tell what they're worth without scales, but I'd guess all o' ten thousand," Bundy remarked. "We can take three apiece.”
Garstone began to replace the treasure in the satchel. "It will be handier to carry in this," he said. "We can divide later, after cleaning up here.”
Rather to his surprise, they made no protest, and the fact caused him some inquietude. Had they a secret understanding to obtain his share? Well, that was a game at which more than one could play. He looked round. "Any suggestions for dealing with our friends yonder?"
“Send 'em to look for Rattray," Bundy proposed.
Garstone, who saw at once that such an infamous act would leave him at the mercy of his companions, promptly objected. "I am opposed to violent measures unless they are necessary, and safe," he said. "This would be dangerous—very dangerous. No, when wee go, they will remain—alive. Of course, they will free themselves, but with no weapons or horses, and three sick people to tend, it will be -a long time before they return to Rainbow, and then it will be too late—our story will have been told, and we shall be in possession."
“You don't suggest we should burden ourselves with a dying man?"
“Shore not, but we gotta do some explainin'."
“Quite simple," was the reply. "We came in search of the Cache, and found it. The Circle Dot—of whose presence in the mountains we were, of course, ignorant—attacked and tried to rob us. They killed Trenton, his niece, and Rattray. We beat them off."
“Straight as a string," Flint grinned.
“How come they wiped out the gal?" Bundy wanted to know.
“She tried to escape in the fight, Green pursued her, and they ran into trouble."
“Which fits the facts," Lake put in. "Yo're a pretty neat liar, Garstone; I gotta hand it to you.”
The Easterner forgot to thank him for the compliment, but did not fail to note that the fellow had regained his air of insolent familiarity; it was another danger-signal.
“What's come o' that damn doctor?" Bundy asked. Garstone strode over to the prisoners. "Where's Malachi?”
“Haven't a notion, an' if I had, I shouldn't tell you," Dan replied.
“Sore, eh?" the big man gibed. "So would I be, after sitting on the top of seventy thousand dollars for over a week, and losing it." His contemptuous gaze went to the trussed-up form of Yorky. "Makes you hunger for your open road again, doesn't it, hobo?”
The boy did not reply—he had no desire to be booted—but as the bully turned away, he muttered, "Aw, go an' swalleryoreself an' be sick, ye . . ." He trailed off into a brief biography of Garstone, whose origin, appearance, habits, and future were luridly described.
“If cussin' would help, you'd be a whole team an' a spare hoss," was Dover's dry comment, when the tirade ended.
“It eases a fella some," Yorky excused. "Do you figure th' Doc has skipped, Boss?"
“He's no quitter," Dan told him.
“What they goin' to do with us?"
“Can't say. Scared, son?"
“I dunno," Yorky admitted. "Couple o' months back I wouldn't 'a' cared, but now ..." He was silent for a moment. "A man must take his medicine, Jim allus said.”
The disappearance of the doctor caused some consternation, to Bundy in particular. Flint and Lake were despatched to find him, and Garstone seized the opportunity for a quiet word with the foreman.
“Splitting the dollars four ways doesn't help our plans," he commenced meaningly. "We won't have enough between us to get the Circle Dot, much less the Wagon-wheel.”
Bundy realized that he was needed. "They ain't done much," he said. "Oughta be well satisfied with five thousand apiece."
“That or—nothing," Garstone said deliberately. "You agree?"
“Shore I do," was the reply. "Nothin'—for choice.”
The men under discussion came in at that moment. "Can't find a trace of him," Flint reported. "We combed the gorge thorough. All their horses is gone too—they had 'em picketed further along; looks like someone stampeded 'em."
“That cursed sawbones," Bundy exploded. "Wish I'd put his light out earlier."
“Well, they won't see the horses again, and it's a long walk to Rainbow," the Easterner said. "But it makes one difference: with that fellow at large, we can't leave Trenton here.”
CHAPTER XXI
Beth sat down; daylight was a very welcome experience after the long lack of it, and she was terribly tired. Soon, however, sex asserted itself, and the task of neatening her appearance occupied her. Sudden too, inured as he was to physical exertion, found a rest acceptable; sitting cross-legged, he rolled a cigarette, wondering the while where the twistings of the tunnel had brought them. On their right towered the great head of Old Cloudy, and far away to the left the sky glowed faintly red, telling of the coming sunrise. Below, a sea of purple mist eddied and swirled.
The girl was studying this grave-faced, saturnine man who, having saved her life, had not hesitated to risk it again in the presence of another threat. The memory of that fearful leap sickened yet thrilled. What were they to do now? She put the question.
“Wait till it clears lower down," he said. "I reckon we've both had enough o' walkin' blindfold."
“I am anxious to get back to my uncle," she pointed out. "I shall never forgive myself for running away."
“Natural enough—yu been raised different," he excused. "The cave can't be far off; we'll find it."
“You think they will remain there?"
“I reckon," he told her, a wisp of a smile on his lips. "They won't find that Cache, 'less Trenton has talked, which ain't likely."
“He did talk—to me, though I don't think he knew I was there," she confessed. "I told Mister Garstone."
“The devil!" His bleak expression alarmed her.
“My uncle needed that money urgently," she explained.
“So did Dover, an' he had a right to it, which Trenton did not," Sudden said sternly. "Red Rufe was Old Man Dover's brother.”
The statement shook her, but she was loyal to her kin. "Then I am sure Uncle Zeb was ignorant of it.”
“For years it has been common knowledge in the town.”
“My uncle would not do anything dishonourable," she replied stubbornly.—
“If that goes for his men, mebbe it's no good tellin' yu some-thin' else," he returned. "Trenton was shot from behind." Her eyes flamed. "I don't believe it; you're just trying to prejudice me, and whatever I may owe you—
“Which is nothin' a-tall," he broke in. "Ask Doc Malachi." And as if to end the matter, "There's somethin' worth lookin' at.”
Away on the eastern horizon, the grey had given way to a rosy glow, deepening towards its source, the flame-red disc of the sun, moving majestically up from behind the rim of the world. A growing golden light spread its radiance over the earth, softening the harsh outlines of crag and cliff.
“It's wonderful," the girl breathed.
“Shore is," the puncher replied. "Pity we humans can't grade up to the beauty o' the universe we live in."
“Some of it is ugly," she protested.
“On'y where man has interfered," he said cynically. "All nature has beauty of some kind."
“When I came to Rainbow we crossed a hideous desert, nothing but sand, cactus, and desolation."
“See that same desert by moonlight an' it'll beat the finest picture yu ever saw—if yu ain't thirsty," he added whimsically. "That scurry 'pears to be on the move; we'll start.”
Side by side, they set off down the slope. The coarse grass, dotted with patches of greasewood, stunted mesquite, and cactus, made progress difficult and speed impossible. Before they had travelled far, a harsh warning rattle sounded, and from a bush just in front of Beth, a repulsive flat head shot up and swayed back to strike. Almost before she could cry out, a flash and roar came from her companion's hip and the reptile subsided, its head smashed by a bullet. Sudden drew out the empty shell, reloaded, and holstered the weapon. The girl stared at him in amazement.
“You were—so quick," she murmured, speaking her thought. He grinned at her, and, in that instant, seemed almost boyish. "No time to waste when Mister Rattler goes on the prod—he's a fast worker."
“I have—to thank you—again," she said.
“Shucks," he replied impatiently. "I sorta got yu into the mess, an' it's up to me to look after you.”
This brought Dover into her mind. She would never understand these Western men; they resented any expression of gratitude, and could even be rude about it.
He had picked up the still quivering body. "A biggish one. Would you like his rattles?"
“Heavens, no, I hate snakes," she shuddered. "They are of no use, surely."
“The buttons? In Virginia the niggers make bracelets of 'em; they're claimed to keep off evil."
“I should have brought one when I came to Arizona," she said bitterly.
When they continued the journey, he went in front, "to deal with varmints," but they encountered no more, and presently reached a level ledge of short grass. By this time the first slanting rays of the sun were splitting the mist into filmy, opalescent veils which rose and melted away, revealing that they were on one side of a deep canyon, the walls of which dropped sheer to a tumbling, riotous river hundreds of feet below. It seemed likely to Sudden that the stream they had jumped in the tunnel might empty itself into this one, so the broken body of Rattray could be returning to Rainbow.
“Where now?" the girl asked.
“We'll follow the canyon, east, an' get around this hump," he decided. "Then a twist to the north should fetch us somewhere near the cavern.”
They tramped on, pausing only to drink at a rivulet which crossed their path. But the hump was succeeded by more high ground, steep and brush-clad, an insuperable barrier which pinned them to the canyon-side. They spoke little, but once or twice, to take her mind from the fatigue he knew she must be enduring, the puncher remarked on the marvel of the painted walls of the gorge, purple, green, brown, and red, brilliant beneath the burning rays of the sun, and the grotesque pinnacled and turreted masses of grey rock which served as a background.
“Yes, it's all very lovely," she sighed, and tried to smile. "But it only proves that even beauty can breed monotony. I'd give it all for something to eat."
“We'll have breakfast right soon," Sudden told her. "Wait here; I'll be within call.”
He plunged into the undergrowth. After a while she heard the crack of his revolver, and he reappeared carrying a young rabbit. She watched interestedly as he lit a fire, deftly skinned the animal, and toasted it on pointed twigs. Again she was impressed with his competency. The meat proved delicious, and the ice-cold water of a nearby rill, completed the meal.
“You have done that before," she complimented, as they set out again.
“Shore," he agreed. "There's been times when I've had to live on the country for days. We could have tried that rattler." She shivered. "But no one eats snakes."
“Yu ain't never known real hunger," he smiled. "I've been told rattlers is pretty good grub. In Texas the wild hawgs hunt 'em, an' I'll bet they don't do that for fun. White men eat frawgs an' snails, an' pay high for the privilege.”
The long looked-for break in the barrier appeared at last in the form of a gully. They turned into it eagerly, but, though taking them in the right direction, it was not—as Sudden soon divined—the one leading to the cave. For one thing, it was narrower, and much cumbered with boulders and rank growth of thorn and cactus, difficult, and at times, painful, to penetrate. Also, they had lost sight of Old Cloudy, a fact Sudden did not like.
“Take a rest," he said, pointing to a fiat stone. "I'll scout around an' see if I can pick up a landmark.”
He thrust through the scrub, and by the movement of the foliage she saw that he was climbing the wall of the gully; he seemed to be made of steel. She herself, though the food had given her new strength, was exhausted, and glad enough to sit down. She fell to musing on the few moments of panic which had brought such misfortune upon her, and others. One man had died horribly, and perhaps her uncle, lacking her care, had . She would not think of that. Her thoughts came back to her companion in this astounding adventure. She hoped he would not be long, for while she still regarded him as one of the enemy, he created a curious sense of confidence, and the prospect of facing the wilderness alone was terrifying. Her reverie was shattered by the clink of iron against stone, and an amazed expletive.
“My God! it's Beth!”
The familiar voice brought her to her feet. Garstone was staring as though unable to believe his own eyes. Springing from his saddle, he ran to her.
“My dear girl, how in the world do you come to be here?" he cried. "Bundy, Miss Trenton has returned to life.”
The foreman, followed by Lake, rode up. "Mighty glad to see you, Miss Beth," he said, but there was no warmth in tone or look. "We figured we'd lost you for good an' all."
“We certainly did," Garstone agreed. "How did you escape?”
She gave a brief account, and concluded, "We are trying to find the cave."
“Where is this fellow?"
“He went to look for a way."
“Get under cover, you two; we'll nail him when he comes back," Garstone ordered.
Too late, the girl remembered that Green belonged to the Circle Dot. "He saved me from death, and must not be touched," she protested.
“He forced you to go with him in order to drive a bargain with us." Garstone invented. "Also, he is your uncle's foe, and therefore should be yours."
“Does my life mean so little to you?" she demanded.
“No, but I am not going to let emotion blind you to the truth. That man is a killer; in all probability it was he who wounded Zeb."
“The truth," she cried. "Is it that Uncle was shot by one of his own men, and that Red Rufe was the brother of old Mister Dover?"
“Both are lies," Garstone said evenly. "I see that Green has made good use of his opportunity. You have sealed his fate.”
She saw it was hopeless. "Where is Uncle Zeb?"
“Not far away; Flint is taking care of him.”
Bundy and Lake had already concealed themselves, and their leader was on the point of doing the same when Sudden stepped from the bushes. A glance, and his guns were out, one of them covering the Easterner.
“Tell yore men to come out, with their paws high," he ordered. "You have one second to choose between that an' hell, Garstonet”
The eyes of the speaker were chips of blue ice, and the threatened man did not hesitate. He called out, and the hidden pair emerged, biceps cuddling their ears.
“Where's Flint?" Sudden asked the girl.
“I've not seen him," she replied. "I'm told he is attending my uncle."
“An' yu believe it?”
It was Garstone who answered. "Of course she does. Isn't it natural that Trenton should be with his own people?"
“Who left him with his enemies when it suited their purpose," was the sarcastic rejoinder. "Well, Miss Trenton, yu remainin' with yore own people?"
“Certainly. I wish to be with my uncle.”
Sudden nodded, and backed into the middle of the gully, his guns menacing the three men. "I s'pose yu've stolen the dollars, Garstone, but don't get too brash, mebbe there's another trick to be tabled yet.”
The big fellow's wooden face had changed. "I think, perhaps, you are right," he replied. "We want him alive, Flint.”
At the same instant, the girl—eyes wide with dismay—uttered a warning, "Behind you.”
Sudden spun round in a flash, and fired. Flint, who had crept upon him unperceived, had his gun out and was in the act of pressing the trigger; the bullet ploughed up the ground a few yards in front of him, and with a howl he dropped the revolver and grabbed a smashed elbow.
The puncher swung his weapon back on Garstone, but that astute person had moved to Miss Trenton's side, and he dared not risk a shot. So, with a scornful laugh, he turned and charged at the wounded man, who, having no stomach for the encounter, jumped away. It was an unlucky move; a gun roared and Flint went down, a bullet in his brain. Sudden sprinted along the gully; he was not pursued.
“Why the devil did you shoot Flint?" Garstone asked angrily, as they gathered round the fallen man.
“He run into it—I was tryin' for Green," Bundy explained. "Damn raw work—he was a coupla yards off," Lake jeered. "I thought you could shoot."
“I can, an' I'm ready to prove it." Threateningly.
The bearded man was not to be bullied. "Right now, if you want," he growled.
Garstone interposed. "Cease squabbling; we're few enough as it is."
“Yeah, three to divide instead o' four," Bundy leered.
“Four in place of five--Miss Trenton takes her uncle's share'," the big man corrected, and the look which passed did not escape him. "Speaking of Zeb, we can't now leave him in the old camp; you two must fetch him."
“Like hell we will," Bundy retorted. "An' you wait here, I s'pose?"
“No, that would ruin our plans—we should arrive in Rainbow too late," was the cool reply. "Also, with that cursed cowpuncher at liberty, we may lose all we've gained. Of course, if Trenton should be dead, you can catch us up.”
The inhuman suggestion was not lost upon the pair of rogues. They did not fancy leaving this fellow with the booty, but holding a poor opinion of his courage, they felt confident that they could force him to keep faith. They agreed, and Garstone rejoined the girl, who was impatiently awaiting him. As he expected, her first question was respecting her uncle.
“The journey was tiring him—a rest was imperative," he explained. "Flint stayed too, and the poor fellow was doubtless here to report when that scoundrel Green slew him."
“Green fired once only, and crippled Flint's arm," she said. "The fatal shot came from Bundy."
“Is that so?" he cried, in affected surprise. "Bundy, of course, would be aiming at Green; Flint was unlucky. I didn't see it; I was so concerned about you—"
“I noticed it," she said coldly. "You were saying?
“I am sending the two men back to bring your uncle.”
“Don't we accompany them?"
“No, we have to go on." He saw mutiny in her eyes and chin. "It is of vital importance to Trenton, and his wish, that we should get to Rainbow with all speed. You won't mind spending a day or so in the forest with me, Beth, will you?"
“I very much mind further separation from Uncle Zeb," she fenced.
“It cannot be helped," he replied, a touch of hardness in his tone. "I have a duty to him, and intend to fulfil it.”
Which highly virtuous sentiment produced less effect than he had hoped. However, she said no more. Truth to tell, physical weariness, anxiety about the old man who had been good to her, incipient doubts, and a sense of disappointment in one she had almost decided to link her life with, had, for the time, broken the girl's spirit. Certainly, Garstone's welcome had been less warm than she expected, in fact, at that first moment of meeting, he might have been sorry to see her. She told herself that this was absurd, that the shock of encountering a person one had mourned as dead would be numbing, but the feeling remained.
Having disposed of the dead man, Bundy and Lake prepared for their journey. The girl watched them impatiently as they stowed food in the saddle-bags. Fortunately for her peace of mind, she could not hear their conversation.
“Think we can trust him?" Lake asked.
“No, but I guess we can handle him if he double-crosses us," the foreman replied. "An' mebbe we'll catch 'em.”
“Totin' a sick man?" Incredulously.
“I didn't say that.”
Lake digested this. "Even then they'll have a good start.”
“Oh, yeah," Bundy grimaced. "Garstone an' the gal are both from the East. How long afore they lose theirselves?”
“An' our money."
“We can trail 'em, an' there's going to be on'y two sharin'you an' me, Babe?" Bundy rasped. "Then the Circle Dot an' the Wagon-wheel can go to hell. I'm for California. With seventy thousand bucks—between us—we don't wanta fool with cattle.”
Lake regarded him through narrowed lids; he had noted the interjected words, and they gave material for thought. But all he said was, "Sounds good to me.”
When they had gone, Bundy having pointed out, tongue in cheek, the route Garstone should take, the latter returned to his companion. He was in a much more cheerful mood.
“Well, that's that," he said, "I'll get a fire started, and I hope you can cook—we'll have to fend for ourselves. This isn't the way I hoped we'd begin housekeeping together, but we'll get along.”
She did not respond to his elephantine playfulness, and his clumsy attempts to help prepare a meal only reminded her, oddly enough, not of the efficient cavalier she had parted from, but of his friend, Dan Dover. Would he be pleased she had not perished, even though she was a Trenton? She stifled the thought resolutely, and busied herself brewing coffee.
CHAPTER XXII
The bound men in the cave watched the preparations for departure and wondered what was to happen to them. They saw the wounded rancher carried out, and Dan's protest that he was not fit to be moved was ignored. When their weapons and stock of provisions were also taken it began to look grave. A remembrance of Sudden's description of the gulf in the tunnel was not comforting. When all was in readiness, Gar-stone strolled over, and stood, contemplating Dover with malignant contentment.
“You have lost everything, or nearly," he said. "Treasure, ranch, and paid gunman; only your life remains. Well, I give you that; violence is not to my liking.”
The suave, insolent voice made the young man indifferent to consequences. "Yo're tellin' me," he flung back. "Even when you rob a train, you pick the safe job—the men on the engine ain't never armed.”
It was a guess, but a good one, and the gibe went home. But Garstone was a winner, and could afford to laugh; he did not.
“Keep clear of Rainbow, if you're wise," he warned. "And if you meet Malachi, tell him my promise will be kept.”
“He won't believe me," Dan replied.
Garstone shrugged away the insult and looked at Yorky. "And you, get back to your sewer, you rat."
“Rats has teeth an' can bite," the boy spat out, and waited for the expected kick.
It did not come and, despite his hardihood, Yorky breathed more easily when the bully had vanished through the exit from the cave. He was silent for a time, wresting with someproblem, and then asked, "Does the mails from theseyer hick towns ever git lost?"
“I reckon, now an' then," Dan replied. "Why?"
“Ain't heard from me uncle in Noo York—"
“Don't you pull that stuff on me, son," the rancher cut in. "Hello, who's that?”
A slight figure had slid cautiously into the cave; it was Malachi. "So the buzzards have flown," he greeted. "And how are my patients?"
“Yo're one shy—they took Trenton," Dan told him. "Damnation! it will probably finish him," Malachi exploded, and busied himself with their bonds.
“They've also collared our food, weapons, an' I s'pose, hosses."
“No, I set them adrift—thought it was a bright idea at the time, but afterwards I wasn't so stuck on it," the doctor said ruefully. "I forgot they'd be lost for us, too."
“you did yore best, Phil, an' there's a chance some will drift back. Grub is goin' to be the worry—we'll have to trap. By the way, Garstone said for me to tell you he would keep his promise. What was it?"
“Oh, nothing of consequence," Malachi smiled. "I was to be shot if I made any use of my liberty: Just a bluff.”
He went away to attend to the hurt men, and the rancher's eyes followed him with a new expression. "A bluff. Huh? But you had the nerve to call it, Phil," he said softly.
After a while the doctor came back. "They're both going on well, but I can't understand Hunch," he reported. "That crack on his skull isn't serious, but it seems to have destroyed his memory."
“What, again?"
“Odd, isn't it? But he failed to recognize me, and appears to have no recollection of the Circle Dot, or how he came to be here."
“Mebbe the big axe would start his rememberin' machinery," Dan suggested.
“I tried that, but he just stared as though he'd never seen it before. Physically, he's perfectly sound."
“Well, Tiny'll keep us tied here for a spell," the rancher said. "Hi, Yorky, rustle some fodder for the fire; I'm goin' to see if I can knock over a cottontail or two."
“We'll be awright when Jim comes along—he's got his guns."
“He'd shorely be a cure for sore eyes," Dan replied moodily. He could not share the boy's confidence.
“Stranger things have happened," Malachi said. "The blackest moment is the turning-point, you know.”
Meanwhile, the man of whom they were speaking was not many miles distant. The gully in which the Wagon-wheel party had surprised him was, he had discovered, considerably east of the one he was making for, but with Old Cloudy in sight again, he had a mark to steer by. He did not fear pursuit; they had the treasure. He wondered where was Trenton. Behind, perhaps, in the charge of Flint. But how were they transporting him? His mind went to his late fellow-traveller. A nice girl, he admitted, but somewhat lacking in savvy.
“Young women is apt to take a fella at face-value," he mused, and then came the cynical addition, "Wouldn't take 'em a-tall if they didn't, I s'pose.”
Sudden was no misogynist, but so far the fair sex had not figured largely in his life. He was to meet his fate, but the time was not yet.
He trudged on, crossing ridges, threading arroyos, circling thickets of impassable brush, steadily advancing towards the mountain. The sun was still high in the heavens when, in a strip of sandy soil, he noticed hoof-prints. They pointed eastwards, and a careful scrutiny revealed five different sets. The prints of his own horse, Nigger—which he could recognize at a glance—were not among them.
“Four riders, one of 'em Garstone," he deduced, "an' a pack-hors. Or mebbe they've distributed the baggage an' tied Trenton on the fifth.”
The the tracks were not those of his friends he was quite sure. Exactly what had happened to Malachi and Hunch he did not know, but he had seen Tiny shot down, and it was most improbable that he would be able to sit a saddle so soon.
He set himself to follow the trail, and at the end of an hour's hard work reached what he knew must be the deserted Wagon-wheel camp. Standing in a small grove of trees, and sheltered by a cliff, was a canvas tent; only the presence of awoman could account for such a thing in that place. The ashes of the two fires were cold. Hanging from a branch was most of the carcase of a newly slain deer. He stepped to the opening of the tent and peeped in. A man, swathed in blankets, was lying on the floor. The puncher did not need two guesses—it was Zeb Trenton.
“The murderin' swine," he muttered. "They leave him here, helpless, an' to cinch it, hang a bait outside that would fetch any mountain cat gettin' scent of it." He bent over the rancher. "Trenton, it's Jim Green.”
The eyes remained closed and there was no movement. Sudden seized one of the ice-cold hands; a faint flutter of the pulse informed him that the flame of life still flickered. A quantity of stores, flour, bacon, coffee, caught his eye, and the packages seemed familiar. With them, guns and six-shooters, thrown in an untidy pile on the ground. He picked up one of the rifles; it was Yorky's prized Winchester, and he understood; this was the loot from the cavern. What had become of his friends? Only in one way could he find the answer, and, granite-faced, he set out, carrying his own rifle—which he had found among the rest, and the boy's. Exhausted and hungry as he was, his magnificent muscles did not fail him. Moving with the effortless swinging stride of an Indian on the trail, he crossed the basin, and entered the gorge. Apprehension grimmed his mouth as he approached the cave.
“Hello, the house," he hailed.
“It's Jim," he heard Yorky yell. "Didn't I tell yer he'd make it?”
The boy was the first to reach him, closely followed by Dan and Malachi. Judged by the standards of the East, their welcome was little more than casual, but Sudden was a Westerner himself, and he understood.
“Jim, I'm powerful glad to see you," was what the rancher said, but the clasp of his hand told a great deal more. And so with the others, but they all wanted to know what had befallen him.
“Well, we got away—" Sudden began.
“We?" Dan cried. "Then Beth—Miss Trenton—is alive?”
“Shorely," the narrator smiled. "Tryin' to find a way back here, we ran into Garstone—”
It was the doctor who cut him short this time. "See here, Jim, we like you a lot, but you'll be as unpopular as a drunk at a temperance meeting if you don't tell a complete story."
“Shucks, I'm doin' just that," the puncher protested. "I caught the girl in time—there was a bit of a crack in the floor o' the tunnel. Flint an' Rattray started shootin' an' I had to get her outa there."
“How did you cross that bit of a crack?" Malachi demanded. "I was looking at it a while ago; it nearly froze my blood.”
“Jumped it, o' course; think we growed wings on the spot?" Sudden replied, and divining the coming question, added, "Well, she warn't so heavy."
“My sainted aunt," Malachi breathed. "How many lives have you, Jim?"
“I started level with a cat, but mebbe I've used up a few," the puncher grinned.
“All right," the doctor smiled. "Get on with your—bragging."
“Like I said, we got clear an' bumped into the other crowd. Garstone told Miss Trenton that he had her uncle safe an' she decided to stay with 'em. He tried to persuade me, but I warn't willin'. Then Flint objected to my goin' an' I had to argue with him; his arm was hurt."
“Bruised, no doubt," Malachi commented ironically. "Mebbe," the puncher agreed. "He jumped aside when I charged, an' Bundy shot him in the head."
“Why'n hell—" Dover began.
“He'd claim to be aimin' at me, though I was six feet from Flint; it was either mighty good, or mighty bad, shootin'. Now I'm comin' to the important part; I wanted to tell you right off, but Doc would have his dime novel." He grinned at Malachi. "I'm headin' for here, as near as I can guess, when I stumble on tracks. I back-trail an' they lead me to the Wagon-wheel camp. There, inside a tent, is Zeb Trenton."
“Alive?" This from the doctor.
“On'y just, I'd say."
“They left him alone. Why, it's plain murder."
“Yu said it—'specially the way things was fixed," Sudden agreed, and told of the deer-meat.
Dover's face grew dark. "We can trump that trick, anyway,by fetchin' him here," he said. "You were goin' to suggest that, Jim?"
“yeah, the more so as they seem to 'a' got our stores an' weapons there. I didn't see no hosses."
“They never got 'em," Dan said, and explained.
“Well, yu can't have everythin' in this world o' sin an' sorrow; we'll have to hoof it." He looked at the big cowboy, who, squatting near, was energetically cursing his crippled limb. "If I leave yu my rifle, Tiny, can yu deal with any visitors?"
“Betcha life, an' I hope it's that dawg's-dinner of a Wagon-wheel foreman."
“Don't let yore prejudice blind yu to the merits o' Garstone an' Lake," was Sudden's sardonic advice. "What is it, Yorky?”
“Is my gun among them at th' camp, Jim?”
The puncher shook his head, but th' boy's crestfallen expression was too much for him, and he pointed to the weapon, lying with his own, where he had laid them when he came in "Guessed yu'd be losin' sleep over it," he smiled.
Yorky secured the gun, examined it anxiously, and then appealed to the others. "Ain't he th' ring-tailed wonder o' th' world?"
“Yu wanta hang a weight on that tongue—it moves too easy," Sudden said, and closed him up like a clam.
On their way across the basin, the rancher—by what he regarded as artful questions—dragged a few more details from his companion.
“So she ain't believin' Zeb was got by one o' his own gang?”
“Well, she didn't exactly call me a liar, but it amounted to that," the puncher admitted.
“A Trenton never listens to reason," Dan said, but the accent of bitterness was less marked. "It musta been a tough experience for one with her raisin'."
“She's got plenty pluck—an' didn't complain, not once, but she don't like rattlers."
“You shore do surprise me," Dan grinned.
They dropped into a silence. Behind them they could hear Yorky chattering excitedly, and the doctor's amused and sometimes caustic replies.
“That boy's havin' the best time of his life," the rancher remarked presently. "I'm havin' my worst. I'm right sorry I dragged you into this, Jim."
“Forget it. Did yu promise me a picnic?"
“No, but I'm finished; this was my ace in the hole. The Circle Dot—"
“Ain't changed han's yet. I don't know what Garstone's game is, but he's clearly reckonin' Trenton out of it. If we can take him back alive, it'll put a kink in his plans that'll need straightenin'."
“By the Lord, yo're right," Dan cried, and with a grim smile, "I never dreamed a day'd come when I'd wanta keep Zeb outa hell, but it shore has. Hope we ain't too late.”
To Sudden the camp appeared just as he had left it, except that he could not remember having olosed the flap of the tent. He went across, raised it, and looked inside, only to start back in astonishment. The rancher was still there, rolled in his blankets, but a few feet away, lying with arms flung wide and sightless eyes staring, was the bearded man, Lake. A revolver lay near Trenton's right hand, which was slung across his body.
“They came back then," Dover said.
This explanation did not satisfy Sudden. The doctor, after one glance at the dead man, turned his attention to the rancher.
“He's alive, and certainly no worse; in fact, his pulse is stronger," he pronounced. "He must have the constitution of a horse.”
Sudden's eyes were busy. "Lake wasn't shot here; see the marks of his spurs as he was dragged in and put in position to make it appear Trenton killed him? Raw work, but whoever did it reckoned on some wild beast comin' to muss things up. I'd say Bundy an' this hombre came back—mebbe the girl insisted—an' she's waitin' with Garstone.”
With a scowling brow Dover allowed this to be a possible solution of the mystery. "If that bloody-minded foreman is around, the sooner we get Zeb to our camp the better," he said. "Do we have to bury this carrion?”
The puncher lifted his shoulders. "I'm allowin' it's rough on the buzzards, but there's a spade handy.”
So Lake got his grave. Stout saplings, with cross pieces, and a blanket provided a litter for the sick man. Sudden and Dover acted as bearers, the other two following with weapons and provisions, including a haunch of the deer-meat. Theyleft the tent standing, an object to spur the imagination of some future visitors.
They reached the cave without incident, and having announced their arrival loudly—Tiny had an impulsive and suspicious nature—marched in. The crippled one welcomed them with an eagerness not entirely free from personal regard.
“Food!" he yelped. "You Yorky, git busy with a skillet an' some o' that hunk o' meat; my belly's that flat you could slide me under a door."
“Doc sez yo're feverish an' gotta go light on grub," the boy chaffed. "Mus' take care, ol'-timer; breakin' th' sad noos to yer widder—"
“I ain't married none."
“Good as—the school-marm would feel like one," Yorky grinned, and, nimbly avoiding the rock heaved at him, went to his culinary duties.
Trenton having been made as comfortable as circumstances permitted, the party sat down to a meal they all needed. Tiny, after pushing about half a pound of broiled venison into his mouth, spluttered a compliment:
“You cook pretty good, yorky. If you live to be a hundred, an' practice reg'lar, you'll come mighty close to Paddy at slingin' hash." He choked and had to be thumped on the back.
“Serves you right for talking with your mouth full," Malachi told him.
“Not full, Doc, or there'd be none fer us," Yorky chipped in.
The conversation took a more serious turn when Dan raised the question of what they were to do. "With hurt men an' no hosses, we 'pear to be hawg-tied," he said.
“How long would it take one of us to reach the Circle Dot?" the doctor asked.
“Best part of a week, if he knowed the country," Dan stated. "It's fierce travellin' afoot.”
They discussed the project for a while, but the rancher did not favour it. "Where's the use?" he argued. "I guess we've lost the Circle Dot anyways. Best stay here an' give our invalids a chance.”
Soon afterwards they turned in, leaving Yorky—who was to take the first watch—sitting at the entrance to the cave, his rifle across his knees. With the potential presence of an assassin in the neighbourhood, no risk could be run.
In the morning, when the doctor visited his principal charge, he received a pleasant surprise: Trenton was conscious, and could speak.
“You, Malachi?" he greeted. "Where am I?"
“In our camp. But you mustn't talk."
“I must—I've a lot—to say," the sick man replied, with a touch of his old fire. "What happened—after Bundy—shot me?"
“You knew that?" Malachi cried.
“I saw his hand—grippin' the pistol—behind me. That was my—last memory. I— His voice trailed off weakly.
“Let it wait, Trenton," the doctor urged. "You'll get well, but are pretty bad still, and must rest."
“I can't—unless I know. It won't harm me—to listen.”
Stonily silent, the wounded man heard a brief recital of what had taken place. Only when Malachi concluded somewhat bitterly, "So your friend Garstone is safely on the way back to Rainbow with your niece and the plunder," did his expression change; fire flamed from the cavernous eyes in the emaciated face as he said hoarsely:
“My—friend—Garstone. Doc, you must patch me up—strong enough to get to Rainbow—an' settle with that doublecrossin' hound an' his murderin' tool, Bundy. I'll obey any orders, meet any bill—"
“Never mind that," the doctor smiled. "you're better, and I hope I haven't set you back telling you this."
“I'll rest easier," the rancher assured. "It wasn't all news. I was awake when Green found me; didn't know what he was after, so I shammed dead. Later on, Bundy an' Lake arrived, an' I played the same trick on them; Bundy had his gun out." He paused for a moment. "I lay limp an' still; he shook my shoulder, lifted my hand—which was cold—an' let it fall.
“ `He's cashed,' I heard him say.
“They went outside an' Lake suggested plantin' me, but Bundy wouldn't agree. They quarrelled, there was a shot, an' Bundy dragged Lake's body into the tent an' dumped it on the floor.
“'One from three leaves two,' he said. `Now it's between me an' you, Mister Garstone—the gal don't count. As for you, Trenton, I'm sorry yo're dead. For years you've hazed me, an' I wanted to squeeze the breath out of your rotten carcase with my hands. May you roast in the hottest corner of hell.' With that, he drove a boot into my ribs, an' I didn't know anythin' more till this mornin'.”
Trenton sank back with a sigh of relief; the story had called for an heroic effort. Malachi was concerned.
“I ought to be kicked myself," he said contritely.
“Don't think it," the old man said. "you've given me some-thin' to live for, an' by Heaven I'm goin' to live." A ghost of a grin trembled on the thin lips. "Appetizin' smell from somewhere."
“Yorky is stewing some of that deer. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat it raw.”
The doctor's negative was emphatic. "You may have some of the broth," he conceded.
“All right, broth goes," the patient said resignedly.
As Malachi continued his "round"—as he termed it, he met Dover. "How's Trenton?" the young man asked.
“Conscious and hungry," Malachi smiled. "He knows the facts, and is wise to Garstone and company.”
Dan's eyes rested dismally on the hole where the treasure had been. "Help me put that stone back, Phil; it makes me damned mad every time I see it," he said.
CHAPTER XXIII
Garstone had hoped that the despatch of the two men would satisfy the girl, but in this he was disappointed. His suggestion of an immediate start produced only the plea that she was tired—which could not be gainsaid—and needed a rest.
“But you will be riding," he protested.
“Is that so easy in these hills?" she parried. "Apart from that, I wish to wait until my uncle joins us.”
Garstone concealed his anger; he alone knew how futile her desire was. "It means a loss of precious time for no useful purpose—Zeb could not possibly travel at the speed we must go "
“I should see him, and be sure he is getting better," she persisted.
“It will probably retard his recovery to find us here," he retorted. "If I know Zeb, he will be absolutely furious.”
This was a powerful argument; she was well aware that the old man had all the Trenton temper. "What is the reason for the urgent haste to reach Rainbow?" she queried.
This was the question he had been waiting for. "Do you remember my telling you how important the finding of the treasure was to your uncle?"
“Yes, you said it meant keeping or losing the ranch."
“That's the position. The Wagon-wheel and Circle Dot are both deeply in debt to the bank. The mortgages expire in a few_days, and if the money is not paid, the bank will sell the properties."
“But surely Mister Maitland—"
“A branch manager—an insignificant cog in a machine," Garstone said contemptuously. "Had Zeb or I been there, something might have been arranged, but in our absence ..." He finished with an expressive shrug
“I see," she said. "Of course, you found the money?"
“Good Lord, fancy forgetting to mention it," he laughed.
“Yes, we found it, thanks to you, and there it is, strapped to my saddle. About seventy thousand dollars, enough to clear the Wagon-wheel and realize Trenton's dearest ambition, the purchase of the Circle Dot."
“Mister Dover may not wish to sell."
“Possibly, but the bank will," he replied. "We have that young pup where the hair is short.”
She was silent, disturbed by a sentiment she did not trace to its source. In spite of his rudeness, she could feel no animosity towards the red-haired young rancher, and no satisfaction in the prospect of his humiliation and ruin. She did not want to dwell on it.
“Uncle Zeb should be very grateful to you," was all she could find to say.
This gave 'him an opportunity to strike another blow, lest she should still be obstinate. "Oh, I'm no philanthropist," he smiled. "I'm working for myself too. You see, when I came toyour uncle, I put all I possessed into the Wagon-wheel, taking a third share. I am not anxious to be a pauper—especially now—but that's what I'll be if we reach Rainbow too late.”
She stood up. "We will get away at once," she told him. "I did not understand how much depended on us." '
“Of course not," he rejoined. "These matters of finance are not for pretty heads to worry over, but you're a true Trenton—you have to know, and then you see it through, sink or swim. That's the quality I most admired in Zeb.”
They set off. Garstone dispensed with the pack animal, deciding that they could carry sufficient supplies without it.
“Shouldn't take us more than a couple of days," he said. "Bundy gave me the direction.”
Quick-witted as he believed himself, it had not occurred to him that the foreman might designedly have pointed out a much longer route than was necessary, and he certainly did not realize that finding a path through the tangled mass of up-ended country which lay ahead of them was no task for a "tenderfoot.”
Two days after the rancher had been brought to the cave, Sudden and Yorky were returning along the gorge from a hunting expedition, the spoil being the most toothsome portions of a young buck.
“Say, Jim, this is th' life, ain't it?" the boy said jubilantly. He had shot the deer, under his companion's guidance, and it was his first. "I don't care how long them cripples takes gittin' well."
“Yo're a selfish li'l devil," the puncher replied, with a severity which was only on the surface; he had planned that the lad should love this outdoor life, as he did himself. "So you want Dan to lose his ranch, an' them crooks to win out, huh?"
“Cripes! I didn't think," came the hasty denial.
His companion was not listening—to him. From somewhere near had sounded the call of a horse. Sudden uttered a long, low whistle, and waited. A crash in the undergrowth, and out stepped his own mount—Nigger. An instant it stood, looking at him, and then, with a little whinny, trotted to his side and rubbed its muzzle on his sleeve. The puncher pulled one of the soft ears.
“Where yu been, yu black rascal?" he asked. The animal's head dropped, as though it sensed reproof in the tone, but lifted again when a shrill neigh came from behind; two other horses were standing in the open. "C'mon," the puncher ordered. "Yore va-cation is over; we'll collect them playmates o' yourn afore long.”
With never another glance round, Nigger followed its master like a docile dog.
This acquisition greatly improved the position of the party. That afternoon, Sudden rode away carrying three ropes on his saddle-horn. He made no attempt to guide his mount, riding with a slack rein, and, as he expected, Nigger went in search of its companions. In a grassy glade about a mile from the camp they came upon four. Sudden ran down and roped three of them, tying each as it was secured, and after a busy couple of hours, returned with his unwilling captives.
“I got yourn, Dan, Yorky's, an' the big roan that lets Tiny stay on him," he reported, with a grin. "I'll try again tomorrow, an' yu might have a look round their camp; they must 'a' let some go.”
So the morning found the rancher combing the neighbourhood on the other side of the basin. He unearthed, and caught two ponies, one he believed to be Trenton's, and the other—still saddled—he surmised to have belonged to Lake. On his way back he stopped at the camp, got down, and entered the tent. Everything had been taken away, no, not quite everything, for a gleam of yellow caught his attention. He picked up the object, an oval locket of gold. From within, a face smiled at him, familiar, yet not the same, and older; a relative, no doubt.
He slipped it into a pocket—he would send it to her. He frowned at the thought that he might have to address her by another name. Well, she would still be a Trenton. And Zeb? He could have left him there to die, but the Dovers fought fairly, even against a treacherous foe. He did not want, or expect, thanks.
“It'll hurt the of devil more the way it is," he reflected.
Arriving at the cave, he found that Sudden had been equally
successful, so their remuda was complete. The question of when they could start for home was the subject at supper. Everything depended on Malachi's report.
“You're all right, Hunch, aren't you?" the doctor asked.
The old man looked up, nodded, and went on feeding. But for his bandaged head he appeared much the same, save that he did not know them, and the big axe, once so carefully tended, was now stained and rusty.
“Possibly Tiny could sit a horse," Malachi said doubtfully.
The cowboy's protest was instant and emphatic. "Say, Doc, I could ride afore I could walk. With one leg an' two arms, I'd stay on top of a blizzard."
“That leaves Zeb," Dover said.
“He's picked up wonderfully, and is in a fever to go," the doctor admitted. "I fancy it may do him just as much harm to wait. With short stages and long rests, we might manage it."
“Ain't there a nearer way, Dan?" Sudden questioned.
“Yeah, we took a twisty trail comin' to fog any who might follow. That place you struck on gettin' outa the tunnel must 'a' been Rainbow Canyon. The stream tannin' through it forks a piece along, an' the right arm is our river. If we keep by that, I reckon we'll cut down the distance quite a bit, which would make up for slow-movin'.”
It was decided that,' if the rancher were no worse, the journey should begin in the morning.
CHAPTER XXIV
Dame Fortune was frowning upon the foreman of the Wagon-wheel. On the morning after he had left the lifeless body of Lake lying in the tent, and set out hot-foot in pursuit of Gar-stone, a calamity which threatened to thwart his schemes befell him. Slithering down the sandy side of a ravine, his horse trod on a loose rock, lurched and went over, Bundy jumped clear, landing on hands and knees. He rose with an evil look, grabbed the rein and savagely jerked at it. The beast struggled to regain its feet, but could not, one leg had snapped. With an oath the man pulled out his gun and sent a bullet crashing into its brain.
“Damn an' blast the mouldy luck," he growled, as, carrying his saddle and rifle, he resumed his way. "Satan hisself must be workin' for Garstone, but I'll beat him yet.”
Further reverses were to come. His own cunning—after the manner of a boomerang—returned to hit him; the roundabout route he had foisted on the Easterner now meant weary miles afoot for himself. And since the cattleman's fondness for humping a saddle is about equal to that of the Devil for holy water, a few hours saw the article hurled into the brush with a curse.
He had little difficulty in following the trail, for Garstone had not the skill to conceal it. This ignorance, however, frequently drove the foreman to frenzy, for the big man had blundered through places hard for a horseman, and doubly so to a pedestrian. Often also, Bundy found himself tramping long miles which he knew were taking him no nearer to Rainbow.
“Hell burn him," he muttered. "I told the fool to head for the sun, but if he's goin' to do it allatime, he'll finish where he started.”
Four days passed, and in the early afternoon another blow fell—he lost the trail. It had led him to the verge of a large pine forest. There were no hoof-prints, right or left, and he could only conclude that they had kept on through the gloomy aisles of the trees; but the deep mat of pine-needles would retain no tracks. He spent hours circling the forest in the hope of finding where they had emerged, but without success. Sitting down to rest, he arrived at a decision.
“I'll get me to the Wagon-wheel an' deal with Mister Gar-stone there. Anyways, thirty-five thousand is a sizeable stake, an' mebbe ..." A sinister scowl ended the sentence, and then, "The Rainbow River comes out'n these hills. I gotta find it; I'm fair sick o' traipsin' this Gawd-damned wilderness.”
He picked up his rifle and blanket-roll containing his scanty supply of food, and set out, heading south-east. An hour later he was standing on a high bench screened by bushes, whence the ground dropped abruptly, flattening as it reached a great crack in the surface which he guessed to be Rainbow Canyon. He was about to descend and verify this when a horseman came in view. Bundy swore, and ducked under cover; it was Dover. Peering through the sheltering foliage, he watched Tiny, Hunch, and Yorky follow, with a pack animal. Then, after a brief interval, Malachi, with a companion at whom the foreman gazed with bulging eyes.
“Trenton," he whispered, as though afraid they might hear though they were nearly a thousand yards away. The man he had left for dead, riding to Rainbow, with his—Bundy'senemies. Trenton would know all, the murder of Lake, and his own duplicity. The completeness of the catastrophe stunned him. But stay, the rancher might have been unconscious during that last visit to the tent. But if not, they would hang him in Rainbow; Trenton would see to that. It was too big a risk to run.
“I'll have to close yore trap, Zeb," he growled. "Anythin' you've told them others don't signify, an' Garstone can't prove nothin'. But this ain't the place; I gotta have a good getaway.
Rifle in hand, he slunk along after the unsuspecting travellers below, his callous brain at work. With the rancher silenced, he must again seek Garstone.
“Couple o' slugs'll give me the dollars an' a pair o' hosses to carry me out'n the Territory," he told himself. "My luck must 'a' turned or I'd 'a' walked right into Rainbow to git mine.”
Considerably cheered by this reflection, he began to watch for a suitable spot. He had no difficulty in keeping up, for the quarry was moving slowly. Presently he noticed that the bench was dipping and bringing him nearer to his target. Gripping his rifle in feverish eagerness, malignant eyes on the man he meant to slay, he suddenly saw the opportunity slipping away. The horsemen had reached a point where the walls of the canyon closed to within forty yards of one another and abruptly widened again. This narrow gap was spanned by a natural bridge of rock, bare, and offering no cover. If they decided to cross this, trailing them would be well-nigh impossible, the land on the far side of the river being open, and almost treeless, offering few chances' of concealment. As he had feared, they turned.
The sight spurred him to action; it must be now or never. The passage across the gulf was narrow, the surface rough; they would ride it in single file. This would give him time to get close—there must be no mistake. He scrambled down from the bench, fighting his way through the scrub until he reached the edge. There he knelt, panting, weapon levelled; he was only two hundred yards distant.
“I'll hold off till they're all over," he decided. "If any o' the rest git curious, I can send 'em after Zeb, one at a lick.”
He watched them negotiate the bridge, singly, as he expected, and his lips drew back in an ugly snarl of satisfaction when he saw that Trenton was the last. Sighting full at the broad, bowed shoulders, he steadied himself and pulled the trigger. Through the smoke of the discharge he saw the rancher fall forward on the neck of his horse, which, startled by the report, leapt onwards.
“Got him," he gritted.
Even as he spoke, two quick reports rang out; a bullet shattered twigs just above his head, and a second smashed into the breech of his rifle and ruined the mechanism. With an oath he threw aside the useless weapon and turned his eyes to the right, whence the shots had come. A black horse was thundering down upon him, and the rider, standing in his stirrups, was assiduously pumping lead from his Winchester. Sudden, staying behind with the idea of obtaining fresh meat, had come on the scene just as the assassin fired.
The foreman shivered; he hated, but also feared the hard-featured puncher who had thrashed him so severely. In the moment of triumph, he had met disaster. He must do something. Escape through the brush was hopeless against a mounted man, he would be ridden down, trampled under those iron hooves. The drumming beat grew louder, bullets were humming past his ears; in a moment or two . .. A desperate device suggested itself. The widening of the canyon below the bridge brought the rim of it within a hundred yards. If he could reach that, the cowboy's horse became useless; they would be on equal terms.— Keeping under cover as long as possible, he then abruptly swerved into the open and raced for the canyon, zigzagging to avoid being picked off. He reached the edge safely, saw, some fifteen feet below, a narrow ledge running along the rock face. A break in the rim enabled him to clamber down and breathe again; he could not be seen from above.
So quickly had the whole affair happened that when he looked across the canyon the rancher's companions were only then lifting him from his saddle. But a bullet which chippedthe cliff below showed that he had been observed. It would also tell the pursuer where he was. Bundy pulled his gun.
“If Green follers me here, I'll nail him," he grated. "An' with his hoss an' rifle ...”
During the brief suspense, doubt crept in. His foe was fast—terribly fast. Bundy remembered that other time, when a lightning draw had foiled a foul trick which few men would have survived, and death had stared at him out of grey-blue eyes. What was it like to die? The violent jarr of the bullet, seconds —perhaps moments—of merciless pain, and then—nothingness. The look of blank amaze on Lake's face returned to him. Would he too—? He strangled the thought. His mind raced. Seventy thousand bucks; there must be a way.
A fiendish look told that he had found one. Changing his gun to his left hand, he picked up a chunk of rock with his right, leaned limply against the cliff so that the missile was hidden, and waited. The scrape of slipping boot-heels on a hard surface warned him that the puncher was descending. A moment and he appeared, six-shooter levelled. The foreman's face was a pasty yellow; he made no attempt to raise his weapon, seeming to be exhausted.
“Don't shoot, Green," he cried hoarsely. "I give in.”
“Chuck yore gun towards me, an' put yore paws up," Sudden said sternly.
Bundy obeyed, lifting the left arm only. "Can't manage the other," he whined. "Damn bronc fell, bustin' a leg an' my collar-bone. I had to finish him.”
The story was plausible enough; the man was apparently minus mount and rifle. All the same, the cowboy was not convinced. Unhurriedly he moved forward and half-stopped to lift the surrendered weapon. Like a flash, Bundy's "injured" arm flew up and down. Too late, Sudden detected the action and straightened; the great stone struck him on the chest instead of the head. Reeling back under the force of the blow, he lost his foothold on a slippery incline and vanished into the abyss.
Bundy, beads of cold sweat on his forehead, heard a shout of rage from the distant spectators, but no bullets came. Wondering at this, he secured his revolver, and creeping to the edge of the ledge, peered over. What he saw nearly sent him after his victim. Twenty feet below Sudden was clinging to a dwarfed mesquite growing from a tiny cleft in the rock. For a moment the astounding sight paralysed him; then, with a blasphemous imprecation, he prepared to deal the finishing stroke. Sudden saw the threatening muzzle, and nerved himself for an effort of despair.
“Might as well go one way as another," he muttered.
He still had his left-hand gun, and hanging by his right arm only, he swept it out and drove a slug into the evil, gloating face above just as Bundy fired. Sudden felt the wind of the bullet, and then saw the ruffian's body dive past him into the depths. But he was not out of the woods yet. His friends were coming to help him, but an upward glance told that they could not be in time—the root upon which his life depended was loosening. He looked down; there was another bush a little lower, in a direct line; if he could grab that as he fell ... Far below, he could see the red-brown river raging along the bottom of the canyon, hurling itself at the jagged, tooth-like boulders which strove to bar its progress.
Grim of face, he let go, felt the air whistle in his ears, then branches struck him, and he clutched; the bush withstood the shock of his weight. Arms aching until it seemed they must leave their sockets, he dangled there, and waited for aid. It seemed long in coming. Actually, as they told him later, Dan, Hunch, and Yorky were on the ledge less than ten minutes after the daring drop. His first news of them was the loop of a lariat which slid past his face. Slipping his weary arms through, he was hauled up, bruised, but little the worse.
“Shore, I'm all right," he replied to Yorky's shaky enquiry. "Injuns think a lot o' the mesquite; I'm agreein' with 'em. Did he hit Trenton?"
“No, Zeb 'pears to have collapsed just as Bundy fired—the journey's takin' it out of him, an' there ain't much to take," Dan replied. "Thought we'd lost you, Jim. How come?"
“He fooled me—good an' proper," Sudden confessed, and told about it.
When they rejoined the others, Trenton had recovered, and was chaffing at the delay. He scowled at Sudden. "So you wiped out Bundy? I wanted him myself, an' I don't thank you," he said.
“Did I ask yu to?" the puncher retorted, and rode on.
“By God!" Tiny swore. "Next time Jim sees someone taking' a pot at you he'll let 'em git on with it, I reckon.”
Trenton asked curtly what he was talking about. The cowboy told him, and put it plainly. Followed another question. "Wasn't it Green an' two-three more o' you who beat Bundy up for no reason?"
“Jim thrashed him—alone—for ill-treatin' Yorky. Bundy knocked the boy down, stole his rifle, shot his pony, an' set him afoot out on the range, a sick kid, with night comin' on. No reason, huh?"
“Is that true?”
The cowboy's good-humoured face became bleak. "If you wanta call me a liar, Trenton, wait till yo're well.”
The rancher dismissed the threat with a grimace of disdain. "How long have you known Green?"
“Not near so long as I have you, but I like him a damned sight more," was the candid reply.
And that concluded the conversation.
Two more days of travel brought them within a mile of Rainbow, and there, in a wooded hollow well away from the trail out of the town, Dover called a halt.
“Before we decide anythin' I'll slip in an' get word with Bowdyr," he said. "It'll be dark when I reach the Parlour, an I'll take care not to be seen.”
When he returned, he was excited, and a little jubilant. "We're in time," he announced. "Maitland is offerin' the ranches for sale to-morrow mornin', at eleven o'clock; all the cattlemen in the district have been notified. He's in a hurry, curse him; that's the day my mortgage expires."
“Mine too," Trenton growled.
“Well, mebbe he'll get a surprise," Dover went on. "We'll camp here to-night. The sale is to take place in the Parlour, an' we can sneak in through the back—I've fixed it with Ben. Our game is to lie low until Garstone has showed his hand—if he's there. He won't be expectin' any of us, an' he's figurin' Trenton is cashed. We can hear everythin' from the room behind, an' sift in at the right moment. All agreed?”
The assent was general. Trenton, a tired and sick man, sustained solely by his thirst for vengeance, asked one question:
“Anythin' been seen of Garstone an' Beth?"
“No, but they may've gone straight to yore ranch.”
Dover's surmise was correct. Garstone and the girl had actually arrived in the vicinity of Rainbow several hours ahead of the Circle Dot, and Beth had insisted they should avoid the town. Garstone had no objection to offer. His comment, if uncomplimentary to his companion, was true—neither of them was fit to be seen. The homeward trek had been an ordeal for both, and to the girl a nightmare. Many times they had lost all sense of direction, and in the end had blundered blindly on the wagon-road to the settlement. Taking so much longer than they expected, food ran out, and though the man could shoot, he was so poor a woodsman that he frequently frightened the game and returned empty-handed.
The stress of the journey had shown Garstone to small advantage. Obsessed by his eagerness to get on, he showed less and less consideration for his companion, and any delay infuriated him. At such times he was almost brutal in his insistence, and she began to divine that his customary suavity was but a mask. The plea that he must save the ranch did not satisfy her. Any expression of anxiety concerning her uncle only irritated him.
“You didn't expect them to catch us up, surely," he said. "They would have to travel slowly, and you must remember that Zeb is not young, and sorely hurt; anything may have happened.”
He had intended to prepare her for the news he hoped Bundy would bring, that the rancher had succumbed to his injury, but he only succeeded in frightening her.
“You mean he is—dead?" she asked fearfully.
“Of course not, but he may have had a relapse, which would delay them," he replied quickly. "On the other hand, Bundy would know a shorter way than we found, and they may be waiting at the ranch.”
This did not prove to be the case; at the Wagon-wheel nothing had been heard of the owner or the foreman. When the travellers had washed, dressed, and eaten, Garstone was in a more pleasant frame of mind.
“Well, my dear, we're only just in time," he said. "I have a notice from Maitland that the Wagon-wheel and Circle Dot ranches will be sold to-morrow morning."
“But isn't that rather high-handed?" Beth asked.
“It certainly is, and I cannot understand Zeb giving them the power to do it. Either he is a poor business man, or he was in desperate need of the loan. However, we'll give that money-grubber a jolt."
“We? Surely there is no necessity for me to attend?"
“On the contrary, it is most essential. In your 'uncle's absence, you represent the family, and—I don't think he'd mind your knowing this—you are his heir."
“What have we to do?"
“Clear the Wagon-wheel and buy the Circle Dot," he replied triumphantly. "The two will make a fine property—for us, Beth. We shall also fling that red-haired boor into the mire.”
The venom in his voice revolted her. "I have no wish to see Mister Dover ruined," she said coldly.
His surprise was genuine. "Why this sudden solicitude for the enemy of your family?"
“On one occasion, at least, he saved my life," she reminded. Garstone shrugged. "I doubt if the cattle would have hurt you," he said. "Perhaps we'll make Dover foreman at the Circle Dot."
“Which would humiliate him still more.”
Her vehemence brought a thoughtful expression to his face. "No, that wouldn't do—he must leave Rainbow. A disturbing element, but I can deal with him.”
She looked at him with stormy eyes. "Which means that you will get someone else to do it, I suppose," she said cuttingly. "I am tired of this hatred and violence. I will have no part in it.”
Her mind in a tumult, she sought solitude in her own room, to sit, staring blindly at the peaceful scene without. Something had happened to her; it was as though she had awakened from an evil dream. She had not yet said "Yes" to Chesney Garstone, and knew now that she never would.
The man himself was not perturbed by her outbreak. "Overwrought," he decided. "She'll learn." The game was in his hands now. He had the money, and Trenton was dead—he felt sure of that, though the non-appearance of Lake and Bundy was perplexing. One bold stroke would put him in possession of both ranches. He went to Trenton's office to prepare it.
CHAPTER XXV
When the Circle Dot men awoke in the morning it was to find one of their number, Hunch, missing; no one had seen him go, and his horse was still there.
“Reckon he warn't interested," Dan opined. "Hiked off to the ranch, or back into the woods—he was anus happier there. His testimony wouldn't count anyway. You got any ideas, Doc?"
“No, he beats me," was the reply.
Breakfast was eaten, razors produced, and they made themselves as presentable as possible. "No 'casion to look like a lot o' bums if we are busted," Dover remarked, and Malachi, for one, agreed with him. Then they sat down to wait the word from Bowdyr.
By the hour advertised that portion of the Parlour usually devoted to dancing contained almost the whole male population of Rainbow, and a few of the women. There were also strangers, cattlemen from the outlying ranges, and a sprinkling of others whose garb told that they were alien to the West. Lounging against the wall at the back, glum-faced, were Burke and the rest of the Circle Dot outfit.
On the little platform the piano had been pushed aside, and a table, with several chairs, substituted. At this sat the banker, his daughter beside him. Prompt to the moment he rose and briefly explained the purpose of the meeting, concluding with the remark, "Some of you may regard this action as inconsiderate on the part of the bank, but I must remind you that business is business, and a financial institution cannot be conducted on philanthropic lines.”
He waited for the perfunctory applause of this oratorical gem to die down, and was about to continue when there was a stir at the door; Garstone and Miss Trenton entered. The big man had timed their arrival to the instant. He had theleathern satchel under one arm. Maitland stepped from his platform to meet them.
“I am delighted to see you both," he greeted. "I could get no news of you at the ranch. I trust Mister Trenton is well.”
Garstone drew him apart, and a whispered conversation ensued. At the end of it the banker was all subservience. "Of course, as a man of affairs, you will understand how I was situated," he excused. "My head office—”
Garstone cut him short with a gesture, and conducted his companion to the platform, where seats were provided. The banker again addressed the audience.
“The arrival of Mister Garstone with funds to liquidate the bank's debt disposes of the Wagon-wheel," he announced. "Is there anyone here to represent the Circle Dot?"
“Yeah, me," Burke called out. "An' I say it's a damned shame to sell Dan Dover's property behind his back.”
The applause which followed this outspoken statement brought a flush to Maitland's pale face. "Have you the money to pay off the mortgage?" he asked.
“You know thunderin' well I ain't," the foreman replied. "Dan went to git it, an' may be here any of time.”
Beth Trenton rose. "Mister Maitland, the Wagon-wheel will advance the necessary sum to the Circle Dot," she said.
Garstone's expression became one of fury. Gripping the girl's arm, he forced her to sit down, whispering savagely, "Don't be a fool, Beth." Turning to the banker, he went on, "The Wagon-wheel will do nothing of the kind, Miss Trenton is allowing her heart to overrule her head; we expect that from her sex, but it is not business. What is the amount owing to you?"
“Forty thousand dollars."
“I will buy the Circle Dot for that figure if there is no better offer.”
None came, and Maitland smiled his satisfaction; that the bank should not lose was his sole concern. He had risen to terminate the meeting when the Easterner again whispered.
“Mister Garstone has something to say to you," he stated.
Standing there, big-framed, carefully-dressed, a genial look on his fleshy face, the man made an imposing figure. He dispensed with any preamble.
“I am going to tell you why Zeb Trenton is not here to do this job himself, and it's quite a story. Most of you have heard of Red Rufe's Cache. Well, some weeks ago, Trenton, his niece, myself, and some of our men went in search of it." Several in the audience sniggered. "Yes, I know others have tried and failed, but we succeeded, and there it is"—he pointed to the satchel—"somewhere about seventy thousand dollars.”
There were no sniggers this time, but envious eyes rested on the container of so much wealth. It had been for anyone to find.
“Unfortunately, a gang of ruffians from the Circle Dot—“
“You better lay off that kind o' talk," Burke warned, and was supported by a growl from his men.
“Were also after it," Garstone went on. "They attacked us, but we fought them off. Two of our men, Rattray and Flint, were killed, and Mister Trenton so severely wounded that I had to leave him in the charge of Bundy and another, since it was urgent I should be here to-day. So Miss Trenton and I came on, and though it was a terribly arduous journey, I could not wish for a more plucky fellow-traveller.”
Beth received the compliment with stony indifference, but the speaker was too full of his own success to notice. As owner of two ranches, Rainbow must learn to recognize his importance. These hucksters and the like had to be told that he was no mere servant, and Beth brought to heel.
“It may interest you to know that I own one-third of the Wagon-wheel; should Trenton not recover, it becomes two-thirds, the rest going to his niece. The will, which I have here, substantiates this. It is in accordance with his desire, often expressed to me, that we should wed, and the lady, I am happy to say, has consented.”
If the spectators expected blushes and confusion they were woefully disappointed. Red of cheek she certainly was as she sprang to her feet, and her eyes were flaming.
“That, like some of your other statements, is a lie," she said, in a clear, ringing tone. "Nothing in this world would induce me to marry you. As regards the two men who died, Rattray perished by accident, and Flint was shot by Bundy, as you well know. My uncle—"
“Is here to speak for himself," a weak but stern voice interrupted.
Through the door leading to the living part of the establish ment, near the platform, Trenton, supported by Dover and the doctor, followed by Tiny and Yorky, entered, Garstone's features underwent a swift transformation from rage to joy, and he was the first to reach the rancher's side.
“My dear Zeb, so those two fellows have got you here at last. I never was so pleased to see anyone," he cried, and in a whisper, as he dragged forward a chair, "All is fixed; we have the Circle Dot. I can explain everything.”
Trenton did not reply. Sinking into the seat, he looked round the room, and then darted a finger at Garstone. "That man is a liar and a cheat," he said. Heads craned forward, and no one now thought of leaving. "His story of what happened in the mountains is as false as his own black heart. We attacked the Circle Dot, an' I was shot by Bundy, my own foreman. When the money was found, this skunk cleared out an' left me, dyin' an' helpless, alone in the wilds, to be the prey of any savage beast. Later, he sent Bundy an' Lake back to finish me. They thought I was dead a'ready, an' I heard them talkin'. They quarrelled about buryin' me, an' Bundy shot Lake, threw him down beside me, an' put a pistol by my hand to make it look I'd done it. The Circle Dot found an' fetched me home. On the way, Bundy saw us, an' tried again to get me, but Green got him.”
He paused, breathing heavily, Garstone, who had listened to this terrible indictment with well-simulated incredulity but a very pallid face, addressed the doctor:
“He's mad, raving; illness has turned his brain."
“No," Malachi said sharply. "He is saner than you are." Trenton spoke again. "One thing more. That rascal has no share in my ranch, an' the so-called will of which he is boastin' is another lie.”
Garstone whirled on him. "Lost your memory too, eh?" he sneered. "That document was dictated to me by you a few days before we started for the hills, and the signature was witnessed by two of your men, Flint and Rattray."
“Who are conveniently dead," the rancher retorted.
“I shall hold you to it, and claim one-third the value of the ranch, and the same proportion of this," Garstone replied, striking the bag beside him on the table.
“That is mine," Dover put in quietly. "We were camped on the spot where it lay when the Wagon-wheel took us by surprise. Moreover, it was put there by my father's brother, an' therefore—"
“It belongs to me," another voice broke in.
All eyes went to this new actor in the drama, a man who had been sitting unnoticed at the side of the room, chin on chest, had slouched over his brow, and apparently taking little count of the proceedings. Now he rose, leant forward, and pushed his hat back.
“Do you know me, Zeb Trenton?" he asked vibrantly.
The rancher might have been looking at an apparition. Others, too, stared in speechless amazement, for despite the absence of the unkempt white beard and long hair, they recognized the gaunt, stooping frame of Hunch, the silent woodsman of the Circle Dot. But this fierce-eyed old man was very different to the one they had known as a semi-witless vagrant.
It was a full minute before the answer came. "Rufus Dover, by God!"
“Yes, Rufus Dover, the man you drove out o' Rainbow.”
“You killed my father."
“True, but not as he killed mine—by shootin' him from ambush," was the stern reply. "I met Tom Trenton the night he died; boastin' of his deed, he dared me to draw; I beat him to it—he was dead before he could pull trigger. There was no witness. You called it murder, raised the town against me, an' I had to fade. In California I was knowed as Red Rufe, made my pile, an' runnin' with a rough gang, cached it, an' sent two messages to my brother. Then a tree fell on me, an' when I recovered my mind was a blank. Years later, I drifted in to the Circle Dot, blind instinct, I reckon, for I didn't even recognize Dave. But he knew an' took care o' me. He showed me the first message I'd sent, but it recalled nothin'; the second did not reach him." He bent his piercing gaze on the sheriff, who was sitting near Maitland. "An' you know why, Foxwell.”
The officer seemed to shrink into his clothes; he read danger in those accusing eyes. "He was dead when I found him," he quavered. "I on'y—"
“Stole the letter an' sold it to Trenton for that badge you disgrace," the old man finished. "Who murdered my brother Dave?”
The sheriff shivered. "I—I dunno," he said hoarsely. Sudden stepped forward. "Trenton, where did yu get that thirty-eight we found on yore saddle?”
The rancher's reply came promptly. "Bundy gave it me, just before we left for the hills; my forty-four was out of order." The puncher looked at Foxwell. "An' Bundy had it from yu; don't trouble to lie. Scratched on the stock are the letters, L.P., the initials of Lafe Potter, the Circle Dot rider whose belongings yu sold, mebbe. Dave Dover was drilled by a thirty-eight, an' the empty shell was left in plain sight, with a dottle o' baccy beside it. yu smoke a pipe, don't yu, Trenton? An' then he plants the gun on yu—the on'y one o' that calibre in the district, so far as I could learn. That was why yu wasn't keen on weighin' the bullet at the enquiry; yu knew the guilty man."
“I didn't," the sheriff protested. "I never thought o' Bundy. I figured it was—" He stopped, his frightened eyes on the owner of the Wagon-wheel.
Trenton stiffened in his chair, and his fingers closed convulsively. "you suspected me, you whelp?" he rasped. "By Heaven, if I had my strength— The cowering wretch was not to escape. In two strides, Dan had him by the throat, his badge was torn off, and after being shaken until his teeth clashed in his jaws, he was flung on the floor.
“Get out before I tear you apart," the young man panted. "If yo're in town one hour from now, you hang.”
Foxwell did not doubt it. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled towards the door, amid the jeers and curses of the onlookers, many of whom struck at him as he passed.
“That lets you out, Trenton," Red Rufe said. "I've one thing to thank yore people for: when they clubbed me up on 01' Cloudy, they brought back my memory, though I didn't let on—for reasons. Sorry I had to make a fool o' you, Doc." •
“You didn't—I've always been one," Malachi smiled. "But I'm wiser now." His gaze was on Kate Maitland.
Rufe addressed the banker. "I'll trouble you to hand over my money.”
Maitland, conscious that he was wading in deep waters, did not know what to do. He appealed to Trenton, and got a snapped, "Give it to him, of course.”
It took both arms and an effort on the banker's part, but Red Rufe held it easily with one hand. "Now I'll tell you some-thin' else, Mister," he said. "The Circle Dot is also mine—Dave was on'y my manager, an' he had no power to raise cash on it. Yore mortgage ain't worth a cent." Maitland's face grew white. "But, though I don't like yore methods, the Dovers pay debts—of any sort. You'll get yores, on one condition." He bent over and whispered.
“Certainly, Mister Dover, anything you say," the banker promised eagerly, colour returning a little to his cheeks. Garstone, slumped in his chair, brow furrowed in a heavy frown, was silent. He had failed; just when all seemed secure, his edifice of fraud and treachery had toppled about his ears. But something might still be saved from the wreck. He drew himself up and looked at Trenton.
“I want my third share of the Wagon-wheel.”
The rancher's clamped lips 'writhed in a bitter smile. "Better apply to Maitland," he replied. "Mebbe he'll accept yore lyin' paper. The Wagon-wheel is no longer mine.”
The enormous strain to which he had subjected it was telling upon his enfeebled body. Beth, now sitting beside him, put a protecting arm about the bent shoulders.
“Don't fret, Uncle Zeb, everything will come right," she whispered.
Maitland, who appeared to have recovered his poise, spoke plainly: "I shall certainly require definite proof that the will is genuine.”
One of the two strangers who had been chatting with Yorky pushed forward. He was a keen-eyed, poker-faced fellow, dressed in the fashion of the big cities.
“If it's a question of handwriting, gents, perhaps I can help," he said. "I'm a bit of an expert.”
Garstone believed he had found a friend. "I shall be indebted," he replied, with a marked emphasis on the last word. On receiving the document, the unknown turned to Maitland. "You got a known specimen of the signature on this?" he enquired.
The banker fumbled among his papers. "Here is a draft which Mister Trenton signed in my presence.”
The expert compared the two signatures, discussing them with his companion, who had joined him. "I guess that settlesit," he said, handed back the draft, and put the will in his pocket.
“Here, I want that," Garstone cried.
“So do the New York police,-and they want you with it," the man returned dryly. "So bad, too, that they've sent me to fetch you.”
The blood drained from Garstone's face, but he made an attempt to fight the fear which possessed him. "You are making a mistake," he said. "I am Chesney Garstone—“
“Yep, that's a swell monicker," the man replied, and beckoned to yorky. "Now, son, this is the guy you wrote us about, ain't it? Tell him who he is—he 'pears to have forgotten."
“Look at that kid's face," one of the crowd whispered to his neighbour. "Nothin' you could offer him would buy this moment.”
He was right; Yorky would not have sold it for the contents of Red Rufe's Cache. Pointing to Garstone, he cried shrilly, "That's the Penman—Big Fritz, forger an bank-buster. He done the Burley Bank job an' killed the night-watchman. I've seed him scores o' times in O'Toole's joint on th' Waterfront.”
To the breathless spectators of the scene the man seemed to become older before their eyes; instead of a confident, bumptious bully they saw a haggard craven. Even his voice had changed.
“He lies, I don't know the Waterfront. I never heard of Mike O'Toole—“
The stranger's laugh stopped him. "Maybe, but who told you it was Mike?" he asked. "Well, we all make slips, and we had you fixed anyway."
“You can't arrest me here for an offence committed in another State," Garstone said desperately.
“That's my part," the second man said. He flicked aside his coat, showing the badge of a deputy-sheriff. "You'll be taken to Tucson, and sent on to New york.”
Garstone shuddered. There was no escape; these cold-featured men would take him away to--death. He cursed the luck which had sent him to Rainbow; cursed that other fugitive from the underworld who had brought about his undoing. He visioned again the cave in the mountains, and heard a voice, "Rats has teeth, an' can bite." The rat had bitten, even then, and the wound would be fatal. The thought that this puny brat had bested him bred a madness in his brain. If he must die, it should not be alone; that grinning little beast .. . Livid with fury, he snatched a pistol from beneath his open coat and levelled it at yorky's breast.
“You first—vermin," he hissed.
The words were his last mistake. Ere he could press the trigger, a gun cracked, and he staggered, pitched sideways, and rolled off the platform, the weapon dropping from his twitching fingers. Sudden shoved his smoking six-shooter back into his belt.
“I had to do it," he said to the officers. "Yo're journey has been wasted."
“Oh, I guess not," the New Yorker replied callously. "Dead or alive was my instructions; he'll be less trouble in a box." And, as the puncher turned away, added, to his companion, "Did you see it? Hell! I'm glad they didn't ask me to collect him.”
In the midst of the excitement, as the jostling crowd surged forward to get a sight of the corpse, someone touched his elbow—a very pale and trembling Yorky.
“Say, Mister, d'yer think Clancy'll git promotion fer this?" he questioned.
“Sure, he won't be a common flat-foot no more," the man replied. "There's a reward too; you both ought to come in on that."
“I don't want none of it—tell 'em Clancy can have my share," yorky said quickly. "He's got a wife an' little 'uns. He was kind ter me. I'd like fer him to know I'm well an' doin' fine."
“I'll tell him my own self, son," the detective promised, and when the boy had gone, "Clancy said he was a lunger, but hell, he don't look it. Pity more of our slum lads can't git out here and have a chance of becomin' real men.”
CHAPTER XXVI
Two weeks later, Dan, following the course of the Rainbow on his way to the Wagon-wheel, came upon two saddled ponies contentedly cropping the rich grass of the river bank. Rounding a clump of willow, he discovered the owners, Malachi and Kate Maitland, sitting very close together, and so completely oblivious to the rest of the world that they failed to notice his approach.
“Space on this range bein' limited, folks naturally has to crowd one another," he mused aloud.
The girl started, flushed, and tried to draw away, but her companion clasped her waist more firmly, looked up, and grinned.
“Dan, I've the greatest news for you," he said. "We are to be married.”
The rancher laughed. "You call that news? Why, Rainbow has knowed it ever since we got back from 01' Cloudy. I've on'y one thing to say, Phil—yo're a lucky fella."
“And that is no news to me," the doctor returned gravely. "Riding far, Dan?"
“I have business at the Wagon-wheel.”
Malachi's eyes twinkled. "He has business at the Wagon-wheel," he told the girl beside him. "And maybe that range is larger and folks don't have to crowd one another.”
They both smiled broadly, and it was Dover's turn to get red. "Aw, go to—Paradise," he said, and rode away.
To his mingled relief and disappointment, Zeb's old housekeeper answered his knock, conducted him to the sick rancher's room, and left them together. Trenton, sitting up in bed, welcomed his visitor grimly.
“Well, come to give me notice to quit?"
“No, just wanted to see if you're feelin' strong enough to tear this up," Dan replied, and threw a paper on the counterpane; it was the mortgage on the Wagon-wheel.
“What's the idea? Didn't you buy the ranch?"
“The Circle Dot took over the debt, an' you can pay in yore own time—I figure the cattle business is on the upgrade," Dover replied. "I've told our outfit that yore cows can graze to the river. That's all I gotta say." He turned to go.
“Wait a minute," Trenton said. "A week back I was called a stiff-necked, stubborn of fool; o'course, she didn't put it in those words—"
“She?" Dan wanted to know.
“Shore, my niece, Beth." The harsh, bony features had softened, and there was a shadow of a smile on the bloodless lips. "She's got pluck—nobody ever dared bawl me out, sick or well. It made me think, an' this clinches it. On top of savin' her life an' mine, you hand back my property. It shames me, • boy. I've allus sworn I'd never thank a Dover, but I'm doin' it.”
The young man gripped the proffered thin hand willingly enough, and the Trenton-Dover war was at an end.
“I owe a hell of a lot to you an' yore men—'specially Green," the invalid said presently. "If you agree, I'd like to offer him his own terms to come here."
“I wish you could persuade him, for we've failed," Dan replied sadly. "Claims he has a promise to keep, which means puffin' out soon. You'll never budge him, he's as obstinate as a—Dover," he finished, with a grin.
The old man smiled too. "I've treated him middlin' shabby," he said. "I reckon I'll have to eat crow."
“Jim ain't that sort," Dan assured him. "He's the best friend I ever had, an' he won't let me do a thing—just says `Shucks' an' changes the subject. I'm damned sorry he's goin'."
“Ask him to come an' see me," the rancher said.
Dover promised, and was about to leave when he remembered something—the locket. He laid it on the bed.
“Guess this belongs to yore niece; I found it in the tent," he explained, and came away.
As he stepped into the open, he met the girl herself. She had no smile of welcome for him, and her greeting told why. "When do we move out?"
“I've been seein' yore uncle about that," he replied.
“You might have waited until he is stronger," she said heatedly. "I must go to him at once.”
She left him standing there, and did not see the whimsical look which followed her. Dan hoisted himself into the saddle and set off, but he had gone less than fifty yards when he heard her call.
“Mister Dover.”
He grinned wickedly, but took no notice, until the cry was repeated, breathlessly. He stopped and dismounted; the girl was hurrying towards him; her face was flushed, eyes moist.
“You are the meanest man I ever met," she began. "You save my life, restore my uncle's property after he has used you badly, and even bring back something the loss of which grieved me deeply—my mother's portrait, and you refuse to accept a word of thanks. Why have you always disliked me? I couldn't help being the daughter of a Trenton.”
The curious mixture of indignation and gratitude made her so provokingly pretty that he had hard work to refrain from putting his arms about her and telling the truth—that he didn't care if she was the daughter of the Devil himself.
“I was afraid." He saw she did not comprehend, and went on. "Afraid I'd get too fond o' you, so I tried to build a barrier between us."
“And it had to be barbed wire?" she said.
“Yeah, but I found out that barbed wire won't keep thoughts from strayin', an' is liable to hurt those who handle it.
The soft dark eyes faced his bravely for an instant and then dropped. "I learned that too—Dan," she murmured.
It was quite a time before she had an opportunity to speak again, and, as she strove to rearrange her hair, it was a truly feminine remark:
“I expect I look a sight; I don't know what you must think of me."
“I think yo're the most beautiful girl in Arizona," he told her.
“Only in Arizona, Dan?" she teased.
“Arizona is my world," he replied.
“Mine too," she whispered, and brought about another interlude.
* Sudden and Yorky were paying a final visit to the Pool of the Pines, for—as Dan had predicted--Trenton's inducements and pleas had proved vain as his own. They had enjoyed their swim, and Nigger was waiting. The boy's expression was woebegone.
“I'll be missin' yer, Jim. Wish I c'd come too," he said, for about the twentieth time.
“So do I, but it's too chancy," the puncher replied. `Best yu should stay here, learn yore job, an' get them bellows o' yourn sound again. Then, mebbe, when I'm free, yu an' me'll go take a look at the country somewheres.”
Yorky's eyes shone at the prospect. "Gee! Jim, that'd be swell," he breathed.
“So long, son," Sudden said, as he swung into the saddle. "Keep outa trouble, but if that ain't possible, see it through.”
The boy watched the black horse and its rider until they were blotted out by a mist which was not of Nature's making; there was an unaccustomed lump in his throat.
“Just th' greatest guy—ever," he told the silence.
THE END
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