diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 12189-0.txt | 11283 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12189-8.txt | 11709 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12189-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 195308 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12189.txt | 11709 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12189.zip | bin | 0 -> 195252 bytes |
8 files changed, 34717 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12189-0.txt b/12189-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c231fb --- /dev/null +++ b/12189-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11283 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12189 *** + +JIM WARING + +OF SONORA-TOWN + +OR, TANG OF LIFE + +BY + +HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + +AUTHOR OF OVERLAND RED, ETC. + + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +E. BOYD SMITH + + +August 1918 + + +To + +Robert Frothingham + + + +[Illustration: Waring of Sonora-Town] + + + +Waring of Sonora-Town + +_The heat acrost the desert was a-swimmin' in the sun, + When Waring of Sonora-Town, + Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, +From Salvador come ridin' down, a-rollin' of his gun. + +He was singin' low and easy to his pony's steady feet, + But his eye was live and driftin' + Round the scenery and siftin' +All the crawlin' shadows shiftin' in the tremblin' gray mesquite. + +Eyes was watchin' from a hollow where a outlaw Chola lay; + Two black, snaky eyes a-yearnin' + For Jim's hoss to make the turnin', +Then to send a bullet burnin' through his back--the Chola way. + +And Jim Waring's gaze, a-rovin' round the desert as he rode, + Settled quick--without him seemin' + To get wise and quit his dreamin'-- +On a shiny ring a-gleamin' where no ring had ever growed. + +The lightnin' don't give warnin'; just a lick and she is through; + Waring set his gun to smokin' + Playful like, like he was jokin', +And--a Chola lay a-chokin' ... and a buzzard cut the blue._ + +Contents + + I. The Cañon + + II. José Vaca + + III. Donovan's Hand + + IV. The Silver Crucifix + + V. The Tang of Life + + VI. Arizona + + VII. The Return of Waring + + VIII. Lorry + + IX. High-Chin Bob + + X. East and West + + XI. Spring Lamb + + XII. Bud Shoop and Bondsman + + XIII. The Horse Trade + + XIV. Bondsman's Decision + + XV. John and Demijohn + + XVI. Play + + XVII. Down the Wind + + XVIII. A Piece of Paper + + XIX. The Fight in the Open + + XX. City Folks + + XXI. A Slim Whip of a Girl + + XXII. A Tune for Uncle Bud + + XXIII. Like One Who Sleeps + + XXIV. The Genial Bud + + XXV. The Little Fires + + XXVI. Idle Noon + + XXVII. Waco + +XXVIII. A Squared Account + + XXIX. Bud's Conscience + + XXX. In the Hills + + XXXI. In the Pines + + XXXII. Politics + +XXXIII. The Fires of Home + + XXXIV. Young Life + + XXXV. The High Trail + + + +Illustrations + + +Waring of Sonora-Town + +A huddled shape near a boulder + +"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun" + +They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had prepared + + +_From drawings by E. Boyd Smith_ + + + +TANG OF LIFE + + + + +Chapter I + + +_The Cañon_ + +Waring picketed his horse in a dim angle of the Agua Fria Cañon, spread +his saddle-blanket to dry in the afternoon sun, and, climbing to a +narrow ledge, surveyed the cañon from end to end with a pair of +high-power glasses. He knew the men he sought would ride south. He was +reasonably certain that they would not ride through the cañon in +daylight. The natural trail through the Agua Fria was along the western +wall; a trail that he had avoided, working his toilsome way down the +eastern side through a labyrinth of brush and rock that had concealed +him from view. A few hundred yards below his hasty camp a sandy arroyo +crossed the cañon's mouth. + +He had planned to intercept the men where the trail crossed this arroyo, +or, should the trail show pony tracks, to follow them into the desert +beyond, where, sooner or later, he would overtake them. They had a start +of twelve hours, but Waring reasoned that they would not do much riding +in daylight. The trail at the northern end of the cañon had shown no +fresh tracks that morning. His problem was simple. The answer would be +definite. He returned to the shelter of the brush, dropped the glasses +into a saddle-pocket, and stretched himself wearily. + +A few yards below him, on a brush-dotted level, his horse, Dexter, +slowly circled his picket and nibbled at the scant bunch-grass. The +western sun trailed long shadows across the cañon; shadows that drifted +imperceptibly farther and farther, spreading, commingling, softening the +broken outlines of ledge and brush until the walled solitude was brimmed +with dusk, save where a red shaft cleft the fast-fading twilight, +burning like a great spotlight on a picketed horse and a man asleep, his +head pillowed on a saddle. + +As the dusk drew down, the horse ceased grazing, sniffed the coming +night, and nickered softly. Waring rose and led the horse to water, and, +returning, emptied half the grain in the morral on a blanket. Dex +munched contentedly. When the horse had finished eating the grain, +Waring picketed him in a fresh spot and climbed back to the ledge, where +he sat watching the western wall of the cañon, occasionally glancing up +as some dim star burned through the deepening dusk and bloomed to a +silvery maturity. + +Presently a faint pallor overspread the cañon till it lay like a ghostly +sea dotted with strange islands of brush and rock; islands that seemed +to waver and shift in a sort of vague restlessness, as though trying to +evade the ever-brightening tide of moonlight that burned away their +shrouds of dusk and fixed them in still, tangible shapes upon the cañon +floor. + +Across the cañon the farther trail ran past a broad, blank wall of rock. +No horseman could cross that open space unseen. Waring, seated upon the +ledge, leaned back against the wall, watching the angling shadows +shorten as the moon drew overhead. Toward morning he became drowsy. As +the white radiance paled to gray, he rose and paced back and forth upon +the narrow ledge to keep himself awake. In a few minutes the moon would +disappear behind the farther rim of the world; the cañon would sink back +into its own night, all its moonlit imageries melting, vanishing. In the +hour before dawn Waring would be unable to see anything of the farther +wall save a wavering blur. + +Just below him he could discern the outline of his horse, with head +lowered, evidently dozing. Having in mind the keenness of desert-bred +stock, he watched the horse. The minutes drifted by. The horse seemed +more distinct. Waring thought he could discern the picket rope. He +endeavored to trace it from horse to picket. Foot by foot his eyes +followed its slack outline across the ground. The head of the metal +picket glimmered faintly. Waring closed his eyes, nodded, and caught +himself. This time he traced the rope from picket to horse. It seemed a +childish thing to do, yet it kept him awake. Did he imagine it, or had +the rope moved? + +Dex had lifted his head. He was sniffing the cool morning air. Slowly +the tawny-golden shape of the big buckskin turned, head up and nostrils +rounded in tense rings. Waring glanced across the cañon. The farther +wall was still dim in the half-light. In a few minutes the trail would +become distinct. Dropping from the ledge, he stepped to his saddle. Dex +evidently heard him, for he twitched back one ear, but maintained his +attitude of keen interest in an invisible something--a something that +had drawn him from drowsy inanition to a quietly tense statue of +alertness. The ash gray of the farther wall, now visible, slowly changed +to a faint rose tint that deepened and spread. + +Waring stooped and straightened up, with his glasses held on the far +trail. A tiny rider appeared in the clear blue circle of the binoculars, +and another, who led two horses without saddles or packs. The men were +headed south. Presently they disappeared behind a wall of brush. Waring +saddled Dex, and, keeping close to the eastern wall, rode toward the +arroyo. + +The morning sun traced clean, black shadows of the chaparral on the +sand. The bloom of cacti burned in red and yellow blotches of flame +against its own dull background of grayish-green. At the mouth of the +arroyo, Waring dismounted and dropped the reins. Dex nosed him +inquiringly. He patted the horse, and, turning, strode swiftly down the +dry river-bed. He walked upright, knowing that he could not be seen from +the trail. He could even have ridden down the arroyo unseen, and perhaps +it was a senseless risk to hunt men afoot in this land. The men he +hunted were Mexicans of Sonora; fugitives. They would fight blindly, +spurred by fear. Waring's very name terrorized them. And were they to +come upon the gringo mounted, Waring knew that there was more than a +chance his horse would be shot. He had a peculiar aversion to running +such a risk when there was half a chance of doing his work on foot. + +Moreover, certain Americans in Sonora who disliked Waring had said +recently that no man was quick enough to get an even break with the +gunman, which tentatively placed him as a "killer," whereas he had never +given a thought to the hazard when going into a fight. He had always +played the game to win, odds either way. The men he sought would be +mounted. He would be on foot. This time the fugitives would have more +than a fair chance. They would blunder down the pitch into the arroyo, +perhaps glancing back, fearful of pursuit, but apprehending no +ambushment. + +Waring knew they would kill him if they could. He knew that not even a +fighting chance would have been his were they in his place and he in +theirs. He was deputized and paid to do just what he was doing. The men +were bandits who had robbed the paymaster of the Ortez Mines. To Waring +there was nothing complicated about the matter. It was his day's work. +The morning sun would be in their faces, but that was not his fault. + +As Waring waited in the arroyo the faint clatter of shod hoofs came from +above. He drew close to a cutbank, leaning his shoulder against it +easily. With a slither of sand, the first horse took the pitch, legs +angled awkwardly as he worked down. The second rider followed, the led +horses pulling back. + +At the bottom of the arroyo, the Mexicans reined up. The elder, squat, +broad of back, a black handkerchief tied round his thick neck, reached +into his pocket and drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. The other, +hardly more than a boy, urged that they hasten. Fear vibrated in his +voice. The squat Mexican laughed and began to roll a cigarette. + +None had overtaken them, he said. And were they not now in the Land +Where No Man Lived? + +"Si!" said Waring softly. + +The half-rolled cigarette fluttered to the ground. The Mexican's heavy +lip sagged, showing broken teeth. His companion dropped the lead-rope +and turned to gaze at Waring with eyes wide, wondering, curious. The led +horses plunged up the back trail. Waring made no movement toward his +gun, but he eyed the elder Mexican sharply, paying little attention to +the youth. The horse of the squat Mexican grew restless, sidling toward +the other. + +Waring's lips tightened. The bandit was spurring his horse on the off +side to get behind his companion. Evidently the numbness of surprise had +given way to fear, and fear meant action. Waring knew that the elder +Mexican would sacrifice his companion for the sake of a chance of +killing the gringo. + +Waring held out his left hand. "Give me your gun," he said to the youth. +"And hand it down butt first." + +The youth, as though hypnotized, pulled out his gun and handed it to +Waring. Waring knew that if the other Mexican meant to fight it would be +at that instant. Even as the butt of the gun touched Waring's hand it +jumped. Two shattering reports blended and died echoless in the +close-walled arroyo. + +The Mexican's gun slipped slowly from his fingers. He rocked in the +saddle, grasped the horn, and slid to the ground. Waring saw him reach +for the gun where it lay on the sand. He kicked it aside. The Mexican +youth leaped from the saddle and stood between Waring and the fallen +man. Waring stepped back. For an instant his eyes drew fine. He was +tempted to make an end of it right there. The youth dropped to his +knees. A drift of wind fluttered the bandanna at his throat. Waring saw +a little silver crucifix gleaming against the smooth brown of his chest. + +"If it is that I am to die, I am not afraid," said the youth. "I have +this!" And his fingers touched the crucifix. "But you will not kill my +uncle!" + +Waring hesitated. He seemed to be listening. And as though in a dream, +yet distinct--clear as though he had spoken himself came the words: "It +is enough!" + +"Not this journey," said Waring. + +The Mexican youth gazed at him wonderingly. Was the gringo mad? + +Waring holstered his gun with a jerk. "Get up on your hind legs and quit +that glory stuff! We ride north," he growled. + + + + +Chapter II + + +_José Vaca_ + +The young Mexican's face was beaded with sweat as he rose and stared +down at the wounded man. Clumsily he attempted to help Waring, who +washed and bandaged the shattered shoulder. Waring had shot to kill, but +the gun was not his own, and he had fired almost as it had touched his +hand. + +"Get your uncle on his horse," he told the youth. "Don't make a break. +We're due at Juan Armigo's ranchito about sundown." + +So far as he was concerned, that was all there was to it for the time +being. He had wounded and captured José Vaca, notorious in Sonora as +leader in outlawry. That there were no others of Vaca's kind with him +puzzled Waring. The young Ramon, Vaca's nephew, did not count. + +Ramon helped his uncle to mount. They glanced at each other, Vaca's eyes +blinking. The gringo was afoot. They were mounted. Waring, observing +their attitude, smiled, and, crooking his finger, whistled shrilly. The +young Ramon trembled. Other gringos were hidden in the arroyo; perhaps +the very man that his uncle had robbed! Even now he could hear the click +of hoofs on the gravel. The gunman had been merciful for the moment, +only to turn his captives over to the merciless men of the mines; men +who held a Mexican's life worth no more than a dog's. The wounded man, +stiff in the saddle, turned his head. Round a bend in the dry river-bed, +his neck held sideways that the reins might drag free, came Waring's big +buckskin horse, Dexter. The horse stopped as he saw the group. Waring +spoke to him. The big buckskin stepped forward and nosed Waring, who +swung to the saddle and gestured toward the back trail. + +They rode in silence, the Mexicans with bowed heads, dull-eyed, +listless, resigned to their certain fate. For some strange reason the +gringo had not killed them in the arroyo. He had had excuse enough. + +Would he take them to Sonora--to the prison? Or would he wait until they +were in some hidden fastness of the Agua Fria, and there kill them and +leave them to the coyotes? The youth Ramon knew that the two little +canvas sacks of gold were cleverly tied in the huge tapaderas of his +uncle's saddle. Who would think to look for them there? + +The gringo had said that they would ride to the ranchito of Juan Armigo. +How easily the gringo had tricked them at the very moment when they +thought they were safe! Yet he had not asked about the stolen money. The +ways of this gringo were past comprehension. + +Waring paid scant attention to the Mexicans, but he glanced continuously +from side to side of the cañon, alert for a surprise. The wounded man, +Vaca, was known to him. He was but one of the bandits. Ramon, Vaca's +nephew, was not of their kind, but had been led into this journey by +Vaca that the bandit might ride wide when approaching the ranchos and +send his nephew in for supplies. + +The pack on Ramon's saddle rode too lightly to contain anything heavier +than food. There was nothing tied to Vaca's saddle but a frayed and +faded blanket. Yet Waring was certain that they had not cached the gold; +that they carried it with them. + +At noon they watered the horses midway up the cañon. As they rode on +again, Waring noticed that Vaca did not thrust his foot clear home in +the stirrup, but he attributed this to the other's condition. The +Mexican was a sick man. His swarthy face had gone yellow, and he leaned +forward, clutching the horn. The heat was stagnant, unwavering. The pace +was desperately slow. + +Despite his vigilance, Waring's mind grew heavy with the monotony. He +rolled a cigarette. The smoke tasted bitter. He flung the cigarette +away. The hunting of men had lost its old-time thrill. A clean break and +a hard fight; that was well enough. But the bowed figures riding ahead +of him: ignorant, superstitious, brutal; numb to any sense of honor. Was +the game worth while? Yet they were men--human in that they feared, +hoped, felt hunger, thirst, pain, and even dreamed of vague successes to +be attained how or when the Fates would decide. And was this squalid +victory a recompense for the risks he ran and the hardships he endured? + +Again Waring heard the Voice, as though from a distance, and yet the +voice was his own: "You will turn back from the hunting of men." + +"Like hell I will!" muttered Waring. + +Ramon, who rode immediately ahead of him, turned in the saddle. Waring +gestured to him to ride on. + +The heat grew less intense as an occasional, vagrant breeze stirred in +the brush and fluttered the handkerchief round Waring's throat. Ahead, +the cañon broadened to the mesa lands, where the distant green of a line +of trees marked the boundary of the Armigo rancho. + +Presently Vaca began to sing; softly at first, then with insane +vehemence as the fever mounted to his brain. Waring smiled with dry +lips. The Mexican had stood the journey well. A white man in Vaca's +condition would have gone to pieces hours ago. He called to Ramon, who +gave Vaca water. The Mexican drank greedily, and threw the empty canteen +into the bushes. + +Waring listened for some hint, some crazy boast as to the whereabouts of +the stolen money. But Vaca rode on, occasionally breaking into a wild +song, half Yaqui, half Mexican. The youth Ramon trembled, fearing that +the gringo would lose patience. + +Across the northern end of the cañon the winnowing heat waves died to +the level of the ground. Brown shadows shot from the western wall and +spread across the widening outlet. The horses stepped briskly, knowing +that they were near water. + +Waring became more alert as they approached the adobe buildings of the +rancho. Vaca had drifted into a dull silence. Gray with suffering and +grim with hate for the gringo, he rode stolidly, praying incoherently +that the gunman might be stricken dead as he rode. + +The raw edge of the disappearing sun leveled a long flame of crimson +across the mesa. The crimson melted to gold. The gold paled to a brief +twilight. A faint star twinkled in the north. + +Dogs crowded forward in the dusk, challenging the strange riders. A +figure filled the lighted doorway of the Armigo ranch-house. The dogs +drew back. + +Ramon dismounted and helped his uncle down. Waring sat his horse until +Juan Armigo stepped from the doorway and asked who came. Waring answered +with his name. + +"Si! Si!" exclaimed Armigo. "The señor is welcome." + +Waring dismounted. "Juan, I have two of your friends here; José Vaca and +Ramon Ortego." + +Armigo seemed surprised. "José Vaca is wounded?" he queried +hesitatingly. + +Waring nodded. + +"And the horses; they shall have feed, water, everything--I myself--" + +"Thanks. But I'll look after the horses, Juan. I'm taking Vaca and Ramon +to Sonora. See what you can do for Vaca. He's pretty sick." + +"It shall be as the señor says. And the señor has made a fight?" + +"With those hombres? Not this journey! José Vaca made a mistake; that's +all." + +Armigo, perturbed, shuffled to the house. Waring unsaddled the horses +and turned them into the corral. As he lifted the saddle from Vaca's +horse, he hesitated. It was a big stock saddle and heavy; yet it seemed +too heavy. On his knees he turned it over, examining it. He smiled +grimly as he untied the little canvas sacks and drew them from the +tapaderas. + +"Thought he showed too much boot for a hard-riding chola," muttered +Waring. + +He rose and threw some hay to the horses. He could hear Ramon and Armigo +talking in the ranch-house. Taking his empty canteen from his own +saddle, he untied the sacks and slipped the gold-pieces, one by one, +into the canteen. He scooped up sand and filled the canteen half full. +The gold no longer jingled as he shook it. + +While Waring had no fear that either of the men would attempt to escape, +he knew Mexicans too well to trust Armigo explicitly. A thousand +dollars was a great temptation to a poor rancher. And while Armigo had +always professed to be Waring's friend, sympathy of blood and the appeal +of money easily come by might change the placid face of things +considerably. + +Waring strode to the house, washed and ate with Juan in the kitchen; +then he invited the Mexican out to the corral. + +"José and Ramon are your countrymen, Juan." + +"Si, señor. I am sorry for Ramon. This thing was not of his doing. He is +but a boy--" + +Waring touched the other's arm. "There will be no trouble, Juan. Only +keep better track of your horses while I ride this part of the country." + +"But--señor--" + +"I've had business with you before. Two of your cayuses are astray down +the Agua Fria. One of them is dragging a maguey lead-rope." + +"Señor, it is impossible!" + +"No, it isn't! I know your brand. See here, Juan. You knew that Vaca was +trying to get away. You knew I'd be sent to get him. Why did you let him +take two spare horses?" + +"But, señor, I swear I did not!" + +"All right. Then when Ramon rode in here two days ago and asked you for +two horses, why didn't you refuse him? Why did you tell him you would +sell them, but that you would not lend them to him?" + +"If Ramon says that, he lies. I told Ramon--" + +"Thanks. That's all I want to know. I don't care what you told Ramon. +You let him take the horses. Now, I'm going to tell you something that +will be worth more to you than gold. Don't try to rope any stock grazing +round here to-night. I might wake up quick and make a mistake. Men look +alike in the moonlight--and we'll have a moon." + +"It shall be as the señor says. It is fate." + +"All right, amigo. But it isn't fate. It's making fool mistakes when you +or your countrymen tackle a job like Vaca tackled. Just get me a couple +of blankets. I'll sleep out here to-night." + +Juan Armigo plodded to the adobe. The lamplight showed his face beaded +with sweat. He shuffled to an inner room, and came out with blankets on +his arm. Vaca lay on a bed-roll in the corner of the larger room, and +near him stood Ramon. + +"The señor sleeps with the horses," said Armigo significantly. + +Ramon bent his head and muttered a prayer. + +"And if you pray," said Armigo, shifting the blankets from one arm to +the other, "pray then that the two horses that you borrowed may return. +As for your Uncle José, he will not die." + +"And we shall be taken to the prison," said Ramon." + +"You should have killed the gringo." And Armigo's tone was +matter-of-fact. "Or perhaps told him where you had hidden the gold. He +might have let you go, then." + +Ramon shook his head. Armigo's suggestion was too obviously a question +as to the whereabouts of the stolen money. + +The wounded man opened his eyes. "I have heard," he said faintly. "Tell +the gringo that I will say where the money is hidden if he will let me +go." + +"It shall be as you wish," said Armigo, curious to learn more of the +matter. + +At the corral he delivered Vaca's message to Waring, who feigned delight +at the other's information. + +"If that is so, Tio Juan," he laughed, "you shall have your share--a +hundred pesos. Leave the blankets there by my saddle. We will go to the +house." + +From the coolness of night, with its dim radiance of stars, to the +accumulated heat of the interior of the adobe was an unpleasant change. +The walls were whitewashed and clean enough, but the place smelled +strongly of cooking. A lamp burned on the oilcloth-covered table. Ramon, +wide-eyed with trepidation, stood by his uncle, who had braced himself +on his elbow as Waring approached. Waring nodded pleasantly and rolled a +cigarette. José Vaca glared up at him hungrily. The lower lip, +pendulous, showed his broken teeth. Waring thought of a trapped wolf. +Juan glanced from one to the other. + +But the gringo seemed incurious, merely gazing at the pictures on the +walls; a flaming print of the Madonna, one of the Christ, a cheap +photograph of Juan and his señora taken on their wedding day, an abalone +shell on which was painted something resembling a horse and rider-- + +"The gold is hidden in the house of Pedro Salazar, of Sonora. It is +buried in the earth beneath his bed." + +José Vaca had spoken, but Waring was watching Ramon's eyes. + +"All right, hombre. Muchas gracias." + +"And now you will let me go?" queried Vaca. + +"I haven't said so." Waring's tone was pleasant, almost indifferent. + +Ramon's face was troubled. Of what use was it to try and deceive the +gringo? But Waring was smiling. Did he, then, believe such an obvious +lie? + +"Bueno!" Waring exclaimed. "That lets _you_ out. Now, what about you, +Ramon?" + +"My uncle has spoken," said Ramon. "I have nothing to say." + +"Then you will ride with me to Sonora." + +"As you say, señor." + +"All right. Don't sit up all night praying. That won't do any good. Get +some sleep. And you, too, Juan." And Waring turned quickly to Armigo. +"Sleep all you can. You'll feel better in the morning." + +Waring turned and strode out. In the corral he spread his blankets. With +his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars. + +The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one +corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground +was new to them. + +For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged +as he rested. Just before Waring slept he felt a gentle nosing of his +blankets. The big horse sniffed curiously. + +"Strange blankets, eh?" queried Waring drowsily. "But it's the same old +partner, Dex." + +The horse walked slowly away, nosing along the fence. Waring knew that +he was well sentineled. The big buckskin would resent the approach of a +stranger by snorting. Waring turned on his side and slept. His day's +work was done. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +_Donovan's Hand_ + +Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to the +horses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over the +kitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. The +Mexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifix +on the wall, where he had knelt in prayer most of the night. + +Waring drew back quietly. + +"Let them sleep," he told Juan in the kitchen. + +After frijoles and coffee, the gunman rose and gestured to Juan to +follow him. + +Out near the corral, Waring turned suddenly. "You say that young Ramon +is straight?" + +"Si, señor. He is a good boy." + +"Well, he's in dam' bad company. How about Vaca?" + +Juan Armigo shrugged his shoulders. + +"Are you afraid of him, Juan?" + +"No. But if he were to ask me for anything, it would be well to let him +have it." + +"I see. So he sent young Ramon in here for two extra horses, and you +were afraid to refuse. I had thought you were an honest man. After I +have gone, go hunt up those horses in the cañon. And if any one from +Sonora rides in here and asks about Ramon or Vaca or me, you don't know +anything about us. Sabe? If your horses are found before you get to +them, some one stole them. Do these things. I don't want to come back to +see if you have done them." + +Juan Armigo nodded, gazing at Waring with crafty eyes. So the gringo was +tempted by the gold. He would ride back to Sonora, find the stolen money +in the house of Pedro Salazar, and keep it. It would be a very simple +thing to do. Young Ramon would be afraid to speak and José Vaca would +have disappeared. The gringo could swear that he had not found the +bandits or the gold. So reasoned Juan, his erstwhile respect for the +gunman wavering as the idea became fixed. He grinned at Waring. It would +be a good trick; to steal the gold from the stealers. Of a certainty the +gringo was becoming almost as subtle as a Mexican. + +Waring was not pleased as he read the other's eyes, but he said nothing. +Turning abruptly, he entered the corral and saddled Ramon's horse and +his own. + +"Get José Vaca out of here as soon as he can travel," he told Armigo. +"You may have to explain if he is found here." And Waring strode to the +adobe. + +Ramon was awake and talking with his uncle. Waring told him to get +something to eat. Then he turned to Vaca. + +"José," he began pleasantly, "you tried to get me yesterday, but you +only spoiled a good Stetson. See? You shot high. When you go for a man +again, start in at his belt-buckle and get him low. We'll let that go +this time. When you can ride, take your cayuse and fan it anywhere--_but +don't ride back to Sonora_. I'll be there. I'm going to herd young Ramon +back home. He is isn't your kind. You are free. Don't jabber. Just tell +all that to your saints. And if you get caught, don't say that you saw +me. Sabe?" + +The wounded man raised himself on his elbow, glaring up at Waring with +feverish eyes. "You give me my life. I shall not speak." + +"Bueno! And you said in the house of Pedro Salazar?" + +"Si! Near the acequia." + +"The Placeta Burro. I know the place. You'll find your horse and a +saddle when you are able to ride." + +The bandit's eyes glistened as he watched Waring depart. If the gringo +entered the house of Pedro Salazar, he would not find the gold and he +would not come out alive. The gringo gunman had killed the brother of +Pedro Salazar down in the desert country years ago. And Salazar had had +nothing to do with the Ortez Mine robbery. Vaca thought that the gold +was still safe in his tapaderas. The gringo was a fool. + +Waring led the two saddled horses to the house. Ramon, coming from the +kitchen, blinked in the sunlight. + +"It is my horse, but not my saddle, señor." + +"You are an honest man," laughed Waring. "But we won't change saddles. +Come on!" + +Ramon mounted and rode beside Waring until they were out of sight of the +ranch-house, when Waring reined up. + +"Where is that money?" he asked suddenly. + +"I do not know, señor." + +"Did you know where it was yesterday?" + +Ramon hesitated. Was this a trap? Waring's level gaze held the young +Mexican to a straight answer. + +"Si, señor. I knew--yesterday." + +"You knew; but you didn't talk up when your uncle tried to run me into +Pedro Salazar." + +"I--he is of my family." + +"Well, I don't blame you. I see that you can keep from talking when you +have to. And now is your chance to do a lot of keeping still. I'm going +to ride into Sonora ahead of you. When you get in, go home and forget +that you made this journey. If your folks ask where your uncle is, tell +them that he rode south and that you turned back. Because you did didn't +lie to me, and because you did didn't show yellow, I'm going to give you +a chance to get out of this. I let your uncle go because he would have +given you away to save himself the minute I jailed him in Sonora. It's +up to you to keep out of trouble. You've had a scare that ought to last +you. Take your time and hit Sonora about sundown. Adios." + +"But--señor!" + +Waring whirled his horse. "A good rider shoves his foot clear home," he +called as he loped away. + +Ramon sat his horse, gazing at the little puffs of dust that shot from +the hoofs of the big buckskin. Surely the gringo was mad! Yet he was a +man of big heart. Perplexed, stunned by the realization that he was +alone and free, the young Mexican gazed about him. Waring was a tiny +figure in the distance. Ramon dismounted and examined the empty +tapaderas. + +Heretofore he had considered subtlety, trickery, qualities to be +desired, and not incompatible with honor. In a flash he realized the +difference, the distinction between trickery and keenness of mind. He +had been awed by his uncle's reputation and proud to name him of this +family. Now he saw him for what he was. "My Uncle José is a bad man," he +said to himself. "The other,--the gringo whom men call 'The Killer,'--he +is a hard man, but assuredly he is not bad." + +When Ramon spoke to his horse his voice trembled. His hand drifted up to +the little silver crucifix on his breast. A vague glimmer of +understanding, a sense of the real significance of the emblem heartened +him to face the journey homeward and the questions of his kin. And, +above all, he felt an admiration for the gringo that grew by degrees as +he rode on. He could follow such a man to the end of the world, even +across the border of the Great Unknown, for surely such a leader would +not lose the way. + + * * * * * + +Three men sat in the office of the Ortez Mines, smoking and saying +little. Donovan, the manager; the paymaster, Quigley; and the assistant +manager, a young American fresh from the East. Waring's name was +mentioned. Three days ago he had ridden south after the bandits. He +might return. He might not. + +"I'd like to see him ride in," said Donovan, turning to the paymaster. + +"And you hate him at that," said Quigley. + +"I don't say so. But if he was paymaster here, he'd put the fear of God +into some of those greasers." + +Quigley flushed. "You didn't hire me to chase greasers, Donovan. I'm no +gunman." + +"No," said Donovan slowly. "I had you sized up." + +"Oh, cut out that stuff!" said the assistant manager, smiling. "That +won't balance the pay-roll." + +"No. But I'm going to cut down expenses." And Donovan eyed Quigley. "Jim +Waring is too dam' high and mighty to suit me. Every time he tackles a +job he is the big boss till it's done. If he comes back, all right. If +he don't--we'll charge it up to profit and loss. But his name goes off +the pay-roll to-day." + +Quigley grinned. He knew that Donovan was afraid of Waring. Waring was +the one man in Donovan's employ that he could not bully. Moreover, the +big Irishman hated to pay Waring's price, which was stiff. + +"How about a raise of twenty-five a month, then?" queried Quigley. + +To his surprise, Donovan nodded genially. "You're on, Jack. And that +goes the minute Waring shows up with the money. If he doesn't show +up--why, that raise can wait." + +"Then I'll just date the change to-day," said Quigley. "Take a look down +the street." + +Donovan rose heavily and stepped to the window. "By God, it's Waring, +all right! He's afoot. What's that he's packing?" + +"A canteen," said the assistant manager. "This is a dry country." + +Donovan returned to his desk. "Get busy, at something. We don't want to +sit here like a lot of stuffed buzzards. We're glad to see Waring back, +of course. You two can drift out when I get to talking business with +him." + +Quigley nodded and took up his pen. The assistant manager studied a map. + +Waring strode in briskly. The paymaster glanced up and nodded, expecting +Donovan to speak. But Donovan sat with his back toward Waring, his head +wreathed in tobacco smoke. He was apparently absorbed in a letter. + +The gunman paused halfway across the office. Quigley fidgeted. The +assistant superintendent stole a glance at Donovan's broad back and +smiled. All three seemed waiting for Waring to speak. Quigley rather +enjoyed the situation. The assistant superintendent's scalp prickled +with restrained excitement. + +He rose and stepped to Donovan. "Mr. Donovan, Mr. Waring is here." + +"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant. + +Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you come +in." + +Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze. +Still the gunman did not speak. + +"Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan. + +Waring shook his head. + +"Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?" + +"Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!" + +Quigley laughed. The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate +handkerchief. The room was hot. + +"Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth +a damn." + +Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?" + +Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet. + +"Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's +got something on his mind. I knew it the minute I came in. I want you +fellows to hear it." + +Donovan flung his half-smoked cigar to the floor and lighted a fresh +one. Waring's attitude irritated him. Officially, Donovan was Waring's +superior. Man to man, the Sonora gunman was Donovan's master, and the +Irishman knew and resented it. + +He tried a new tack. "Glad to see you back, Jim." And he rose and stuck +out a sweating hand. + +Waring swung the canteen from his shoulder and carefully hung the strap +over Donovan's wrist. "There's your money, Bill. Count it--and give me a +receipt." + +Donovan, with the dusty canteen dangling from his arm, looked +exceedingly foolish. + +Waring turned to Quigley. "Bill's got a stroke," he said, smiling. +"Quigley, give me a receipt for a thousand dollars." + +"Sure!" said Quigley, relieved. The money had been stolen from him. + +Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigley +unscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map. +The assistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and poured +out a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted them +from the sand and counted them. + +"One thousand even. Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?" + +"Did I?" queried Waring. + +"Well, you got the mazuma," said Quigley. "And that's good enough for +me." + +Donovan stepped to the table. "Williams, I won't need you any more +to-day." + +The assistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair. +"Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waring +returned the money. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular." + +"No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll," said Waring. + +Donovan laughed. "Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you your +own price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I got +a letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdup +will make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on the +pay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. Nobody knows +you recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigley +and you and I will split it--three hundred apiece." + +"Suppose I stay out of the deal," said Waring. + +"Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along." + +Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insult +intended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal from +the service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to the +suggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level. + +Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said, turning +to Quigley. + +Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been +easy enough. + +Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the +paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed the +check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands. + +As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm. +"Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were +unreadable. + +The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it, +he relinquished the sack. + +Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you +before, you can't bluff worth a damn." + +Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest, +the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving in +his hand. + +"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Never +throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill." + +The door clicked shut. + +Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamed +suddenly. "I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzer +like that on me!" + +"I'd go slow," said Quigley. "You don't know what kind of a game Waring +will play." + +Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police. + + + + +Chapter IV + + +_The Silver Crucifix_ + +When in Sonora, Waring frequented the Plaza Hotel. He had arranged with +the management that his room should always be ready for him, day or +night. The location was advantageous. Nearly all the Americans visiting +Sonora and many resident Americans stopped at the Plaza. Waring +frequently picked up valuable bits of news as he lounged in the lobby. +Quietly garbed when in town, he passed for a well-to-do rancher or +mining man. His manner invited no confidences. He was left much to +himself. Men who knew him deemed him unaccountable in that he never +drank with them and seldom spoke unless spoken to. The employees of the +hotel had grown accustomed to his comings and goings, though they seldom +knew where he went or definitely when he would return. His mildness of +manner was a source of comment among those who knew him for what he was. +And his very mildness of manner was one of his greatest assets in +gaining information. Essentially a man of action, silent as to his plans +and surmises, yet he could talk well when occasion demanded. + +It was rumored that he was in the employ of the American Government; +that he had been disappointed in a love affair; that he had a wife and +son living somewhere in the States; that for very good reasons he could +not return to the States; that he was a dangerous man, well paid by the +Mexican Government to handle political matters that would not bear +public inspection. These rumors came to him from time to time, and +because he paid no attention to them they were accepted as facts. + +About an hour after he had left Donovan's office, Waring entered the +Plaza Hotel, nodded to the clerk, and passed on down the hallway. He +knocked at a door, and was answered by the appearance of a stout, +smooth-shaven man in shirt-sleeves. They chatted for a minute or two. +Waring stepped into the room. Presently he reappeared, smiling. + +After dinner he strolled out and down the street. At a corner he edged +through the crowd, and was striding on when some one touched his arm. He +turned to confront the Mexican youth, Ramon. Waring gestured to Ramon to +follow, and they passed on down the street until near the edge of the +town. In the shadow of an adobe, Waring stopped. + +Ramon glanced up and down the street. "The police--they have asked me +where is my Uncle José. I have told them that I do not know. The police +they asked me that." + +"Well?" + +"But it is not that why I come. They told me to go to my home. It was +when I was in the prison that the policia talked in the telephone. He +spoke your name and the name of Señor Bill Donovan of the Ortez Mine. I +heard only your name and his, but I was afraid. You will not tell them +that I was with my Uncle José?" + +"No. And thanks, Ramon. I think I know what they were talking about. Go +back home, pronto. If you were to be seen with me--" + +"The señor is gracious. He has given me my life. I have nothing to +give--but this." And Ramon drew the little silver crucifix from his +shirt and pressed it in Waring's hand. + +"Oh, here, muchacho--" + +But Ramon was already hastening down a side street. Waring smiled and +shook his head. For a moment he stood looking at the little crucifix +shining on the palm of his hand. He slipped it into his pocket and +strode back up the street. For an hour or more he walked about, +listening casually to this or that bit of conversation. Occasionally he +heard Mexicans discussing the Ortez robbery. Donovan's name, Waring's +own name, Vaca's, and even Ramon's were mentioned. It seemed strange to +him that news should breed so fast. Few knew that he had returned. +Possibly Donovan had spread the report that the bandits had made their +escape with the money. That would mean that Waring had been outwitted. +And Donovan would like nothing better than to injure Waring's +reputation. + +Finding himself opposite the hotel, Waring glanced about and strode in. +As he entered the hallway leading to his room three men rose from the +leather chairs near the lobby window and followed him. Waring's door +closed. He undressed and went to bed. He had been asleep but a few +minutes when some one rapped on the door. He asked who it was. He was +told to open in the name of the city of Sonora. He rose and dressed +quickly. + +When he opened the door two Sonora policemen told him to put up his +hands. Donovan stood back of them, chewing a cigar. One of the policemen +took Waring's gun. The other searched the room. Evidently he did not +find what he sought. + +"When you get through," said Waring, eyeing Donovan grimly, "you might +tell me what you're after." + +"I'm after that thousand," said Donovan. + +"Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? Just call in Stanley, of the bank. His +room is opposite." + +Donovan hesitated. "Stanley's got nothing to do with this." + +"Hasn't he?" queried Waring. "Call him in and see." + +One of the police knocked at Stanley's door. + +The bank cashier appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Hello, Bill! Hello, Jim! +What's the fuss?" + +"Stanley, did I deposit a thousand dollars in gold to the credit of the +Ortez Mine this afternoon?" + +"You did." + +"Just show Donovan here the receipt I asked you to keep for me." + +"All right. I'll get it." + +Donovan glanced at the receipt. "Pretty smooth," he muttered. + +Waring smiled. His silence enraged Donovan, who motioned to the police +to leave the room. + +Waring interrupted. "My gun?" he queried mildly. + +One of the police handed the gun to Waring. + +Their eyes met. "Why, hello, Pedro!" And Waring's voice expressed +innocent surprise. "When did you enroll as a policeman?" + +Donovan was about to interrupt when the policeman spoke: "That is my +business." + +"Which means Bill here has had you sworn in to-day. Knew you would like +to get a crack at me, eh? You ought to know better, Salazar." + +"Come on!" called Donovan. + +The Mexicans followed him down the hallway. + +Waring thanked Stanley. "It was a frame-up to get me, Frank," he +concluded. "Pedro Salazar would like the chance, and as a policeman he +could work it. You know that old game--resisting arrest." + +"Doesn't seem to worry you," said Stanley. + +"No. I'm leaving town. I'm through with this game." + +"Getting too hot?" + +"No. I'm getting cold feet," said Waring, laughing. "And say, Stanley, +I may need a little money to-morrow." + +"Any time, Jim." + +Waring nodded. Back in his room he sat for a while on the edge of the +bed, gazing at the curtained window. Life had gone stale. He was sick of +hunting men and of being hunted. Pedro Salazar was now a member of the +Sonora police through Donovan's efforts. Eventually Salazar would find +an excuse to shoot Waring. And the gunman had made up his mind to do no +more killing. For that reason he had spared Vaca and had befriended +Ramon. He decided to leave Sonora. + +Presently he rose and dressed in his desert clothes. As he went through +his pockets he came upon the little silver crucifix and transferred it, +with some loose change, to his riding-breeches. He turned out the light, +locked the room from the outside, and strode out of the hotel. + +At the livery-stable, he asked for his horse. The man in charge told him +that Dex had been taken by the police. That the Señor Bill Donovan and +Pedro Salazar had come and shown him a paper,--he could not read,--but +he knew the big seal. It was Pedro Salazar who had ridden the horse. + +The streets were still lighted, although the crowd was thinning. Waring +turned a corner and drifted through the shadows toward the edge of town. +As he passed open doorways he was greeted in Mexican, and returned each +greeting pleasantly. The adobe at the end of the side street he was on +was dark. + +Waring paused. Pedro Salazar's house was the only unlighted house in the +district. The circumstance hinted of an ambushment. Waring crossed to +the deeper shadows and whistled. The call was peculiarly low and +cajoling. He was answered by a muffled nickering. His horse Dex was +evidently corralled at the back of the adobe. + +Pedro Salazar knew that Waring would come for the horse sooner or later, +so he waited, crouching behind the adobe wall of the enclosure. + +Waring knocked loudly on Salazar's door and called his name. Then he +turned and ran to the corner, dodged round it, and crept along the +breast-high adobe wall. He whistled again. A rope snapped, and there +came the sound of quick trampling. A rush and the great, tawny shape of +Dexter reared in the moonlight and swept over the wall. With head up, +the horse snorted a challenge. Waring called softly. The horse wheeled +toward him. Waring caught the broken neck-rope and swung up. A flash cut +the darkness behind him. Instinctively he turned and threw two shots. A +figure crumpled to a dim blur in the corral. + +Waring raced down the alley and out into the street. At the +livery-stable he asked for his saddle and bridle. The Mexican, +chattering, brought them. Waring tugged the cinchas tight and mounted. +Far down the street some one called. + +Waring rode to the hotel, dismounted, and strode in casually, pausing at +Stanley's door. The cashier answered his knock. + +"I'm off," said Waring. "And I'll need some money." + +"All right, Jim. What's up? How much?" + +"A couple of hundred. Charge it back to my account. Got it?" + +"No. I'll get it at the desk." + +"All right. Settle my bill for me to-morrow. Don't stop to dress. +Rustle!" + +A belated lounger glanced up in surprise as Waring, booted and spurred, +entered the lobby with a man in pajamas. They talked with the clerk a +moment, shook hands, and Waring strode to the doorway. + +"Any word for the Ortez people?" queried Stanley as Waring mounted. + +"I left a little notice for Donovan--at Pedro Salazar's house," said +Waring. "Donovan will understand." And Waring was gone. + +The lounger accosted Stanley. "What's the row, Stanley?" + +"I don't know. Jim Waring is in a hurry--first time since I've known +him. Figure it out yourself." + +Back in Pedro Salazar's corral a man lay huddled in a dim corner, his +sightless eyes open to the soft radiance of the Sonora moon. A group of +Mexicans stood about, jabbering. Among them was Ramon Ortego. Ramon +listened and said nothing. Pedro Salazar was dead. No one knew who had +killed him. And only that day he had become one of the police! It would +go hard with the man who did this thing. There were many surmises. +Pedro's brother had been killed by the gringo Waring down in the desert. +As for Pedro, his name had been none too good. They shrugged their +shoulders and crossed themselves. + +Ramon slipped from the group and climbed the adobe wall. As he +straightened up on the other side, he saw something gleaming in the +moonlight. He stooped and picked up a little silver crucifix. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +_The Tang of Life_ + +Waring rode until dawn, when he picketed Dex in a clump of chaparral and +lay down to rest. He had purposely passed the water-hole, a half-mile +south, after having watered the horse and refilled his canteen. + +There was a distinction, even in Sonora, between Pedro Salazar, the +citizen, and Pedro Salazar, of the Sonora police. The rurales might get +busy. Nogales and the Arizona line were still a long ride ahead. + +Slowly the desert sun drew overhead and swept the scant shadows from the +brush-walled enclosure. Waring slept. Finally the big buckskin became +restless, circling his picket and lifting his head to peer over the +brush. Long before Waring could have been aware of it, had he been +awake, the horse saw a moving something on the southern horizon. Trained +to the game by years of association with his master, Dex walked to where +Waring lay and nosed his arm. The gunman rolled to his side and peered +through the chaparral. + +Far in the south a moving dot wavered in the sun. Waring swept the +southern arc with his glasses. The moving dot was a Mexican, a horseman +riding alone. He rode fast. Waring could see the rise and fall of a +quirt. "Some one killing a horse to get somewhere," he muttered, and he +saddled Dex and waited. The tiny figure drew nearer. Dex grew restless. +Waring quieted him with a word. + +To the west of the chaparral lay the trail, paralleled at a distance of +a half-mile by the railroad. The glasses discovered the lone horseman to +be Ramon, of Sonora. The boy swayed in the saddle as the horse lunged +on. Waring knew that something of grave import had sent the boy out into +the noon desert. He was at first inclined to let him pass and then ride +east toward the Sierra Madre. If the rurales were following, they would +trail Dex to the water-hole. And if Ramon rode on north, some of them +would trail the Mexican. This would split up the band--decrease the odds +by perhaps one half. + +But the idea faded from Waring's mind as he saw the boy fling past +desperately. Waring swung to the saddle and rode out. Ramon's horse +plunged to a stop, and stood trembling. The boy all but fell as he +dismounted. Stumbling toward Waring, he held out both hands. + +"Señor, the rurales!" he gasped. + +"How far behind?" + +"The railroad! They are ahead! They have shipped their horses to +Magdalena, to Nogales!" + +"How do you know that?" + +"Pedro Salazar is dead. You were gone. They say it was you." + +"So they shipped their horses ahead to cut me off, eh? You're a good +boy, Ramon, but I don't know what in hell to do with you. Your cayuse is +played out. You made a good ride." + +"Si, señor. I have not stopped once." + +"You look it. You can't go back now. They would shoot you." + +"I will ride with the señor." + +Waring shook his head. + +Ramon's eyes grew desperate. "Señor," he pleaded, "take me with you! I +cannot go back. I will be your man--follow you, even into the Great +Beyond. You will not lose the way." + +And as Ramon spoke he touched the little crucifix on his breast. + +"Where did you find _that?_" asked Waring. + +"In the Placeta Burro; near the house of Pedro Salazar." + +Waring nodded. "Has your horse had water?" + +"No, señor. I did not stop." + +"Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up. +You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse." + +When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his +back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his +boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up. + +Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to +the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks. +Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward the +chaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round the +brush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills, +rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jackets +shimmering in the sun. + + * * * * * + +"I will ride back," said Ramon. "My horse is too weak to follow. The +señor rides slowly that I may keep up with him." + +Waring turned in the saddle. Ahead lay the shadowy foothills of the +mother range, vague masses in the starlight. Some thirty miles behind +was the railroad and the trail north. There was no chance of picking up +a fresh horse. The country was uninhabited. Alone, the gunman would have +ridden swiftly to the hill country, where his trail would have been lost +in the rocky ground of the ranges and where he would have had the +advantage of an unobstructed outlook from the high trails. + +Ramon had said the rurales had entrained; were ahead of him to intercept +him. But Waring, wise in his craft, knew that the man-hunters would +search for tracks at every water-hole on the long northern trail. And if +they found his tracks they would follow him to the hills. They were as +keen on the trail as Yaquis and as relentless as wolves. Their horses, +raw-hide tough, could stand a forced ride that would kill an ordinary +horse. And Ramon's wiry little cayuse, though willing to go on until he +dropped, could not last much longer. + +But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring's mind. "We'll keep +on, amigo," he said, "and in a few hours we'll know whether it's to be a +ride or a fight." + +"I shall pray," whispered Ramon. + +"For a fresh horse, then." + +"No, señor. That would be of no use. I shall pray that you may escape. +As for me--" + +"We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off, +it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora." + +Ramon sighed. The señor was a strange man. Even now he hummed a song in +the starlight. Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing in +the very shadow of its wings? + +"You've got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail," said Waring, as +they rode on. + +"It is so, señor." + +"How do you know?" + +"I cannot say. But it is so. They have left the railroad and are +following us." + +Waring smiled in the dark. "Dex, here, has been trying to tell me that +for an hour." + +"And still the señor does not hasten!" + +"I am giving your cayuse a chance to make the grade. We'll ride an hour +longer." + +Ramon bowed his head. The horses plodded on, working up the first +gentle slope of the foothills. The brush loomed heavier. A hill star +faded on the edge of the higher range. Ramon's lips moved and he crossed +himself. + +Waring hummed a song. He was not unhappy. The tang of life was his +again. Again he followed a trail down which the light feet of Romance +ran swiftly. The past, with its red flare of life, its keen memories and +dulled regrets, was swept away by the promise of dawn and the unknown. +"A clean break and a hard fight," he murmured, as he reined up to rest +his horse. Turning, he could distinguish Ramon, who fingered the +crucifix at his throat. Waring's face grew grim. He felt suddenly +accountable for the boy's life. + +The half-moon glowed against the edge of the world. About to ride on +again, Waring saw a tiny group of horsemen silhouetted against the +half-disk of burning silver. He spoke to his horse. Slowly they climbed +the ridge, dropped down the eastern slope, and climbed again. + +In a shallow valley, Waring reined up, unsaddled Dex, and turned him +loose. Ramon questioned this. "Turn your horse loose," said Waring. +"They'll keep together and find water." + +Ramon shook his head, but did as he was told. Wearily he followed Waring +as he climbed back to a rocky depression on the crest. Without a word +Waring stretched behind a rock and was soon asleep. Ramon wondered at +the other's indifference to danger, but fatigue finally overcame him and +he slept. + +Just before dawn Ramon awakened and touched + +Waring. "They are coming!" he whispered. + +Waring shook his head. "You hear our horses. The rurales won't ride into +this pocket before daylight. Stay right here till I come back." + +He rose and worked cautiously down the eastern slope, searching for Dex +in the valley. In the gray gloom he saw the outline of his horse grazing +alone. He stepped down to him. The big horse raised its head. Waring +spoke. Reassured, Dex plodded to his master, who turned and tracked back +to the pocket in the rocks. "I think your cayuse has drifted south," he +told Ramon. + +The young Mexican showed no surprise. He seemed resigned to the +situation. "I knew when the señor said to turn my horse loose that he +would seek the horses of his kind. He has gone back to the horses of +those who follow us." + +"You said it" said Waring. "And that's going to bother them. It tells me +that the rurales are not far behind. They'll figure that I put you out +of business to get rid of you. They'll look for a dead Mexican, and a +live gringo riding north, alone. But they're too wise to ride up here. +They'll trail up afoot and out of sight. That's your one chance." + +"My chance, señor?" + +"Yes. Here's some grub. You've got your gun. Drift down the slope, get +back of the next ridge, and strike south. Locate their horses and wait +till they leave them to come up here. Get a horse. Pick a good one. I'll +keep them busy till you get back." + +Ramon rose and climbed to the edge of the pocket. "I go," he said sadly. +"And I shall never see the señor again." + +"Don't bet all you've got on that," said Waring. + +When Ramon had disappeared, Waring led Dex back from the pocket, and, +saddling him, left him concealed in the brush. Then the gunman crept +back to the rim and lay waiting, a handful of rifle shells loose on a +flat rock in front of him. He munched some dried meat and drank from the +canteen. + +The red dawn faded quickly to a keen white light. Heat waves ran over +the rocks and danced down the hillside. Waring lighted a match and +blackened the front sight of his carbine. The sun rolled up and struck +at him, burning into the pocket of rock where he lay motionless gazing +down the slope. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his nose. +Scattered boulders seemed to move gently. He closed his eyes for an +instant. When he opened them he thought he saw a movement in the brush +below. The heat burned into his back, and he shrugged his shoulders. A +tiny bird flitted past and perched on the dry, dead stalk of a yucca. +Again Waring thought he saw a movement in the brush. + +Then, as if by magic, the figure of a rural stood clear and straight +against the distant background of brownish-green. Waring smiled. He knew +that if he were to fire, the rurales would rush him. They suspected some +kind of a trap. Waring's one chance was to wait until they had given up +every ruse to draw his fire. They were not certain of his whereabouts, +but were suspicious of that natural fortress of rock. There was not a +rural in Old Mexico who did not know him either personally or by +reputation. The fact that one of them had offered himself as a possible +target proved that they knew they had to deal with a man as crafty as +themselves. + +The standing figure, shimmering in the glare, drew back and disappeared. + +Waring eased his tense muscles. "Now they'll go back for their horses," +he said to himself. "They'll ride up to the next ridge, where they can +look down on this pocket, but I won't be here." + +Waring planned every move with that care and instinct which marks a good +chess-player. And because he had to count upon possibilities far ahead +he drew Ramon's saddle to him and cut the stirrup-leathers, cinchas, and +latigos. If Ramon got one of their horses, his own jaded animal would be +left. Eventually the rurales would find the saddle and Ramon's horse. +And every rural out of the riding would be a factor in their escape. + +The sun blazed down until the pocket of rock was a pit of stagnant +heat. The silence seemed like an ocean rolling in soundless waves across +the hills; a silence that became disturbed by a faint sound as of one +approaching cautiously. Waring thought Ramon had shown cleverness in +working up to him so quietly. He raised on his elbow and turned his +head. On the eastern edge of the pocket stood a rural, and the rural +smiled. + + + + +Chapter VI + + +_Arizona_ + +Waring, who had known the man in Sonora, called him by name. The other's +smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. Waring thrust up his hands and +jokingly offered to toss up a coin to decide the issue. He knew his man; +knew that at the first false move the rural would kill him. He rose and +turned sideways that the other might take his gun. "You win the throw," +he said. The Mexican jerked Waring's gun from the holster and cocked it. +Then he whistled. + +From below came the faint clatter of hoofs. The rural seemed puzzled +that his call should have been answered so promptly. He knew that his +companions had gone for their horses, picketed some distance from the +pocket. He had volunteered to surprise the gunman single-handed. + +Waring, gazing beyond the rural, saw the head of a horse top the rise. +In the saddle sat Ramon, hatless, his black hair flung back from his +forehead, a gun in his hand. Waring drew a deep breath. Would Ramon +bungle it by calling out, or would he have nerve enough to make an end +of it on the instant? + +Although Waring was unarmed, the rural dared not turn. The gringo had +been known to slip out of as tight a place despite the threat of a gun +almost against his chest. With a despondent shrug, Waring lowered his +arms. + +"You win the throw," he said hopelessly. + +Still the Mexican dared not take his eyes from Waring. He would wait +until his companions appeared. + +A few yards behind the rural, Ramon reined up. Slowly he lowered the +muzzle of his gun. The rural called the name of one of his fellows. The +answer came in a blunt crash, which rippled its harsh echoes across the +sounding hills. The rural flung up his arms and pitched forward, rolling +to Waring's feet. The gunman leaped up, and, snatching his carbine from +the rock, swung round and took his six-gun from the rural's limp +fingers. Plunging to the brush beyond the pocket, he swung to the saddle +and shot down the slope. Behind him he could hear Ramon's horse +scattering the loose rock of the hillside. A bullet struck ahead of him +and whined across the silence. A shrill call told him that the pursuers +had discovered the body of their fellow. + +Dex, with ears laid back, took the ragged grade in great, uneven leaps +that shortened to a regular stride as they gained the level of the +valley. Glancing back, Waring saw Ramon but a few yards behind. He +signaled to him to ride closer. Together they swung down the valley, +dodging the low brush--and leaping rocks at top speed. + +Finally Waring reined in. "We'll make for that ridge,"--and he +indicated the range west. Under cover of the brush they angled across +the valley and began the ascent of the range which hid the western +desert. + +Halfway up, Waring dismounted. "Lead my horse on up," he told Ramon. +"I'll argue it out with 'em here." + +"Señor, I have killed a man!" gasped Ramon. + +Waring flung the reins to his companion. "All right! This isn't a +fiesta, hombre; this is business." + +Ramon turned and put his horse up the slope, Dex following. Waring +curled behind a rock and swept the valley with his glass. The heads of +several rurales were visible in the brush. They had halted and were +looking for tracks. Finally one of them raised his arm and pointed +toward the hill. They had caught sight of Ramon on the slope above. +Presently three riders appeared at the foot of the grade. It was a long +shot from where Waring lay. He centered on the leading rural, allowed +for a chance of overshooting, and pressed the trigger. The carbine +snarled. An echo ripped the shimmering heat. A horse reared and plunged +up the valley, the saddle empty. + +Waring rose, and plodded up the slope. + +"Three would have trailed us. Two will ride back to the railroad and +report. I wonder how many of them are bushed along the trail between +here and Nogales?" + +In the American custom-house at Nogales sat a lean, lank man gazing out +of a window facing the south. His chair was tilted back, and his large +feet were crossed on the desk in front of him. He was in his +shirt-sleeves, and he puffed indolently at a cigar and blew smoke-rings +toward the ceiling. Incidentally his name was known throughout the +country and beyond its southern borders. But if this distinction +affected him in any way it was not evident. He seemed submerged in a +lassitude which he neither invited nor struggled against. + +A group of riders appeared down the road. The lean man brushed a cloud +of smoke away and gazed at them with indifference. They drew nearer. He +saw that they were Mexicans--rurales. Without turning his head, he +called to an invisible somebody in the next room. + +"Jack, drift over to the cantina and get a drink." + +A chair clumped to the floor, and a stocky, dark-faced man appeared, +rubbing his eyes. "On who?" he queried, grinning. + +"On old man Diaz," replied the lean man. + +"All right, Pat. But mebby his credit ain't good on our side of the +line." + +The lean man said nothing. He continued to gaze out of the window. The +white road ran south and south into the very haze of the beyond. His +assistant picked up a hat and strolled out. A few doors down the street +stood several excellent saddle animals tied to the hitching-rail in +front of the cantina. He didn't need to be told that they were the +picked horses of the rurales, and that for some strange reason his +superior had sent him to find out just why these same rurales were in +town. + +He entered the cantina and called for a drink. The lithe, dark riders of +the south, grouped round a table in one corner of the room, glanced up, +answered his general nod of salutation indifferently, and turned to talk +among themselves. Catering to authority, the Mexican proprietor +proffered a second drink to the Americano. The assistant collector toyed +with his glass, and began a lazy conversation about the weather. The +proprietor, his fat, oily face in his hands and his elbows on the bar, +grunted monosyllables, occasionally nodding as the Americano forced his +acknowledgment of a highly obvious platitude. + +And the assistant collector, listening for a chance word that would +explain the presence of armed Mexico on American soil, knew that the +proprietor was also listening for that same word that might explain +their unprecedented visit. Presently the assistant collector of customs +began a tirade against Nogales, its climate, institutions, and citizens +collectively and singly. The proprietor awoke to argument. Their talk +grew loud. The assistant collector thumped the bar with his fist, and +ceased talking suddenly. A subdued buzz came from the corner where the +rurales sat, and he caught the name "Waring." + +"And the whole town ain't worth the matches to burn it up," he +continued. "If it wasn't for Pat, I'd quit right now." And he emptied +his glass and strode from the room. + +Back in the office, he flung his hat on the table and rumpled his hair. +"Those coyotes," he said casually, "are after some one called Waring. +Pablo's whiskey is rotten." + +The collector's long legs unfolded, and he sat up, yawning. "Jim Waring +isn't in town," he said as though to himself. + +"Pat, you give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. + +"Got one myself," said the collector unsmilingly. "Cucumbers." + +"You're the sweetest liar for a thousand miles either side of the line. +There isn't even the picture of a cucumber in this sun-blasted town." + +"Isn't, eh? Look here!" And the lank man pulled open a drawer in the +desk. The collector fumbled among some papers and drew out a bulky seed +catalogue, illustrated in glowing tints. + +"Oh, I'll buy," laughed the assistant. "I reckon if I asked for a +picture of this man Waring that's wanted by those nickel-plated coyotes, +you'd fish it up and never sweat a hair." + +"I could," said the collector, closing the drawer. + +"Here, smoke one of mine for a change. About that picture. I met Jim +Waring in Las Cruces. He was a kid then, but a comer. Had kind of +light, curly hair. His face was as smooth as a girl's. He wasn't what +you'd call a dude, but his clothes always looked good on him. Wimmin +kind of liked him, but he never paid much attention to them. He worked +for me as deputy a spell, and I never hired a better man. But he +wouldn't stay with one job long. When Las Cruces got quiet he pulled his +freight. Next I heard of him he was married and living in Sonora. It +didn't take Diaz long to find out that he could use him. Waring was a +wizard with a gun--and he had the nerve back of it. But Waring quit +Diaz, for Jim wasn't that kind of a killer. I guess he found plenty of +work down there. He never was one to lay around living on his reputation +and waiting for nothing to happen. He kept his reputation sprouting new +shoots right along--and that ain't all joke, neither." + +"Speakin' in general, could he beat you to it with a gun, Pat?" + +"Speaking in general--I reckon he could." + +"Them rurales are kind of careless--ridin' over the line and not +stoppin' by to make a little explanation." + +The lank man nodded. "There's a time coming when they'll do more than +that. That old man down south is losing his grip. I don't say this for +general information. And if Jim Waring happens to ride into town, just +tell him who you are and pinch him for smuggling; unless I see him +first." + +"What did I ever do to you?" + +Pat laughed silently. "Oh, he ain't a fool. It's only a fool that'll +throw away a chance to play safe." + +"You got me interested in that Waring hombre. I'll sure nail him like +you said; but if he goes for his gun I don't want you plantin' no +cucumber seed on my restin'-place. Guess I'll finish those reports." + +The lank man yawned, and, rising, strode to the window. The assistant +sauntered to the inner office and drew up to his desk. "Pablo's whiskey +is rotten!" he called over his shoulder. The lank collector smiled. + +The talk about Waring and Las Cruces had stirred slumbering memories; +memories of night rides in New Mexico, of the cattle war, of blazing +noons on the high mesas and black nights in huddled adobe towns; Las +Cruces, Albuquerque, Caliente, Santa Fé--and weary ponies at the +hitching-rails. + +Once, on an afternoon like this, he had ridden into town with a prisoner +beside him, a youth whose lightning-swift hand had snuffed out a score +of lives to avenge the killing of a friend. The collector recalled that +on that day he had ridden his favorite horse, a deep-chested buckskin, +slender legged, and swift, with a strain of thoroughbred. + +Beyond the little square of window through which he gazed lay the same +kind of a road--dusty, sun-white, edged with low brush. And down the +road, pace for pace with his thoughts, strode a buckskin horse, ridden +by a man road-weary, gray with dust. Beside him rode a youth, his head +bowed and his hands clasped on the saddle-horn as though manacled. + +"Jack!" + +The assistant shoved back his chair and came to the window. + +"There's the rest of your picture," said the collector. + +As the assistant gazed at the riders, the collector stepped to his desk +and buckled on a gun. + +"Want to meet Waring?" he queried. + +"I'm on for the next dance, Pat." + +The collector stepped out. Waring reined up. A stray breeze fluttered +the flag above the custom-house. Waring gravely lifted his sombrero. + +"You're under arrest," said the collector. + +Waring gestured toward Ramon. + +"You, too," nodded Pat. "Get the kid and his horse out of sight," he +told the assistant. + +Ramon, too weary to expostulate, followed the assistant to a corral back +of the building. + +The collector turned to Waring. "And now, Jim, what's the row?" + +"Down the street--and coming," said Waring, as the rurales boiled from +the cantina. + +"We'll meet 'em halfway," said the collector. + +And midway between the custom-house and the cantina the two cool-eyed, +deliberate men of the North faced the hot-blooded Southern haste that +demanded Waring as prisoner. The collector, addressing the leader of the +rurales, suggested that they talk it over in the cantina. "And don't +forget you're on the wrong side of the line," he added. + +The Captain of rurales and one of his men dismounted and followed the +Americans into the cantina. The leader of the rurales immediately +exhibited a warrant for the arrest of Waring, signed by a high official +and sealed with the great seal of Mexico. The collector returned the +warrant to the captain. + +"That's all right, amigo, but this man is already under arrest." + +"By whose authority?" + +"Mine--representing the United States." + +"The warrant of the Presidente antedates your action," said the captain. + +"Correct, Señor Capitan. But my action, being just about two jumps ahead +of your warrant, wins the race, I reckon." + +"It is a trick!" + +"Si! You must have guessed it." + +"I shall report to my Government. And I also demand that you surrender +to me one Ramon Ortego, of Sonora, who aided this man to escape, and who +is reported to have killed one of my men and stolen one of my horses." + +"He ought to make a darned good rural, if that's so," said the +collector. "But he is under arrest for smuggling. He rode a horse +across the line without declaring valuation." + +"Juan," said the captain, "seize the horse of the Americano." + +"Juan," echoed Waring softly, "I have heard that Pedro Salazar seized +the horse of an Americano--in Sonora." + +The rural stopped short and turned as though awaiting further +instructions from his chief. The collector of customs rose and sauntered +to the doorway. Leaning against the lintel, he lighted a cigar and +smoked, gazing at Waring's horse with an appreciative eye. The captain +of rurales, seated opposite Waring, rolled a cigarette carefully; too +carefully, thought Waring, for a Mexican who had been daring enough to +ride across the line with armed men. Outside in the fading sunlight, the +horses of the rurales stamped and fretted. The cantina was strangely +silent. In the doorway stood the collector, smoking and toying with his +watch-charm. + +Presently the assistant collector appeared, glanced in, and grinned. +"The kid is asleep--in the office," he whispered to the collector. + +Waring knew that the flicker of an eyelid, an intonation, a gesture, +might precipitate trouble. He also knew that diplomacy was out of the +question. He glanced round the room, pushed back his chair, and, rising, +stepped to the bar. With his back against it, he faced the captain. + +"Miguel," he said quietly, "you're too far over the line. Go home!" + +The captain rose. "Your Government shall hear of this!" + +"Yes. Wire 'em to-night. And where do you get off? You'll get turned +back to the ranks." + +"I?" + +"Si, Señor Capitan, and because--_you didn't get your man_." + +The collector of customs stood with his cigar carefully poised in his +left hand. The assistant pushed back his hat and rumpled his black hair. + +All official significance set aside, Waring and the captain of rurales +faced each other with the blunt challenge between them: "You didn't get +your man!" + +The captain glanced at the two quiet figures in the doorway. Beyond them +were his own men, but between him and his command were two of the +fastest guns in the Southwest. He was on alien ground. This gringo had +insulted him. + +Waring waited for the word that burned in the other's eyes. + +The collector of customs drew a big silver watch from his waistband. +"It's about time--to go feed the horses," he said. + +With the sound of his voice the tension relaxed. Waring eyed the captain +as though waiting for him to depart. "You'll find that horse in the +corral--back of the customs office," he said. + +The Mexican swung round and strode out, followed by his man. + +The rurales mounted and rode down the street. The three Americans +followed a few paces behind. Opposite the office, they paused. + +"Go along with 'em and see that they get the right horse," said the +collector. + +The assistant hesitated. + +The collector laughed. "Shake hands with Jim Waring, Jack." + +When the assistant had gone, the collector turned to Waring. "That's +Jack every time. Stubborn as a tight boot, but good leather every time. +Know why he wanted to shake hands? Well, that's his way of tellin' you +he thinks you're some smooth for not pullin' a fight when it looked like +nothing else was on the bill." + +Waring smiled. "I've met you before, haven't I?" + +Pat pretended to ignore the question. "Say, stranger," he began with +slow emphasis, "you're makin' mighty free and familiar for a prisoner +arrested for smuggling. Mebby you're all right personal, but officially +I got a case against you. What do you know about raising cucumbers? I +got a catalogue in the office, and me and Jack has been aiming to raise +cucumbers from it for three months. I like 'em. Jack says you can't do +it down here without water every day. Now--" + +"Where have you planted them, Pat?" + +"Oh, hell! They ain't _planted_ yet. We're just figuring. Now, up Las +Cruces way--" + +"Let's go back to the cantina and talk it out. There goes Mexico leading +a horse with an empty saddle. I guess the boy will be all right in the +office." + +"Was the kid mixed up in your getaway?" + +"Yes. And he's a good boy." + +"Well, he's in dam' bad company. Now, Jack says you got to plant 'em in +hills and irrigate. I aim to just drill 'em in and let the A'mighty do +the rest. What do you think?" + +"I think you're getting worse as you grow older, Pat. Say, did you ever +get track of that roan mare you lost up at Las Cruces?" + +"Yes, I got her back." + +"Speaking of horses, I saw a pinto down in Sonora--" + +Just then the assistant joined them, and they sauntered to the cantina. +Dex, tied at the rail, turned and gazed at them. Waring took the morral +of grain from the saddle, and, slipping Dex's bridle, adjusted it. + +The rugged, lean face of the collector beamed. "I wondered if you +thought as much of 'em as you used to. I aimed to see if I could make +you forget to feed that cayuse." + +"How about those goats in your own corral?" laughed Waring. + +"Kind of a complimentary cuss, ain't he?" queried Pat, turning to his +assistant. "And he don't know a dam' thing about cucumbers." + +"You old-timers give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. + +"That's right! Because you can't set down to a meal without both your +hands and feet agoing and one ear laid back, you call us old because we +chew slow. But you're right. Jim and I are getting kind of gray around +the ears." + +"Well, you fellas can fight it out. I came over to say that them rurales +got their hoss. But one of 'em let it slip, in Mexican, that they +weren't through yet." + +"So?" said Pat. "Well, you go ahead and feed the stock. We'll be over to +the house poco tiempo." + +Waring and the collector entered the cantina. For a long time they sat +in silence, gazing at the peculiar half-lights as the sun drew down. +Finally the collector turned to Waring. + +"Has the game gone stale, Jim?" + +Waring nodded. "I'm through. I am going to settle down. I've had my +share of trouble." + +"Here, too," said the collector. "I've put by enough to get a little +place up north--cattle--and take it easy. That's why I stuck it out down +here. Had any word from your folks recent?" + +"Not for ten years." + +"And that boy trailing with you?" + +"Oh, he's just a kid I picked up in Sonora. No, my own boy is straight +American, if he's living now." + +"You might stop by at Stacey, on the Santa Fé," said the collector +casually. "There's some folks running a hotel up there that you used to +know." + +Waring thanked him with a glance. "We don't need a drink and the sun is +down. Where do you eat?" + +"We'll get Jack to rustle some grub. You and the boy can bunk in the +office. I'll take care of your horse." + +"Thanks, Pat. But you spoke of going north. I wouldn't if I were you. +They'll get you." + +"I had thought of that. But I'm going to take that same chance. I'm +plumb sick of the border." + +"If they do--" And Waring rose. + +The collector's hard-lined face softened for an instant. He thrust out +his bony hand. "I'll leave that to you, Jim." + +And that night, because each was a gunman unsurpassed in his grim +profession, they laughed and talked about things trivial, leaving the +deeper currents undisturbed. And the assistant collector, eating with +them in the adobe back of the office, wondered that two such men found +nothing more serious to talk about than the breeding of horses and the +growing of garden truck. + +Late that night the assistant awoke to find that the collector was not +in bed. He rose and stalked to the window. Across from the adobe he saw +the grim face of the collector framed in the office window. He was +smoking a cigar and gazing toward the south, his long arm resting on the +sill and his chin in his hand. + +"Ole fool!" muttered the assistant affectionately. "That there Jim +Waring must sure be some hombre to make Pat lose any sleep." + + + + +Chapter VII + + +_The Return of Waring_ + +The interior of the little desert hotel at Stacey, Arizona, atoned for +its bleached and weather-worn exterior by a refreshing neatness that was +almost startling in contrast to the warped board front with its painted +sign scaled by the sun. + +The proprietress, Mrs. Adams, a rosy, dark-haired woman, had heard the +Overland arrive and depart. Through habit she listened until the distant +rumble of the train diminished to a faint purr. No guests had arrived on +the Overland. Stacey was not much of a town, and tourists seldom stopped +there. Mrs. Adams stepped from the small office to the dining-room and +arranged some flowers in the center of the long table. She happened to +be the only woman in the desert town who grew flowers. + +The Overland had come and gone. Another day! Mrs. Adams sighed, patted +her smooth black hair, and glanced down at her simple and neat attire. + +She rearranged the flowers, and was stepping back to view the effect +when something caused her to turn and glance toward the office. There +had been no sound, yet in the doorway stood a man--evidently a rider. He +was looking at the calendar on the office wall. Mrs. Adams stepped +toward him. The man turned and smiled. She gazed with awakening +astonishment at the dusty, khaki-clad figure, the cool gray eyes beneath +the high-crowned sombrero, and last at the extended hand. Without +meeting the man's eyes, she shook hands. + +"Jim! How did you know?" she queried, her voice trembling. + +"I heard of you at Nogales. I wasn't looking for you--then. You have a +right pleasant place here. Yours?" + +She nodded. + +"I came to see the boy," he said. "I'm not here for long." + +"Oh, Jim! Lorry is so big and strong--and--and he's working for the +Starr outfit over west of here." + +"Cattle, eh? Is he a good boy?" + +"A nice question for you to ask! Lorry rides a straighter trail than his +father did." + +The man laughed and patted her shoulder affectionately. "You needn't +have said that, Annie. You knew what I was when I married you. And no +man ever said I wasn't straight. Just what made you leave Sonora without +saying a word? Didn't I always treat you well?" + +"I must say that you did, Jim. You never spoke a rough word to me in +your life. I wish you had. You'd be away for weeks, and then come back +and tell me it was all right, which meant that you'd 'got your man,' as +they say down there. At first I was too happy to care. And when the baby +came and I tried to get you to give up hiring out to men who wanted +killing done,--for that's what it was,--you kept telling me that some +day you would quit. Maybe they did pay big, but you could have been +anything else you wanted to. You came of good folks and had education. +But you couldn't live happy without that excitement. And you thought I +was happy because you were. Why, even up here in Arizona they sing +'Waring of Sonora-Town.' Our boy sings it, and I have to listen, knowing +that it is you he sings about. I was afraid of you, Jim, and afraid our +boy would grow up to be like you." + +Waring nodded. "I'm not blaming you, Annie. I asked why you left +me--without a word or an address. Do you think that was square?" + +Mrs. Adams, flushed, and the tears came to her eyes. "I didn't dare +think about that part of it. I was afraid of you. I got so I couldn't +sleep, worrying about what might happen to you when you were away. And +you always came back, but you never said where you'd been or what you'd +done. I couldn't stand it. If you had only told me--even about the +men--that you were paid to kill, I might have stood it. But you never +said a word. The wives of the American folks down there wouldn't speak +to me. And the Mexican women hated me. I was the wife of Jim Waring, +'the killer.' I think I went crazy." + +"Well, I never did believe in talking shop, Annie." + +"That's just it. You were always polite--and calling what you did, +'shop'! I don't believe you ever cared for a single person on this +earth!" + +"You ought to know, Annie. But we won't argue that. Don't act as though +you had to defend yourself. I am not blaming you--now. You have +explained. I did miss the boy, though. Are you doing well here?" + +"It was hard work at first. But I never did write to father to help me." + +"You might have written to me. When did the boy go to work? He's +eighteen, isn't he?" + +Mrs. Adams smiled despite herself. "Yes, this fall. He started in with +the Starr people at the spring round-up." + +"Couldn't he help you here?" + +"He did. But he's not the kind to hang round a hotel. He's all man--if I +do say it." And Mrs. Adams glanced at her husband. In his lithe, +well-set-up figure she saw what her son would be at forty. "Yes, Jim, +he's man size--and I've raised him to go straight." + +Waring laughed. "Of course you have! What name will I sign, Annie?" + +"Folks here call me Mrs. Adams." + +"So you're Annie Adams again! Well, here's your husband's name, if you +don't mind." And he signed the register, "James Waring, Sonora, Mexico." + +"Isn't that risky?" she queried. + +"No one knows me up here. And I don't intend to stay long. I'd like to +see the boy." + +"Jim, you won't take him away!" + +"You know me better than that. You quit me down there, and I won't say +that I liked it. I wondered how you'd get along. You left no word. When +I realized that you must have wanted to leave me, that settled it. +Following you would have done no good, even if I had known where you had +gone. I was free. And a gunman has no business with a family." + +"You might have thought about that before you came courting me." + +"I did. Didn't you?" + +"You're hard, Jim. I was just a girl. Any woman would have been glad to +marry you then. But when I got sense enough to see how you earned your +money--I just had to leave. I was afraid to tell you--" + +"There, now, Annie; we'll let that go. I won't say that I don't care, +but I've been mighty busy since you left. I didn't know where you were +until I hit Nogales. I wanted to see you and the boy. And I'm as hungry +as a grizzly." + +"Anita is getting supper. Some of the folks in town board here. They'll +be coming in soon." + +"All right. I'm a stranger. I rode over. I'd like to wash up." + +"You _rode_ over?" + +"Yes. Why not? I know the country." + +Mrs. Adams turned and gestured toward the stairway. She followed him and +showed him to a room. So he hadn't come in on the Overland, but had +ridden up from Sonora. Why had he undertaken such a long, weary ride? +Surely he could have taken the train! She had never known him to be +without money. But he had always been unaccountable, coming and going +when he pleased, saying little, always serene. And now he had not said +why he had ridden up from Sonora. "Why not?" was all that he had said in +explanation. + +He swung out of his coat and washed vigorously, thrusting his fingers +through his short, curly hair and shaking his head in boyish enjoyment +that was refreshing to watch. She noticed that he had not aged much. He +seemed too cool, too self-possessed always, to show even the ordinary +trace of years. She could not understand him; yet she was surprised by a +glow of affection for him now that he had returned. As he dried his head +she saw that his hair was tinged with gray, although his face was lined +but little and his gray eyes were as keen and quick as ever. If he had +only shared even that part of his life with her--down there! + +"Jim!" she whispered. + +He turned as he took up his coat. "Yes, Annie?" + +"If you would only promise--" + +He shook his head. "I won't do that. I didn't come to ask anything of +you except to see the boy But if you need money--" + +"No. Not that kind of money." + +"All right, girl." And his voice was cheery. "I didn't come here to make +you feel bad. And I won't be here long. Can't we be friends while I'm +here? Of course the boy will know. But no one else need know. And--you +better see to the folks downstairs. Some one just came in." + +She turned and walked down the hall, wondering if he had ever cared for +her, and wondering if her boy, Lorry, would ever come to possess that +almost unhuman quality of intense alertness, that incomprehensible +coolness that never allowed him to forget what he was for an instant. + +When Waring came down she did not introduce him to the boarders, a fact +that sheriff Buck Hardy, who dined at the hotel, noted with some +interest. The men ate hastily, rose, and departed, leaving Hardy and +Waring, who called for a second cup of coffee and rolled a cigarette +while waiting. + +Hardy had seen the stranger ride into town on the big buckskin. The +horse bore a Mexican brand. The hotel register told Hardy who the +stranger was. And the sheriff of Stacey County was curious to know just +what the Sonora gunman was doing in town. + +Waring sat with his unlighted cigarette between his fingers. The sheriff +proffered a match. Their eyes met. Waring nodded his thanks and blew a +smoke-ring. + +"How are things down in Sonora?" queried Hardy. + +"Quiet." + +Mrs. Adams questioned Waring with her eyes. He nodded. "This is Mr. +Waring," she said, rising. "This is Mr. Hardy, our sheriff." + +The men shook hands. "Mrs. Adams is a good cook," said Waring. + +A clatter of hoofs and the sound of a cheery voice broke the silence. + +A young cowboy jingled into the room. "Hello, Buck! Hello, mother!" And +Lorry Adams strode up and kissed his mother heartily. "Got a runnin' +chance to come to town and I came--runnin'. How's everything?" + +Mrs. Adams murmured a reply. Buck Hardy was watching Waring as he +glanced up at the boy. The sheriff pulled a cigar from his vest and +lighted it. In the street he paused in his stride, gazing at the end of +his cigar. Lorry Adams looked mighty like Jim Waring, of Sonora. Hardy +had heard that Waring had been killed down in the southern country. Some +one had made a mistake. + +Waring had risen. He stood with one hand touching the table, the tips of +his fingers drumming the rhythm of a song he hummed to himself. The +boy's back was toward him. Waring's gaze traveled from his son's head to +his boot-heel. + +Lorry noticed that his mother seemed perturbed. He turned to Waring +with a questioning challenge in his gray eyes. + +Mrs. Adams touched the boy's arm. "This is your father, Lorry." + +Lorry glanced from one to the other. + +Waring made no movement, offered no greeting, but stood politely +impassive. + +Mrs. Adams spoke gently: "Lorry!" + +"Why, hello, dad!" And the boy shook hands with his father. + +Waring gestured toward a chair. Lorry sat down. His eyes were warm with +mild astonishment. + +"Smoke?" said Waring, proffering tobacco and papers. + +Lorry's gaze never left his father's face as he rolled a cigarette and +lighted it. Mrs. Adams realized that Waring's attitude of cool +indifference appealed to the boy. + +Lorry remembered his father dimly. He was curious to know just what kind +of man he was. He didn't talk much; that was certain. The boy remembered +that his mother had not said much about her husband, answering Lorry's +childish questionings with a promise to tell him some day. He recalled a +long journey on the train, their arrival at Stacey, and the taking over +of the run-down hotel that his mother had refurnished and made a place +of neatness and comfort. And his mother had told him that she would be +known "Mrs. Adams." Lorry had been so filled with the newness of things +that the changing of their name was accepted without question. Slowly +his recollection of Sonora and the details of their life there came back +to him. These things he had all but forgotten, as he had grown to love +Arizona, its men, its horses, its wide ranges and magic hills. + +Mrs. Adams remembered that her husband had once told her he could find +out more about a man by watching his hands than by asking questions. She +noticed that Waring was watching his son's hands with that old, +deliberate coldness of attitude. He was trying to find out just what +sort of a man his boy had grown to be. + +Lorry suddenly straightened in his chair. Mrs. Adams, anticipating his +question, nodded to Waring. + +"Yes," said Waring; "I am the Waring of Sonora that you are thinking +about." + +Lorry flushed. "I--I guess you are," he stammered. "Mother, you never +told me _that_." + +"You were too young to understand, Lorry." + +"And is that why you left him?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, maybe you were right. But dad sure looks like a pretty decent +hombre to me." + +They laughed in a kind of relief. The occasion had seemed rather +strained. + +"Ask your mother, Lorry. I am out of it." And, rising Waring strode to +the doorway. + +Lorry rose. + +"I'll see you again," said Waring. And he stepped to the street, humming +his song of "Sonora and the Silver Strings." + +Mrs. Adams put her arm about her son's shoulders. "Your father is a hard +man," she told him. + +"Was he mean to you, mother?" + +"No--never that." + +"Well, I don't understand it. He looks like a real man to me. Why did he +come back?" + +"He said he came back to see you." + +"Well, he's my father, anyway," said Lorry. + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +_Lorry_ + +In the low hills west of Stacey, Lorry was looking for strays. He worked +alone, whistling as he rode, swinging his glasses on this and that +arroyo and singling out the infrequent clumps of greasewood for a touch +of brighter color in their shadows. He urged his pony from crest to +crest, carelessly easy in the saddle, alive to his work, and quietly +happy in the lone freedom of thought and action. + +He felt a bit proud of himself that morning. Only last night he had +learned that he was the son of Waring of Sonora; a name to live up to, +if Western standards meant anything, and he thought they did. + +The fact that he was the son of James Waring overcame for the time being +the vague disquietude of mind attending his knowledge that his mother +and father had become estranged. He thought he understood now why his +mother had made him promise to go unarmed upon the range. His +companions, to the last man, "packed a gun." + +Heretofore their joshing had not bothered him. In fact, he had rather +enjoyed the distinction of going unarmed, and he had added to this +distinction by acquiring a skill with the rope that occasioned much +natural jealousy among his fellows. To be top-hand with a rope among +such men as Blaze Andrews, Slim Trivet, Red Bender, and High-Chin Bob, +the foreman, was worth all the patient hours he had given to persistent +practice with the reata. + +But to-day he questioned himself. His mother had made him promise to go +unarmed because she feared he would become like his father. Why hadn't +she told him more about it all? He felt that she had taken a kind of +mean advantage of his unwavering affection for her. He was a man, so far +as earning his wage was concerned. And she was the best woman in the +world--but then women didn't understand the unwritten customs of the +range. + +On a sandy ridge he reined up and gazed at the desert below. The bleak +flats wavered in the white light of noon. The farthest hills to the +south seemed but a few miles away. + +For some time he focused his gaze at the Notch, from which the road +sprang and flowed in slow undulations to a vanishing point in the blank +spaces of the west. His pony, Gray Leg, head up and nostrils working, +twitched back one ear as Lorry spoke: "You see it, too?" + +Gray Leg continued to gaze into the distance, occasionally stamping an +impatient forefoot, as though anxious to be off. Lorry lowered his glass +and raised it again. In the circle of the binoculars he saw a tiny, +distant figure dismount from a black horse and walk back and forth +across the road directly below the Notch. Lorry wiped his glasses and +centered them on the Notch again. The horseman had led his horse to a +clump of brush. Presently the twinkling front of an automobile +appeared--a miniature machine that wormed slowly through the Notch and +descended the short pitch beyond. Suddenly the car swerved and stopped. +Lorry saw a flutter of white near the machine. Then the concealed +horseman appeared on foot. Lorry slipped the glass in his shirt. + +"We'll just mosey over and get a closer look," he told his pony. "Things +don't look just right over there." + +Gray Leg, scenting a new interest, tucked himself together. The sand +sprayed to little puffs of dust as he swung to a lope. + +Lorry was curious--and a bit elated at the promise of a break in the +monotony of hunting stray cattle. Probably some Eastern tourist had +taken the grade below the Notch too fast and ditched his machine. Lorry +would ride over and help him to right the car and set the pilgrim on his +way rejoicing. He had helped to right cars before. Last month, for +instance; that big car with the uniformed driver and the wonderfully +gowned women. He recalled the fact that one of them had been absolutely +beautiful, despite her strange mufflings. She had offered to pay him for +his trouble. When he refused she had thanked him eloquently with her +fine eyes and thrown him a kiss as he turned to go. She had thrown that +kiss with two hands! There was nothing stingy about that lady! + +But possibly the machine toward which he rode carried nothing more +interesting than men; fat, well-dressed men who smoked fat cigars and +had much to say about "high" and "low," but didn't seem to know a great +deal about "Jack" and "The Game." If _they_ offered to pay him for +helping them--well, that was a different matter. + +The pony loped toward the Notch, quite as eager as his rider to attend a +performance that promised action. Within a half-mile of the Notch, Lorry +pulled the pony to a walk. Just beyond the car he had seen the head and +ears of a horse. The rider was afoot, talking to the folks in the car. +This didn't look quite right. + +He worked his pony through the shoulder-high brush until within a few +yards of the other man, who was evidently unwelcome. One of the two +women stood in front of the other as though to shield her. + +Lorry took down his rope just as the younger of the two women saw his +head above the brush. The strange horseman, noting her expression, +turned quickly. Lorry's pony jumped at the thrust of the spurs. The rope +circled like a swallow and settled lightly on the man's shoulders. The +pony wheeled. The blunt report of a gun punctured the silence, followed +by the long-drawn ripping of brush and the snorting of the pony. + +The man was dragging and clutching at the brush. He had dropped his gun. +Lorry dug the spurs into Gray Leg. The rope came taut with a jerk. The +man rolled over, his hands snatching at the noose about his neck. Lorry +dismounted and ran to him. He eased the loop, and swiftly slipped it +over the man's feet. + +Gray Leg, who knew how to keep a rope taut better than anything else, +slowly circled the fallen man. Lorry picked up the gun and strode over +to the car. One of the women was crouching on the running-board. In +front of her, pale, straight, stiffly indignant, stood a young woman +whose eyes challenged Lorry's approach. + +"It's all right, miss. He won't bother you now." + +"Is he dead?" queried the girl. + +"I reckon not." + +"I heard a shot. I thought you killed him." + +"No, ma'am. He took a crack at me. I don't pack a gun." + +"You're a cowboy?" And the girl laughed nervously, despite her effort to +hold herself together. + +"I aim to be," said Lorry, a trifle brusquely. + +The elder woman peered through her fingers. "Another one!" she moaned. + +"No, mother. This one is a cowboy. It's all right." + +"It sure is. What was his game?" + +"He told us to give him our money." + +"Uh-uh. This is the second holdup here at the Notch this summer." + +"He's trying to get up!" exclaimed the girl. + +"My hoss'll take care of him." + +"But your horse might drag him to death." + +"Well, it's his own funeral, ain't it?" + +The girl's eyes grew big. She stepped back. If she had only said +something Lorry would have felt better. As it was he felt decidedly +uncomfortable. + +"If you'll say what is right, ma'am, I'll do it. You want me to turn him +loose?" + +"I--No. But can't you do something for him?" + +Lorry laughed. "I reckon you don't sabe them kind, miss. And mebby you +want to get that car on the road again." + +"Yes," said the girl's mother. "I think this young man knows what he is +about." + +Lorry stepped to the car to examine it. + +The girl followed him. "I think there is nothing broken. We just turned +to come down that hill. We were coasting when I saw a rope stretched +across the road. I didn't know what to do. I tried to stop. We slid off +the edge." + +"Uh-uh. He had it all ribbed up to stop you. Now if you had kept on +goin'--" + +"But I didn't know what the rope meant. I was frightened. And before I +knew what had happened he stepped right on the running-board and told +us to give him our money." + +"Yes, ma'am. If you can start her up, I'll get my rope on the axle and +help." + +"But the man might get up!" said the girl. + +Lorry grinned. A minute or two ago she had been afraid that the man +wouldn't get up. Lorry slipped the rope from the man's ankles and tied +it to the front axle. The girl got in the car. The pony buckled to his +work. The machine stuttered and purred. With a lurch it swung back into +the road. The girl's mother rose, brushed her skirt, and stepped to the +car. Lorry unfastened the rope and reined to one side. + +The car steered badly. The girl stopped it and beckoned to Lorry. + +"There's something wrong with the steering-gear. Are the roads good from +here to the next town?" + +"Not too good. There's some heavy sand about a mile west." + +She bit her lip. "Well, I suppose we'll have to turn back." + +"You could get to Stacey, ma'am. You could get your car fixed, and my +mother runs the hotel there. It's a good place to stop." + +"How far?" + +"About eight miles. Three miles back the road forks and the left-hand +road goes to town. The regular automobile road don't go to Stacey." + +"Well, I suppose there is nothing else to do. I'll try and turn +around." And the girl backed the car and swung round in a wavering arc. +When the car faced the east she stopped it. + +Lorry rode alongside. She thanked him for his services. "And please +don't do anything to that man," she pleaded. "He has been punished +enough. You almost killed him. He looked so wretched. Can't you give him +a good talking to and let him go?" + +"I could, ma'am. But it ain't right. He'll try this here stunt again. +There's a reward out for him." + +"But won't you--please!" + +Lorry flushed. "You got a good heart all right, but you ain't been long +in the West. Such as him steals hosses and holds up folks and robs +trains--" + +"But you're not an officer," she said, somewhat unkindly. + +"I reckon any man is an officer when wimmin-folk is gettin' robbed. And +I aim to put him where he belongs." + +"Thank you for helping us," said the girl's mother. + +"You're right welcome, ma'am." And, raising his hat, Lorry turned and +rode to where the man lay. + +The car crept up the slope. Lorry watched it until it had topped the +ridge. Then he dismounted and turned the man over. + +"What you got to say about my turnin' you loose?" he queried as the +other sat up. + +"Nothin'." + +"All right. Get a movin'--and don't try to run. I got my rope handy." + + + + +Chapter IX + + +_High-Chin Bob_ + +The man's rusty black coat was torn and wrinkled. His cheap cotton shirt +was faded and buttonless. His boots were split at the sole, showing part +of a bare foot. He was grimy, unshaven, and puffed unhealthily beneath +the eyes. Lorry knew that he was but an indifferent rider without seeing +him on a horse. He was a typical railroad tramp, turned highwayman. + +"Got another gun on you?" queried Lorry. + +The man shook his head. + +"Where'd you steal that horse?" + +"Who says I stole him?" + +"I do. He's a Starr horse. He was turned out account of goin' lame. Hop +along. I'll take care of him." + +The man plodded across the sand. Lorry followed on Gray Leg, and led the +other horse. Flares of noon heat shot up from the reddish-gray levels. +Lorry whistled, outwardly serene, but inwardly perturbed. That girl had +asked him to let the man go and she had said "please." But, like all +women, she didn't understand such things. + +They approached a low ridge and worked up a winding cattle trail. On the +crest Lorry reined up. The man sat down, breathing heavily. + +"What you callin' yourself?" asked Lorry. + +"A dam' fool." + +"I knew that. Anything else?" + +"Waco--mebby." + +"Waco, eh? Well, that's an insult to Texas. What's your idea in holdin' +up wimmin-folk, anyhow?" + +"Mebby you'd hold up anybody if you hadn't et since yesterday morning." + +"Think I believe that?" + +"Suit yourself. You got me down." + +"Well, you can get up and get movin'." + +The man rose. He shuffled forward, limping heavily. Occasionally he +stopped and turned to meet a level gaze that was impersonal; that +promised nothing. Lorry would have liked to let the other ride. The man +was suffering--and to ride would save time. But the black, a rangy, +quick-stepping animal, was faster than Gray Leg. But what if the man did +escape? No one need know about it. Yet Lorry knew that he was doing +right in arresting him. In fact, he felt a kind of secret pride in +making the capture. It would give him a name among his fellows. But was +there any glory in arresting such a man? + +Lorry recalled the other's wild shot as he was whirled through the +brush. "He sure tried to get me!" Lorry argued. "And any man that'd hold +up wimmin ought to be in the calaboose--" + +The trail meandered down the hillside and out across a barren flat. +Halfway across the flat the trail forked. Lorry had ceased to whistle. +At the fork his pony stopped of its own accord. The man turned +questioningly. Lorry gestured toward the right-hand trail. The man +staggered on. The horses fretted at the slow pace. Keen to anticipate +some trickery, Lorry hardened himself to the other's condition. Perhaps +the man was hungry, sick, suffering. Well, a mile beyond was the +water-hole. The left-hand trail led directly to Stacey, but there was no +water along that trail. + +They moved on across a stretch of higher land that swept in a gentle, +sage-dotted slope to the far hills. Midway across the slope was a bare +spot burning like white fire in the desert sun. It was the water-hole. +The trail became paralleled by other trails, narrow and rutted by +countless hoofs. + +Within a hundred yards of the water-hole the prisoner collapsed. Lorry +dismounted and went for water. + +The man drank, and Lorry helped him up and across the sand to the rim of +the water-hole. The man gazed at the shimmering pool with blurred eyes. + +Lorry rolled a cigarette. "Roll one?" he queried. + +The man Waco took the proffered tobacco and papers. His weariness seemed +to vanish as he smoked. "That pill sure saved my life," he asserted. + +"How much you reckon your life's worth?" + +Waco blew a smoke-ring and nodded toward it as it dissolved. Lorry +pondered. The keen edge of his interest in the capture had worn off, +leaving a blunt purpose--a duty that was part of the day's work. As he +realized how much the other was at his mercy a tinge of sympathy +softened his gray eyes. Justice was undeniably a fine thing. Folks were +entitled to the pursuit of happiness, to life and liberty he had read +somewhere. He glanced up. Waco, seated opposite, had drifted back into a +stupor, head sunk forward and arms relaxed. The stub of his cigarette +lay smouldering between his feet. Lorry thought of the girl's appeal. + +"Just what started you to workin' this holdup game?" he queried. + +Waco's head came up. "You joshin' me?" + +"Nope." + +"You wouldn't believe a hard-luck story, so what's the use?" + +"Ain't any. I was just askin' a question. Roll another?" + +Waco stuck out his grimy paw. His fingers trembled as he fumbled the +tobacco and papers. + +Lorry proffered a match. "It makes me sick to see a husky like you all +shot to pieces," said Lorry. + +"Did you just get wise to that?" + +"Nope. But I just took time to say it." + +Waco breathed deep, inhaling the smoke. "I been crooked all my life," he +asserted. + +"I can believe that. 'Course you know I'm takin' you to Stacey." + +"The left-hand trail was quicker," ventured the tramp. + +"And no water." + +"I could ride," suggested Waco. + +Lorry shook his head. "If you was to make a break I'd just nacherally +plug you. I got your gun. You're safer afoot." + +"I'll promise--" + +"Nope. You're too willin'." + +"I'm all in," said Waco. + +"I got to take you to Stacey just the same." + +"And you're doin' it for the money--the reward." + +"That's my business." + +"Go ahead," said the tramp. "I hope you have a good time blowin' in the +dough. Blood-money changes easy to booze-money when a lot of cow-chasers +get their hooks on it." + +"Don't get gay!" said Lorry. "I aim to use you white as long as you work +gentle. If you don't--" + +"That's the way with you guys that do nothin' but chase a cow's tail +over the country. You handle folks the same as stock--rough stuff and to +hell with their feelin's." + +"You're feelin' better," said Lorry. "Stand up and get to goin'." + +As Waco rose, Lorry's pony nickered. A rider was coming down the +distant northern hillside. In the fluttering silken bandanna and the +twinkle of silver-studded trappings Lorry recognized the foreman of the +Starr Rancho; Bob Brewster, known for his arrogance as "High-Chin Bob." + +"Guess we'll wait a minute," said Lorry. + +Waco saw the rider, and asked who he was. + +"It's High Chin, the foreman. You been ridin' one of his string of +horses--the black there." + +"He's your boss?" + +"Yes. And I'm right sorry he's ridin' into this camp. You was talkin' of +feelin's. Well, he ain't got any." + +Brewster loped up and dismounted. "What's your tally, kid?" + +Lorry shook his head. "Only this," he said jokingly. + +Brewster glanced at Waco. "Maverick, all right. Where'd you rope _him_?" + +"I run onto him holdin' up some tourists down by the Notch. I'm driftin' +him over to Stacey." + +High Chin's eyes narrowed. "Was he ridin' that horse?" And he pointed to +the black. + +Lorry admitted that he had found the horse tied in the brush near the +Notch. + +High Chin swung round. "You fork your bronc and get busy. There's eighty +head and over strayin' in here, and the old man ain't payin' you to +entertain hobos. I'll herd this hombre to camp." + +With his arm outflung the tramp staggered up to the foreman. "I come +back--to tell you--that I'm going to live to get you right. I got a +hunch that all hell can't beat out. I'll get you!" + +"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. + +High Chin whirled his horse round. "What's it to you? Who are you, +buttin' in on this?" + +"My name is Waring. I used to mill around Sonora once." + +High Chin blinked. He knew that name. Slowly he realized that the man on +the big buckskin meant what he said when he asserted that there would be +no trouble. + +"Well, I'm foreman of the Starr, and you're fired!" he told Lorry. + +"That's no news," said Lorry, grinning. + +"And I'm goin' to herd this hoss-thief to camp," he continued, spurring +toward Waco, who had started to walk away. + +"Not this journey," said Waring, pushing his horse between them. "The +boy don't pack a gun. I do." + +"You talk big--knowin' I got no gun," said High Chin. + +Lorry rode over to the foreman. "Here's your gun, High. I ain't no +killer." + +The foreman holstered the gun and reined round toward Waring. "Now do +your talkin'," he challenged. + +Waring made no movement, but sat quietly watching the other's gun hand. +"You have your gun?" he said, as though asking a question. "If you mean +business, go ahead. I'll let you get your gun out--and then I'll get +you--and you know it!" And with insulting ease he flicked his burned-out +cigarette in the foreman's face. + +Without a word High Chin whirled his horse and rode toward the hills. + +Waring sat watching him until Lorry spoke. + +"They say he's put more than one man across the divide," he told his +father. + +"But not on an even break," said Waring. "Get that hombre on his horse. +He's in bad shape." + +Lorry helped Waco to mount. They rode toward Stacey. + +Waring rode with them until the trail forked. "I was on my way to the +Starr Ranch," he told Lorry. "I think I can make it all right with +Starr, if you say the word." + +"Not me," said Lorry. "I stand by what I do." + +Waring tried to conceal the smile that crept to his lips. "All right, +Lorry. But you'll have to explain to your mother. Better turn your man +over to Buck Hardy as soon as you get in town. Where did you pick him +up?" + +"He was holdin' up some tourists over by the Notch. He changed his mind +and came along with me." + +Waring rode down the west fork, and Lorry and the tramp continued their +journey to Stacey. + + + + +Chapter X + + +_East and West_ + +Mrs. Adams, ironing in the kitchen, was startled by a peremptory ringing +of the bell on the office desk. The Overland had arrived and departed +more than an hour ago. She patted her hair, smoothed her apron, and +stepped through the dining-room to the office. A rather tired-looking, +stylishly gowned woman immediately asked if there were comfortable +accommodations for herself and her daughter. Mrs. Adams assured her that +there were. + +"We had an accident," continued the woman. "I am Mrs. Weston. This is my +daughter." + +"You are driving overland?" + +"We were. We have had a terrible time. A man tried to rob us, and we +almost wrecked our car." + +"Goodness! Where did it happen?" + +"At a place called 'The Notch,' I think," said Alice Weston, taking the +pen Mrs. Adams proffered and registering. + +"I can give you a front double room," said Mrs. Adams. "But the single +rooms are cooler." + +"Anything will do so long as it is clean," said Mrs. Weston. + +Mrs. Adams's rosy face grew red. "My rooms are always clean. I attend +to them myself." + +"And a room with a bath would be preferable," said Mrs. Weston. + +Her daughter Alice smiled. Mrs. Adams caught the twinkle in the girl's +eyes and smiled in return. + +"You can have the room next to the bathroom. This is a desert town, Mrs. +Weston. We don't have many tourists." + +"I suppose it will have to do," sighed Mrs. Weston. "Of course we may +have the exclusive use of the bath?" + +"Mother," said Alice Weston, "you must remember that this isn't New +York. I think we are fortunate to get a place as comfortable and neat as +this. We're really in the desert. We will see the rooms, please." + +Mrs. Weston could find no fault with the rooms. They were neat and +clean, even to the window-panes. Alice Weston was delighted. From her +window she could see miles of the western desert, and the far, +mysterious ranges bulked against the blue of the north; ranges that +seemed to whisper of romance, the unexplored, the alluring. + +While Mrs. Adams was arranging things, Alice Weston gazed out of the +window. Below in the street a cowboy passed jauntily. A stray burro +crossed the street and nosed among some weeds. Then a stolid Indian +stalked by. + +"Why, that is a real Indian!" exclaimed the girl. + +"A Navajo," said Mrs. Adams. "They come in quite often." + +"Really? And--oh, I forgot--the young man who rescued us told us that he +was your son." + +"Lorry! Rescued you?" + +"Yes." And the girl told Mrs. Adams about the accident and the tramp. + +"I'm thankful that he didn't get killed," was Mrs. Adams's comment when +the girl had finished. + +Alone in her room, Alice Weston bared her round young arms and enjoyed a +real, old-fashioned wash in a real, old-fashioned washbowl. Who could be +unhappy in this glorious country? But mother seemed so unimpressed! "And +I hope that steering-knuckle doesn't come for a month," the girl told a +framed lithograph of "Custer's Last Fight," which, contrary to all +precedent, was free from fly specks. + +She recalled the scene at the Notch: the sickening sway of the car; the +heavy, brutal features of the bandit, who seemed to have risen from the +ground; the unexpected appearance of the young cowboy, the flash of his +rope, and a struggling form whirling through the brush. + +And she had said "please" when she had asked the young cowboy to let the +man go. He had refused. She thought Western men more gallant. But what +difference did that make? She would never see him again. The young +cowboy had seemed rather nice, until just toward the last. As for the +other man--she shivered as she wondered what would have happened if the +cowboy had not arrived when he did. + +It occurred to her that she had never been refused a request in her life +until that afternoon. And the fact piqued her. The fate of the tramp was +a secondary consideration now. She and her mother were safe. The car +would have to be repaired; but that was unimportant. The fact that they +were stranded in a real desert town, with Indians and cowboys in the +streets, and vistas such as she had dreamed of shimmering in the +afternoon sun, awakened an erstwhile slumbering desire for a draught of +the real Romance of the West, heretofore only enjoyed in unsatisfying +sips as she read of the West and its wonder trails. + +A noise in the street attracted her attention. She stepped to the +window. Just across the street a tall, heavy man was unlocking a door in +a little adobe building. Near him stood the young cowboy whom she had +not expected to see again. And there was the tramp, handcuffed and +strangely white of face. The door swung open, and the tall man stepped +back. The tramp shuffled through the low doorway, and the door was +closed and locked. The cowboy and the tall man talked for a while. She +stepped back as the men separated. + +Presently she heard the cowboy's voice downstairs. She flushed, and +gazed at herself in the glass. + +"I am going to make him sorry he refused to let that man go," she told +the mirror. "Oh, I shall be nice to him! So nice that--" She did not +complete the thought. She was naturally gracious. When she set out to be +exceptionally nice--"Oo, la, la!" she exclaimed. "And he's nothing but a +cowboy!" + +She heard Lorry clump upstairs and enter a room across the hall. She +knew it was he. She could hear the clink of his spurs and the swish of +his chaps. While she realized that he was Mrs. Adams's son and had a +right to be there, she rather resented his proximity, possibly because +she had not expected to see him again. + +She had no idea that he had been discharged by his foreman, nor that he +had earned the disapproval of his mother for having quarreled. Of course +he had ridden to Stacey to bring the prisoner in, but he knew they were +in Stacey, and Alice Weston liked to believe that he would make excuse +to stay in town while they were there. It would be fun--for her. + +After supper that evening Mrs. Weston and Alice were introduced to +Waring, who came in late. Waring chatted with Mrs. Weston out on the +veranda in the cool of the evening. Alice was surprised that her mother +seemed interested in Waring. But after a while, as the girl listened, +she admitted that the man was interesting. + +The conversation drifted to mines and mining. Mrs. Weston declared that +she had never seen a gold mine, but that her husband owned some stock +in one of the richest mines in Old Mexico. Waring grew enthusiastic as +he described mine operating in detail, touching the subject with the +ease of experience, yet lightly enough to avoid wearisome +technicalities. The girl listened, occasionally stealing a glance at the +man's profile in the dusk. She thought the boy Lorry looked exceedingly +like Mr. Waring. + +And the person who looked exceedingly like Mr. Waring sat at the far end +of the veranda, talking to Buck Hardy, the sheriff. And Lorry was not +altogether happy. His interest in the capture and reward had waned. He +had never dreamed that a girl could be so captivating as Alice Weston. +At supper she had talked with him about the range, asking many +questions; but she had not referred to that morning. Lorry had hoped +that he might talk with her after supper. But somehow or other she had +managed to evade his efforts. Just now she seemed to be mightily +interested in his father. + +Presently Lorry rose and strode across the street to the station. He +talked with the agent, who showed him a telegraph duplicate for an order +on Albuquerque covering a steering-knuckle for an automobile. When Lorry +reappeared he was whistling. It would take some time for that +steering-knuckle to arrive. Meanwhile, he was out of work, and the +Westons would be at the hotel for several days at least. + +There was some mighty fine scenery back in the Horseshoe Range, west. +Perhaps the girl liked Western scenery. He wondered if she knew how to +ride. He was rather inclined to think that her mother did not. He would +suggest a trip to the Horseshoe Mountains, as it would be pretty dull at +the hotel. Nothing but cowboys and Indians riding in and out of town. +But there were some Hopi ruins over in the Horseshoe. Most Easterners +were interested in ruins. He wished that the Hopis had left a ruin +somewhat nearer town. + +Yet withal, Lorry was proud to think that his father could be so +interesting to real Easterners. If they only knew who his father was! +Lorry's train of thought was making pretty good time when he checked it +suddenly. Folks in town didn't know that Waring was his father. And "The +whole dog-gone day had just been one gosh-awful mess!" + +"Weston, you said?" Waring queried. + +"Yes--John Archibald Weston, of New York." And Mrs. Weston nodded. + +Waring smiled. J.A. Weston was one of the stockholders in the Ortez +Mine, near Sonora. + +"The principal stockholder," said Mrs. Weston. + +"I met him down there," said Waring. + +"Indeed! How interesting! You were connected with the mining industry, +Mr. Waring?" + +"In a way. I lived in Sonora several years." + +"That accounts for your wonderful descriptions of the country. I never +imagined it could be so charming." + +"We have some hill country west of here worth looking at. If you intend +to stay any length of time, I might arrange a trip." + +"That's nice of you. But I don't ride. Perhaps Alice would like to go." + +"Yes, indeed! But--" + +"We might get Mrs. Adams to come. She used to ride." + +"I'll ask her," said Alice Weston. + +"But, Alice--" And Mrs. Weston smiled. Alice had already gone to look +for Mrs. Adams. + +Lorry, who had heard, scowled at a veranda post. He had thought of that +trip to the Horseshoe Range long before it had been mentioned by his +father. Wimmin made him tired, he told the unoffending post. + +Shortly afterward Alice appeared. She had cajoled Mrs. Adams into +promising that she would ride to the Hopi ruins with them, as the +journey there and back could be made in a day. Alice Weston was aglow +with excitement. Of course the young cowboy would be included in the +invitation, and Alice premeditated a flirtation, either with that +good-looking Mr. Waring or Mrs. Adams's son. It didn't matter much which +one; it would be fun. + +The Westons finally went to their rooms. Lorry, out of sorts with +himself and the immediate world, was left alone on the veranda. + +"She just acted so darned nice to me I forgot to eat," he told the post +confidentially. "And then she forgot I was livin' in the same +county--after supper. And she did it a-purpose. I reckon she's tryin' to +even up with me for jailin' that hobo after she said 'please.' Well, two +can play at that even-up game." + +He rose and walked upstairs quietly. As he entered his room he heard the +Westons talking. He had noticed that the door of one of their rooms was +open. + +"No, I think he went away with that tall man," he heard the girl say. +"Cowboys don't go to bed early when in town." + +"Weren't you a little too nice to him at dinner?" Mrs. Weston said. + +Lorry heard the girl laugh. "Oh, but he's only a boy, mother! And it's +such fun to watch his eyes when he smiles. He is really good-looking and +interesting, because he hasn't been tamed. I don't think he has any real +feeling, though, or he wouldn't have brought that poor creature to +Stacey and put him in jail. But Mr. Waring is different. He seems so +quiet and kind--and rather distinguished." + +Lorry closed his door. He had heard enough for one evening. + +He did not want to go to bed. He felt anything but sleepy, so he tiptoed +downstairs again and out into the night. He found Buck Hardy in a saloon +up the street. Men in the saloon joked with Lorry about his capture. He +seldom drank, but to-night he did not refuse Hardy's invitation to +"have something." While they were chatting a rider from the Starr Rancho +came in. Edging up to Lorry, he touched his arm. "Come on out a minute," +he whispered. + +Outside, he told Lorry that High Chin, with several of the men, was +coming to town that night and "put one over" on the sheriff by stealing +the prisoner. + +"And you know what that means," said the Starr cowboy. "High Chin'll get +tanked, and the hobo'll be lucky if the boys don't string him up. High +Chin's awful sore about something." + +Lorry's first idea was to report all this to Buck Hardy. But he feared +ridicule. What if the Starr cowboys didn't come? + +"Why don't you tell Buck yourself?" he queried. + +His companion insisted that he dare not tell the sheriff. If High Chin +heard that he had done so, he would be out of a job. And there was the +reward. If the prisoner's identity was proven, Lorry would get the +reward. The cowboy didn't want to see Lorry lose such easy money. + +The subject seemed to require some liquidation, and Lorry finally +decided that he himself was the only and legal custodian of the +prisoner. As for the reward--shucks! He didn't want blood-money. But +High Chin would never lay a hand on the hobo if he could help it. + + * * * * * + +Alice Weston, anticipating a real ride into the desert country and the +hills, was too excited to sleep. She drew a chair to the window, and sat +back where she could view the vague outline of the hills and a world +filled with glowing stars. The town was silent, save for the occasional +opening or closing of a door and the infrequent sound of feet on the +sidewalk. She forgot the hazards of the day in dreaming of the West; no +longer a picture out of books, but a reality. She scarcely noticed the +quiet figure that came round the opposite corner and passed into the +shadows of the jail across the street. She heard the clink of a chain +and a sharp, tearing sound as of wood being rent asunder. She peered +from her window, trying to see what was going on in the shadows. + +Presently a figure appeared. The hat, the attitude, and manner seemed +familiar. Then came another figure; that of the tramp. She grew tense +with excitement. She heard Lorry's voice distinctly:-- + +"The best thing for you is to fan it. Don't try the train. They'll get +you sure if you do. No, I don't explain anything. Just ramble--and keep +a-ramblin'." + +She saw one of the figures creep along the opposite wall and shuffle +across the street. She felt like calling out. Instead she rose and +opened her door. She would tell her mother. But what good would that do? +She returned to the window. Lorry, standing on the street corner, seemed +to be watching an invisible something far down the street. Alice Weston +heard the sound of running horses. A group of cowboys galloped up. She +heard the horses stop. Lorry had disappeared. + +She went to bed. It seemed an age before she heard him come in. + +Lorry undressed in the dark. As he went to bed he grinned. "And the +worst of it is," he soliloquized, "she'll think I did it because she +asked me to let him go. Guess I been steppin' on my foot the whole +dog-gone day." + + + + +Chapter XI + + +_Spring Lamb_ + +Mrs. Adams had decided to have roast spring lamb for dinner that +evening. Instead, her guests had to content themselves with canned +salmon and hot biscuit. And because ... + +Lorry appeared at the breakfast table in overalls and jumper. He had +purposely waited until the Westons had gone downstairs. He anticipated +an invitation to ride to the hills with them. He would decline, and +smile as he did so. If that girl thought he cared anything about _her_! + +He answered their greeting with a cheery "Good-mornin'," and immediately +turned his whole attention to bacon and eggs. + +Alice Weston wondered that his eyes should be so clear and care-free, +knowing what she did of last night's escapade. + +Mrs. Adams was interested in the girl's riding-habit. It made her own +plain riding-skirt and blouse appear rather countrified. And after +breakfast Lorry watched the preparations for the ride with a critical +eye. No one would know whether or not he cared to go. They seemed to +have taken it for granted that he would. He whistled softly, and shook +his head as his mother suggested that he get ready. + +"Of course you're coming with us," said Alice Weston. + +"I got to look after the hotel," he said with conclusive emphasis. + +Lorry disappeared, and in the bustle of preparation and departure Mrs. +Adams did not miss him until they were some distance out on the mesa. + +"Where's Lorry?" she queried. + +"He said he had to look after the hotel," said Alice Weston. + +"Well, he didn't. I had everything arranged for. I don't know what's got +into him lately." + +Back at the hotel Lorry was leaning against the veranda rail, talking to +Mrs. Weston. "I reckon it will be kind of tame for you, ma'am. I was +wondering, now, if you would let me look over that machine. I've helped +fix 'em up lots of times." + +"Why, I don't know. It wouldn't do any harm to look, would it?" + +"I guess not." + +Mrs. Weston gazed at Lorry curiously. He had smiled, and he resembled +Waring so closely that Mrs. Weston remarked it aloud. + +Lorry flushed. "I think Mr. Waring is a right good-lookin' man, don't +you?" + +Mrs. Weston laughed. "Yes, I do." + +"Yes, ma'am. But honest, Mrs. Weston, I never did see a finer-lookin' +girl than your girl. I seen plenty of magazine pictures like her. I'd +feel some proud if I was her mother." + +The morning was not so dull, after all. Mrs. Weston was not used to such +frankness, but she was not displeased. "I see you have on your working +clothes. If you really think you can repair the car--" + +"I got nothin' else to do. The sun is gettin' round to the front. If you +would like to sit in the car and watch, I would look her over; there, in +the shade." + +"I'll get a hat," said Mrs. Weston, rising. + +"Your hair is right pretty without a hat. And besides you would be in +the shade of the top." + +It had been some time since any one had complimented Mrs. Weston about +her hair, and especially a man young enough to be her son. What was the +cowboy going to say next? + +Mrs. Weston stepped into the car, which was parked on the south side of +the building. Lorry, whistling blithely, searched until he found a +wrench in one of the forward-door pockets. He disappeared beneath the +car. Mrs. Weston could hear him tinkering at something. She leaned back, +breathing deep of the clean, thin air. She could not recall having felt +so thoroughly content and keenly alive at the same time. She had no +desire to say or do anything. + +Presently Lorry appeared, his face grimy and his hands streaked with +oil. "Nothin' busted," he reported cheerfully. "We got a car over to +the ranch. She's been busted a-plenty. I fixed her up more times than I +can remember. Cars is like horses ma'am; no two just alike, but kind of +generally the same. The steering-knuckle ain't broke. It's the left axle +that's sprung. That won't take long to straighten." + +Mrs. Weston smiled. Lorry thought she was actually pretty. She saw this +in his eyes, and flushed slightly. + +"And I'll just block her up and take off the wheel, and I reckon the +blacksmith can straighten that axle easy." + +"It's very nice of you. But I am wondering why you didn't go on the +picnic--with the others." + +"Well, who'd 'a' kept you company, ma'am? Anita, she's busy. Anyhow, I +seen plenty of scenery. I'd rather be here." + +"Talking to a woman old enough to be your mother?" + +"Huh! I never thought of you like that. I'm only eighteen. Anyhow, what +difference does it make how old a lady is, if she is pretty?" + +Mrs. Weston's eyes twinkled. "Do you ever pay compliments to yourself +when you are combing your hair or tying your scarf?" + +"Me! Why, not so anybody could hear 'em. Now, I think my mother is right +pretty, Mrs. Weston." + +"So do I. And it was nice of you to say it." + +"But I don't see anything wrong in sayin' what's so," he argued. "I seen +you kind of raise your eyebrows, and I thought mebby I was bein' took as +a joke." + +"Oh, no, indeed!" + +Lorry disappeared again. As he worked he wondered just how long it would +be before Buck Hardy would look for him. Lorry knew that some one must +have taken food and water to the prisoner by this time, or to where the +prisoner was supposed to be. But he did not know that Hardy and his +deputy had questioned Anita, and that she had told the sheriff the folks +had all gone on a picnic to the hills. The car, at the back of the +hotel, was not visible from the street. + +With some pieces of timber Lorry jacked up the front of the machine and +removed the damaged wheel and axle. + +He took the bent axle to the blacksmith, and returned to the hotel. +Nothing further offered just then, so he suggested that he clean the +car. Mrs. Weston consented, deciding that she would not pay him until +her daughter returned. + +He attached the hose to a faucet, and suggested that Mrs. Weston take a +chair, which he brought from the veranda. He hosed the car, and as he +polished it, Mrs. Weston asked him about Waring. + +"Why, he's a friend of ours," replied Lorry. + +"Of course. But I was wondering what he did." + +Lorry hesitated. "Didn't you ever hear that song about Waring of +Sonora-Town? It's a whizzer. Well, that's him. All the cowboys sing that +song." + +"I have never heard it." + +"Well, mebby dad wouldn't like that I sing it. He's kind of funny that +way. Now you wouldn't think he was the fastest gunman in the Southwest, +would you?" + +"Gunman! Your father?" + +Lorry straightened up from polishing the car. "I clean forgot what I was +sayin'. I guess my foot slipped that time." + +"I am sorry I asked," said Mrs. Weston. "It really doesn't matter." + +"Oh, it ain't your fault. But I wasn't aimin' to tell. Dad he married my +mother, and they went to live in Sonora, down in Mexico. Some of the +minin' outfits down there hired him regular to--to protect their +interests. I guess ma couldn't stand that kind of life, for after a few +years she brought me up here. I was just a kid then. Ma she built up a +good trade at this hotel. Folks call her Mrs. Adams. Her name was Adams +afore she got married. We been here ten years. Dad didn't know where she +was till last week he showed up here. I reckon she thought he got killed +long ago. Folks would talk about it if they knowed he was her husband, +so I guess she asked dad to say nothin' about that. He said he came up +to see me. I guess he don't aim to stay long." + +"I think I understand," said Mrs. Weston. + +"Well, it ain't none of my business, long as ma is all right. Say, she +shines like a new hack, eh?" + +"You have cleaned the car beautifully." + +"Oh, I dunno. Now, if it was a hoss--And say, I guess you'll be startin' +to-morrow. That axle will be all right in about an hour." + +Just then Anita came to call them to luncheon. She had heard them +talking at the rear of the hotel shortly after Sheriff Hardy had +inquired for Lorry. Several townsfolk came in, ate, and departed on +their several ways. + +After luncheon Mrs. Weston went to her room. She thought she would lie +down and sleep for an hour or so, but the noon heat made the room rather +close. She picked up a book and came down, where she found it +comfortably cool on the veranda. + +The town was quiet. A hand-car with its section crew of Mexicans clicked +past, and hummed on down the glittering rails. A stray burro meandered +about, and finally came to a stop in the middle of the street, where he +stood, stoically enduring the sun, a veritable long-eared statue of +dejection. Mrs. Weston turned a page, but the printed word was flat and +insignificant. + +She felt as though she were in a kind of twilight valley, midway between +the hills of slumber and wakefulness. For the moment she forgot the name +of the town itself. She knew that she could recall it if she tried. A +dog lay asleep beneath the station platform opposite, one relaxed paw +over his nose. Some one was calling to some one in the kitchen. A figure +passed in the street; a young man who smiled and nodded. It was the boy, +Lorry. He had been working on the car that morning. She had watched him +work, rather enjoying his energy. A healthy young animal as +unsophisticated as a kitten, and really innately kind and innocent of +intent to flatter. He was not at all like the bright young savage who +had roped and almost choked to death that awful man. + +It was impossible to judge a person at first sight and especially under +unusual circumstances. And he seemed not at all chagrined that he had +not gone with the others to the hills. Alice had enjoyed reading about +Westerners--rough, boisterous beings intolerable to Mrs. Weston even in +print. And Mrs. Weston thought that proper environment and association +might bring out their better qualities, even as the boy, Lorry, seemed +to have improved--well, since yesterday morning. Perhaps he was on his +good behavior because they were there. + +It seemed past comprehension that anything startling could happen in +that drowsy atmosphere. + +The young cowboy was coming back down the street, some part of the car +over his shoulder. Mrs. Weston anticipated his nod, and nodded lazily as +he passed. She could hear him tinkering at the car. + +A few blocks up the street, Buck Hardy was seated in his office talking +with the undersheriff. The undersheriff twisted the end of his black +mustache and looked wise. + +"They told me at the hotel that he had gone riding with them +Easterners," said Hardy. "And now you say he's been in town all day +working on that automobile." + +"Yep. He's been to the blacksmith twice to-day. I didn't say anything to +him, seein' you was over to Larkins's, and said he was out of town. I'd +hate to think he done anything like that." + +"That hobo was gone when I went to talk to him this morning. The lock +was busted. I can't figure it out. Young Lorry stood to win the reward, +and he could use the money." + +"Hear anything by wire?" queried the undersheriff. + +"Nothing. The man didn't get by on any of the trains. I notified both +stations. He's afoot and he's gone." + +"Well, I guess the kid loses out, eh?" + +"That ain't all. This county will jump me for letting that guy get away. +It won't help us any next election." + +"Well, my idea is to have a talk with Adams," said the undersheriff. + +"I'm going to do that. I like the kid, and then there's his mother--" + +"And you'd hold him for lettin' the guy loose, eh?" + +"I would. I'd hold my own brother for playing a trick like that." + +"Well, I don't sabe it," asserted the undersheriff. "Lorry Adams always +had a good name." + +"We'll have a talk with him, Bill." + +"Are you sure Adams did it, Buck?" + +"No, not sure, but I'm going to find out. I'll throw a scare into him +that'll make him talk." + +"Mebby he won't scare." + +"Then I'll run him in. He's some enterprising, if I do say it. He put +High-Chin Bob out of business over by the water-hole yesterday." + +"High Chin! The hell you say!" + +"That's what I thought when I heard it. High was beating up the hobo, +and Lorry claimed him as his prisoner. Jim Waring says the kid walloped +High on the head and knocked him stiff." + +"Whew! Bob will get his hide for that." + +"I don't know. Jim Waring is riding the country just now." + +"What's that got to do with it?" + +"More than I'm going to tell you, Bill. But take it from me, he's +interested in young Adams a whole lot." + + * * * * * + +When Hardy and his deputy rode over to the hotel there was a pause in +the chatter. Alice Weston was describing their journey to her mother and +calling upon Waring to substantiate her vivid assertions of the +wonderful adventure. The saddle-horse still stood at the hitching-rail, +and Hardy, who had an eye for a good horse, openly admired the big +buckskin. Waring was talking with Lorry. Mrs. Adams had gone in. Hardy +indicated that he wanted to speak to Lorry, and he included Waring in +his gesture. Lorry rose and glanced quickly at Alice Weston. She was +leaning forward in her chair, suddenly aware of a subtle undercurrent of +seriousness. The undersheriff was patting the nose of the big buckskin. + +The men stepped down from the veranda, and stood near the horses. + +"That hobo got away," said the sheriff. "Do you know anything about it?" + +"I turned him loose," said Lorry, without hesitation. + +"What for?" + +"I changed my mind. I didn't want any blood-money for arrestin' a +tramp." + +"That's all right. But you can't change the law so easy. That man was my +prisoner. Why didn't you come to me?" + +"Well, if you want to know, in company," said Lorry, "High Chin and the +boys had it framed up to give that hobo a goin'-over for stealin' a +Starr horse. They figured to bust in the jail, same as I did. I got that +straight; I didn't aim to let High Chin get his hands on my prisoner." + +"Well, Lorry, I don't like to do it, but I got to hold you till we get +him." + +"How do you figure that?" + +"You've aided a prisoner to escape. You broke the law." + +"What right had you to hold him?" + +"Your own story. You brought him in yourself." + +"I sure did. But supposin' I say I ain't got nothin' against him, and +the folks over there won't appear against him, how could you prove +anything?" + +"He's under suspicion. You said yourself he was holding up them +tourists." + +"But you can't make me swear that in court." + +Buck Hardy glared at the younger man. "See here, Lorry, I don't +understand your game. Suppose the man ain't guilty. He was locked +up--and by me, representing this county. You can't prove that the Starr +boys would have done anything to him. And you can't monkey with the law +to suit yourself as long as I'm sheriff. Am I right?" And Hardy turned +to Waring. + +"You're right, Hardy." + +Lorry's gray eyes shone with a peculiar light. "What you goin' to do +about it, Buck?" + +"Two of my boys are out looking for the man. You're under arrest till he +is brought in." + +"You aim to lock me in that calaboose?" + +"No. But, understand, you're under arrest. You can't leave town." + +"Say, now, Buck, ain't you kind of crowdin' me into the fence?" + +"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that." + +Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat +watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their +attitudes confirmed her apprehension. + +"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry. + +"Go ahead. There's no hurry." + +Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda +steps and sat down. + +Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other. + +"That's all right, Hardy." + +The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way +the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later." + +Waring smiled. "You have a free hand so far as I am concerned," he said. + +Alice Weston was talking with her mother when she heard a cautious step +on the stairway behind her. She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted +and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his +hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy +was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's +horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her +breath. + +Without a word of warning, and before the group on the veranda knew what +was happening, Lorry shot from the doorway, leaped from the edge of the +veranda rail, and alighted square in the saddle of Waring's horse, Dex. +The buckskin whirled and dashed down the road, one rein dragging. Lorry +reached down, and with a sinuous sweep of his body recovered the loose +rein. As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked +strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute. + +Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse +nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they +raced down the street and disappeared round a corner. + +"What is it?" queried Alice Weston. + +Waring still sat on the steps. He was laughing when he turned to answer +the girl's question. + +"Lorry and the sheriff had a little argument. Lorry didn't wait to +finish it. It was something about that hobo that bothered you +yesterday." + +Alice crushed her handkerchief to her mouth. "I--shall we get ready for +dinner?" she stammered. + +Mrs. Weston rose. "It's nothing serious, I hope. Do you think your--Mr. +Adams will be back to-night?" + +"Not this evening," replied Waring. + +"You mean that he won't be back at all?" + +"Not unless he changes his mind. He's riding my horse." + +"He took your horse?" + +"Yes. I think he made a mistake in leaving so suddenly, but he didn't +make any mistake about the best horse." + +"Aren't you worried about him?" queried Mrs. Weston. + +"Why, no. The boy will take care of himself. Did you happen to notice +what he had in his hand when he ran across the veranda?" + +"No. It happened so suddenly. Was it a pistol?" + +Waring grinned. "No. It was a shoulder of lamb. The next town is thirty +miles south, and no restaurants on the way." + +"But his mother--" began Alice Weston. + +"Yes," said Waring. "I think that leg of lamb was for dinner to-night." + +Alice Weston said nothing further, but as she got ready for dinner she +confessed to herself that the event of Lorry's escape would have been +much more thrilling, in retrospect at least, had he chosen to wave his +hasty farewell with a silken bandanna, or even a pistol. To ride off +like that, waving a leg of lamb! + + + + +Chapter XII + + +_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_ + +As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges, +cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed +homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for +many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with +diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a +lively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's most +vindictive enemies. And he had enemies and many friends. + +Meanwhile he had taken on weight until, as one of his friends remarked, +"Most any hoss but a Percheron draft would shy the minute Bud tried to +put his foot in the stirrup." + +And when Bud came to that point in his career when he summed up his past +and found that his chief asset was experience, garnished with a somewhat +worn outfit of pack-saddles, tarps, bridles, chaps, and guns, he sighed +heavily. + +The old trails were changing to roads. The local freight intermittently +disgorged tons of harvesting machinery. The sound of the Klaxton was +heard in the land. Despite the times and the manners, Bud's girth +increased insidiously. His hard-riding days were past. Progress marched +steadily onward, leaving an after-guard of homesteaders intrenched +behind miles of barbed-wire fence and mazes of irrigating-ditches. The +once open range was now a chessboard of agricultural endeavor, with the +pawns steadying ploughshares as they crept from square to square until +the opposing cattle king suffered ignominious checkmate, his prerogative +of free movement gone, his army scattered, his castles taken, and his +glory surviving only in the annals of the game. + +Incidentally, Bud Shoop had saved a little money, and his large +popularity would have won for him a political sinecure; but he disliked +politics quite as heartily as he detested indolence. He needed work not +half so much as he wanted it. + +He had failed as a rancher, but he still held his homestead on the Blue +Mesa, some twenty miles from the town of Jason, an old Mormon settlement +in the heart of the mesa country. + +Friday morning at sunup Bud saddled his horse, closed the door of his +cabin on the Blue Mesa, and, whistling to his old Airedale, Bondsman, +rode across the mesa and down the mountain trail toward Jason. By +sundown that night he was in town, his horse fed, and he and Bondsman +sitting on the little hotel veranda, watching the villagers as they +passed in the dusk of early evening. + +Coatless and perspiring, Bud betook himself next morning to the office +of the supervisor of that district of the Forest Service. Bondsman +accompanied him, stalking seriously at his master's heels. The +supervisor was busy. Bud filled a chair in the outer office, polished +his bald spot with a blue bandanna, and waited. + +Presently the supervisor called him in. Bud rose heavily and plodded to +another chair in the private office. Torrance, the supervisor, knew Bud; +knew that he was a solid man in the finer sense of the word from the +shiny dome of his head to his dusty boot. And Torrance thought he knew +why Bud had called. The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching his +master. Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail. + +"He's just tellin' me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he'll +wait till I get through. That there dog bosses me around somethin' +scandalous." + +"He's getting old and set in his ways," laughed Torrance. + +"So be I, John. Kind of settin' in my own way mostly." + +"Well, Bud, how are things up on the mesa?" + +"Growin' and bloomin' and singin' and feedin' and keepin' still, same as +always." + +"What can I do for you?" + +"Well, I ain't seen a doctor for so long I can't tell you; but I reckon +I need more exercise and a little salary thrown in for luck." + +"I'm glad you came in. You needn't say anything about it, but I'm +scheduled to leave here next month." + +"Then I reckon I'm left. Higher up, John?" + +"Yes. I have this end of it pretty well whipped into shape. They seem to +think they can use me at headquarters." + +Bud frowned prodigiously. The situation did not seem to promise much. +And naturally enough, being a Westerner, Bud disliked to come out +flatfooted and ask for work. + +His frown deepened as the supervisor asked another question: "Do you +think you could hold down my job, Bud?" + +"Say, John, I've stood for a lot in my time. But, honest, I was lookin' +for a job as ranger. I can ride yet. And if I do say it I know every +hill and cañon, every hogback and draw and flat from here to the Tonto +Basin." + +"I know it. I was coming to that. The grazing-leases are the most +important items just now. You know cattle, and you know something about +the Service. You have handled men. I am not joking." + +"Well, this is like a hobo gettin' up his nerve to ask for a san'wich, +and havin' the lady of the house come runnin' with a hot apple pie. I'll +tackle anything." + +"Well, the Department has confidence enough in me to suggest that I name +a successor, subject to their approval. Do you think that you could hold +down this job?" + +"If settin' on it would hold it down, it would never get up alive, +John. But I ain't no author." + +"Author?" + +"Uh-uh. When it comes to facts, I aim to brand 'em. But them reports to +headquarters--" + +The supervisor laughed. "You would be entitled to a clerk. The man I +have would like to stay. And another thing. I have just had an +application from young Adams, of Stacey. He wrote from St. Johns. He +wants to get into the Service. While we are at it, what do you know +about him?" + +"Nothin'. But his mother runs a right comf'table eatin'-house over to +Stacey. She's a right fine woman. I knew her when she was wearin' her +hair in a braid." + +"I have stopped there. It's a neat place. Would you take the boy on if +you were in my place?" + +Bud coughed and studied the ends of his blunt fingers. "Well, now, John, +if I was in your place, I could tell you." + +Torrance was amused and rather pleased. Bud's careful evasion was +characteristic. He would do nothing hastily. Moreover, with Shoop as +supervisor, it was safe to assume that the natives would hesitate to +attempt their usual subterfuges in regard to grazing-leases. Bud was too +well known for that. Torrance had had trouble with the cattlemen and +sheepmen. He knew that Shoop's mere name would obviate much argument and +bickering. + +"The White Mountain Apaches are eating a lot of beef these days," he +said suddenly. + +Shoop grinned. "And it ain't all Gov'ment beef, neither. The line fence +crost Still Cañon is down. They's been a fire up on the shoulder of Ole +Baldy--nothin' much, though. Your telephone line to the lookout is +saggin' bad over by Sheep Crossin'. Some steer'll come along and take it +with him in a hurry one of these days. A grizzly killed a yearlin' over +by the Milk Ranch about a week ago. I seen your ranger, young Winslow, +day before yesterday. He says somebody has been grazin' sheep on the +posted country, west. He was after 'em. The grass is pretty good on the +Blue. The Apaches been killin' wild turkey on the wrong side of their +line. I seen their tracks--and some feathers. They's some down timber +along the north side of the creek over on the meadows. And a couple of +wimmin was held up over by the Notch the other day. I ain't heard the +partic'lars. Young Adams--" + +"Where do you get it all, Bud? Only two of the things you mentioned have +been reported in to this office." + +"Who, me? Huh! Well, now, John, that's just the run of news that floats +in when you're movin' around the country. If I was to set out to get +info'mation--" + +"You'd swamp the office. All right. I'll have my clerk draft a letter of +application. You can sign it. I'll add my word. It will take some time +to put this through, if it goes through. I don't promise anything. Come +in at noon and sign the letter. Then you might drop in in about two +weeks; say Saturday morning. We'll have heard something by then." + +Bud beamed. "I'll do that. And while I'm waitin' I'll ride over some of +that country up there and look around." + +Torrance leaned forward. "There's one more thing, Bud. I know this job +offers a temptation to a man to favor his friends. So far as this office +is concerned, I don't want you to have any friends. I want things run +straight. I've given the best of my life to the Service. I love it. I +have dipped into my own pocket when Washington couldn't see the need for +improvements. I have bought fire-fighting tools, built trails, and paid +extra salaries at times. Now I will be where I can back you up. Keep +things right up to the minute. If you get stuck, wire me. Here's your +territory on this map. You know the country, but you will find this +system of keeping track of the men a big help. The pins show where each +man is working. We can go over the office detail after we have heard +from headquarters." + +Bud perspired, blinked, shuffled his feet. "I ain't goin' to say thanks, +John. You know it." + +"That's all right, Bud. Your thanks will be just what you make of this +work when I leave. There has been a big shake-up in the Service. Some of +us stayed on top." + +"Congratulations, John. Saturday, come two weeks, then." + +And Bud heaved himself up. The Airedale, Bondsman, thumped the floor +with his tail. Bud turned a whimsical face to the supervisor. "Now +listen to that! What does he say? Well, he's tellin' me he sabes I got a +chanct at a job and that he'll keep his mouth shut about what you said, +like me. And that it's about time I quit botherin' folks what's busy and +went back to the hotel so he can watch things go by. That there dog +bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Torrance smiled, and waved his hand as Bud waddled from the office, with +Bondsman at his heels. + +About an hour later, as Torrance was dictating a letter, he glanced up. +Bud Shoop, astride a big bay horse, passed down the street. For a moment +Torrance forgot office detail in a general appreciation of the Western +rider, who, once in the saddle, despite age or physical attributes, +bears himself with a subconscious ease that is a delight to behold, be +he lean Indian, lithe Mexican, or bed-rock American with a girth, say, +of fifty-two inches and weighing perhaps not less than two hundred and +twenty pounds. + +"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses and +dogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. And +they say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straight +up, and white lightning with a gun." + +The supervisor shook his head. "Take a letter to Collins," he said. + +The stenographer glanced up. "Senator Collins, Mr. Torrance?" + +"Yes. And make an extra copy. Mark it confidential. You need not file +the copy. I'll take care of it. And if Mr. Shoop is appointed to my +place, he need know nothing about this letter." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner a +bit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointed +here. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists in +this field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thin +and some day you may land a job as private secretary to a State +Senator." + +"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr. +Torrance." + +"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'm +with the Service as long as it will have me. But if some clever +politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa +country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa +people like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--" + +The stenographer bent over his book. + +Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's +life with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, had +once been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog as +it crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud had +ridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across the +saddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life. +Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride. + +Bud Shoop's assets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesa +land, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But his +greatest asset, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big, +homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apart +from his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merely +useful or otherwise. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + +_The Horse Trade_ + +The following day a young cowboy, mounted upon a singularly noticeable +buckskin horse, rode down the main street of Jason and dismounted at the +Forestry Office. Torrance was reading a letter when his clerk proffered +the young man a chair and notified the supervisor that a Mr. Adams +wished to see him. + +A few minutes later, Lorry was shown in. The door closed. + +Torrance surveyed the strong, young figure with inward approval. "I have +your letter. Sit down. I see your letter is postmarked St. Johns." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Know anything about the Service?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why do you want to get into it?" + +"I thought mebby I'd like the work." + +"Have you any recommendations?" + +"Nothin'--except what you're lookin' at." + +Torrance smiled. "Could you get a letter from your last employer?" + +"Not the kind of letter that would do any good. I had an argument with +the foreman, and he fired me." + +Torrance had heard something about the matter, and did not question +further at the time. + +"Do you drink?" queried Torrance. + +"I never monkeyed with it much. I reckon I could if I wanted to." + +Torrance drummed on the desk with his long, strong fingers. He reached +in a drawer and drew out a letter. + +"How about that?" + +Lorry glanced at the heading. Evidently the sheriff knew of his general +whereabouts. The letter stated that the sheriff would appreciate +information leading to the apprehension of Lawrence Adams, wanted for +aiding a prisoner to escape and for having in his possession a horse +that did not belong to him. + +"What he says is right," Lorry asserted cheerfully. "I busted into the +jail and turned that hobo loose, and I borrowed the horse I'm riding. I +aim to send him back. My own horse is in the corral back at Stacey." + +"What was your idea in letting the man go after arresting him?" + +Lorry's clear color deepened. "I wasn't figurin' on explainin' that." + +"You don't have to explain. But you will admit that the charges in this +letter are rather serious. We don't want men in the Service who are open +to criticism. You're pretty young to have such a record. It's up to you +to explain--or not, just as you like. But anything you tell me will be +treated as absolutely confidential, Adams." + +"All right. Well, everything I done that day went wrong. I caught the +hobo tryin' to rob a couple of wimmin over by the Notch. I was takin' +him to Stacey when Bob Brewster butted in. The hobo was sick, and I +didn't aim to stand and see him kicked and beat up with a quirt, even if +he did steal one of the Starr horses. I told High Chin to quit, but his +hearin' wasn't good, so I had to show him. Then I got to thinkin' I +wasn't so much--takin' a pore, busted tramp to jail. And it made me sick +when everybody round town was callin' me some little hero. Then one of +the Starr boys told me High Chin was cinchin' up to ride in and get the +hobo, anyhow, so I busted the lock and told him to fan it." + +"Why didn't you appeal to the sheriff?" + +"Huh! Buck Hardy is all right. But I can tell you one thing; he's not +the man to stand up to High Chin when High is drinkin'. Why, I see High +shove a gun in Hardy's face once and tell him to go home and go to bed. +And Hardy went. Anyhow, that hobo was my prisoner, and I didn't aim to +let High Chin get his hands on him." + +"I see. Well, you have a strange way of doing things, but I appreciate +why you acted as you did. Of course, you know it is a grave offense to +aid a prisoner to escape." + +"Buck Hardy seems to think so." + +"So do I. And how about that horse?" + +"Well, next day I was fixin' up the machine and foolin' around--that +machine belonged to them tourists that the fella stuck up--when along +about sundown Buck Hardy comes swellin' up to me and tells me I'm under +arrest. He couldn't prove a darned thing if I hadn't said I done the +job. But, anyhow, he didn't see it my way, so I borrowed Waring's horse +and come down this way. Everybody saw me take the horse. You can't call +that stealin'." + +"Did Hardy ride after you?" + +"Yes, sir. But he was so far behind I couldn't hear what he wanted. That +big buckskin is a wonder. I wish I owned him." + +Torrance mentally patched the fragments of evidence together. He decided +that a young man who could capture a holdup man, best the notorious High +Chin in a fight, repair a broken automobile, turn a prisoner loose, and +make his own escape all within the short compass of forty-eight hours +was a rather capable person in a way. And Torrance knew by Lorry's +appearance and manner that he was still on the verdant side of twenty. +If such a youth chose to turn his abilities in the right direction he +might accomplish much. Lorry's extreme frankness satisfied Torrance that +the boy had told the truth. He would give him a chance. + +"Do you know Bud Shoop?" queried the supervisor. + +"No, sir. I know what he looks like. He's been to our hotel." + +"Well, you might look him up. He may be out of town. Possibly he is up +at his homestead on the Blue Mesa. Tell Mr. Shoop that I sent you to +him. He will understand. But you will have to square yourself with the +authorities before I can put you to work." + +"Yes, sir. But I don't aim to ride back to Stacey just because I know +where it is. If they want me, they can find me." + +"That is your affair. When your slate is clear--" + +"Mr. Waring to see you," said the clerk, poking his head through the +doorway. + +Torrance stepped out and greeted Waring heartily. Lorry was surprised; +both to see his father and to learn that Torrance and he were old +friends. + +"I saw this horse as I rode up, and I took a fancy to him," said Waring, +after having nodded to Lorry. "Sorry to bother you, Torrance." + +"Here's the man you'll bother, I think," said Torrance, indicating +Lorry. "He's riding that horse." + +Lorry grinned. "Want to trade horses?" + +"I don't know. Is that your horse?" + +"Nope. I borrowed him. Is that your horse?" And he indicated Gray Leg. + +"No. I borrowed him." + +Torrance laughed. "The buckskin seems to be a pretty fair horse." + +"Then I ought to get somethin' to boot," suggested Lorry. + +"How much?" laughed Waring. + +"Oh, I don't know. You'll find that buckskin a mighty likely rambler." + +Waring turned to Torrance. "You'll witness that we made this trade, +John?" + +"All right. But remember; neither of you owns the horse you are +trading." + +"But we're goin' to," asserted Lorry. + +Waring reached beneath his coat and unbuckled a heavy belt. From buckle +to tongue it glittered with cartridges and a service-worn holster bulged +with a short-barreled Colt's .45. He handed the belt to Lorry. + +"It's a good gun," he said, "and I hope you'll never need to use it." + +Lorry stammered his thanks, untied Dex, and gave the reins into Waring's +hand. "The trade goes," he said. "But we change saddles." + +"Correct," said Waring. "And here's a letter--from your mother." + +Lorry slid the letter in his shirt. "How's the Weston folks?" + +"They were to leave this morning. Mrs. Weston asked me to pay you for +repairing their machine. She gave me the money." + +"You can keep it. I wasn't workin' for pay." + +"All right. Going to stay down here awhile?" + +"I aim to. Did you see anything of Buck Hardy on the way down?" + +"Hardy? Why, no. But I rode part way with his deputy. He's due here some +time to-day." + +"That bein' the case," said Lorry, swinging to the saddle, "I reckon +I'll hunt up Bud Shoop. Thanks for my horse. Mebby I'll be back in this +town in two, three days." And he was gone. + +Waring dropped Dex's reins. "Got a minute to spare, Torrance?" + +"Yes, indeed. You're looking well, Jim." + +In the office they shook hands again. + +"It's a long time," said Torrance, proffering a cigar. "You were +punching cattle for the Box S and I was a forest ranger those days. Did +Mexico get too hot?" + +"Warm. What's the boy doing down here?" + +"He seems to be keeping out of the way of the sheriff," laughed +Torrance. "Incidentally he applied for a position as ranger." + +"Did he? I'm glad of that. I was afraid he might get to riding the high +trails. He's got it in him." + +"You seem to know him pretty well." + +"Not so well as I would like to. I'm his father." + +"Why, I had no idea--but, come to think of it, he does resemble you. I +didn't know that you were married." + +"Yes. I married Annie Adams, of Las Cruces. He's our boy." + +Torrance saw that Waring did not care to talk further on the subject of +his married life. And Torrance recalled the fact that Mrs. Adams, who +lived in Stacey, had been in Mexico. + +"He's a live one," said Torrance. "I think I'll take him on." + +"I don't ask you to, John. He's got to play the game for himself. He may +not always do right, but he'll always do what he thinks is right, if I +am any judge. And he won't waste time doing it. I told Hardy's deputy on +the way down that he might as well give up running after the boy. Hardy +is pretty sore. Did Lorry tell you?" + +"Yes. And I can understand his side of it." + +"I think that little Weston girl dazzled him," said Waring. "She's +clever, and Lorry hasn't seen many of her kind. I think he would have +stayed right in Stacey and faced the music if she hadn't been there when +Hardy tried to arrest him. Lorry is only eighteen. He had to show off a +little." + +"Will Hardy follow it up?" + +"Not too strong. The folks in Stacey are giving Hardy the laugh. He's +not so popular as he might be." + +"I can't say that I blame Hardy, either. The boy was wrong." + +"Not a bit. Lorry was wrong." + +"It will blow over," said Torrance. "I had no idea he was your son." + +Waring leaned back in his chair. "John, I had two reasons for coming +down here. One was to get my horse. That's settled. Now I want to talk +about leasing a few thousand acres down this way, with water-rights. I'm +through with the other game. I want to run a few cattle in here, under +fence. I think it will pay." + +Torrance shook his head. "The Mormons and the Apaches will keep you +poor, Jim." + +"They might, if I tried it alone. But I have a partner just up from the +border. You remember Pat. He's been customs inspector at Nogales for +some time." + +"I should say I do remember him!" + +"Well, he asked me to look around and write to him. I think we could do +well enough here. What do you know about the land north of here, on up +toward the Santa Fé?" + +Torrance pondered the situation. The times were, indeed, changing when +men like Waring and Pat ceased to ride the high trails and settled down +to ranching under fence. The day of the gunman was past, but two such +men as Pat and Waring would suppress by their mere presence in the +country the petty rustling and law-breaking that had made Torrance's +position difficult at times. + +"I'll see what I can do," said he. "About how much land?" + +"Ten or twenty thousand, to begin with." + +"There's some Government land not on the reservation between here and +the railroad. There are three or four families of squatters on it now. I +don't know how they manage to live, but they always seem to have beef +and bacon. You might have some trouble about getting them off--and about +the water. I'll let you know some time next month just what I can do." + +"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. "That's the last thing we +want. I'll ride over next month. You can write to me at Stacey if +anything turns up." + +"I'll write to you. Do you ever get hungry? Come on over to the hotel. +I'm as hungry as a bear." + + + + +Chapter XIV + + +_Bondsman's Decision_ + +Bud Shoop's homestead on the Blue Mesa lay in a wide level of grassland, +round which the spruce of the high country swept in a great, blue-edged +circle. To the west the barren peak of Mount Baldy maintained a solitary +vigil in sunshine and tempest. Away to the north the timbered plateaus +dropped from level to level like a gigantic stair until they merged with +the horizon-line of the plains. The air on the Blue Mesa was thin and +keen; warm in the sun, yet instantly cool at dusk. A mountain stream, +all but hidden by the grasses, meandered across the mesa to an emerald +hollow of coarse marsh-grass. A few yards from this pool, and on its +southern side, stood the mountain cabin of the Shoop homestead, a roomy +building of logs, its wide, easy-sloping veranda roof covered with +home-made shakes. Near the house was a small corral and stable of logs. +Out on the mesa a thin crop of oats wavered in the itinerant breeze. +Round the cabin was a garden plot that had suffered from want of +attention. Above the gate to the door-yard was a weathered sign on which +was lettered carefully: + + "The rose is red; the violet blue; + Please shut this gate when you come through." + +And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possible +carelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:-- + + "Now you've been in and had your chuck, + Please close this gate, just once, for luck." + +Otherwise the place was like any mountain homestead of the better sort, +viewed from without. The interior of the cabin, however, was unusual in +that it boasted of being the only music-room within fifty miles in any +direction. + +When the genial Bud had been overtaken with the idea of homesteading, he +had had visions of a modest success which would allow him to entertain +his erstwhile cow-puncher companions when they should ride his way. To +this end he had labored with more heart than judgment. + +The main room was large and lighted by two unusually large windows. The +dimensions of the room were ample enough to accommodate a fair number of +dancers. Bud knew that if cowboys loved anything they loved to dance. +The phonograph was so common that it offered no distinction in gracing +Bud's camp; so with much labor and expense he had freighted an upright +piano from the distant railroad, an innovation that at first had stunned +and then literally taken the natives off their feet. Riders from all +over the country heard of Bud's piano, questioned its reality, and +finally made it a point to jog over and see for themselves. + +For a time Bud's homestead was popular. A real piano, fifty miles from +a settlement, was something worth riding far to see. But respect for the +shining veneer of the case was not long-lived. In a moment of +inspiration, a cowboy pulled out his jackknife and carved his home brand +on the shining case. Bud could have said more than he did when he +discovered it. Later another contingent, not to be outdone, followed +this cowboy's incisive example and carved its brand on the piano. +Naturally it became a custom. No visitor in boots and chaps left the +cabin without first having carved some brand. + +Bud suffered in silence, consoling himself with the thought that while +there were many pianos in the lower country, there were none like his. +And "As long as you don't monkey with her works or shoot her up," he +told his friends, "I don't care how much you carve her; only leave +enough sidin' and roof to hold her together." + +Cowboys came, danced long and late as Bud pumped the mechanical player, +and thrilled to the shuffle of high-heeled boots. Contingent after +contingent came, danced, and departed joyously, leaving Bud short on +rations, but happy that he could entertain so royally. Finally the +novelty wore off, and Bud was left with his Airedale, his saddle-ponies, +and the hand-carved piano. + +But Bud had profited by the innovation. An Easterner sojourning with Bud +for a season, had taught him to play two tunes--"Annie Laurie" and +"Dixie." "Real hand-made music," Bud was wont to remark. And with these +tunes at his disposal he was more than content. Many a long evening he +sat with his huge bulk swaying in the light of the hanging lamp as he +wandered around Maxwelton's braes in search of the true Annie Laurie; or +hopped with heavy sprightliness across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, while +Bondsman, the patient Airedale, sat on his haunches and accompanied Bud +with dismal energy. + +Bud was not a little proud of his accomplishment. The player was all +right, but it lacked the human touch. Even when an occasional Apache +strayed in and borrowed tobacco or hinted at a meal, Bud was not above +entertaining the wondering red man with music. And Bud disliked Apaches. + +And during these latter days Bud had had plenty of opportunity to +indulge himself in music. For hours he would sit and gently strike the +keys, finding unexpected harmonies that thrilled and puzzled him. The +discords didn't count. And Bondsman would hunch up close with watchful +eye and one ear cocked, waiting for the familiar strains of "Annie +Laurie" or "Dixie." He seemed to consider these tunes a sort of +accompaniment to his song. If he dared to howl when Bud was +extemporizing, Bud would rebuke him solemnly, explaining that it was not +considered polite in the best circles to interrupt a soloist. And an +evening was never complete without "Annie Laurie," and "Dixie," with +Bondsman's mournful contralto gaming ascendance as the evening +progressed. + +"That dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous," Bud was wont to +remark, as he rose from his labors and prepared for bed. "There I was +huntin' around for that chord I lit on the other night and almost +findin' it, when he has to howl like a coyote with a sore throat and +spile the whole thing. I ought to learned more tunes." + + * * * * * + +It was almost dusk when Lorry topped the trail that led across the Blue +Mesa to Bud's cabin. Gray Leg pricked his ears, and jogged over the wide +level, heading straight for the corral. The cabin was dark. Lorry +hallooed. A horse in the corral answered, nickering shrilly. Lorry found +some loose gramma grass in the stable and threw it to the horse. If this +was Shoop's place, Shoop would not be gone long, or he'd have turned the +horse to graze on the open mesa. + +Lorry entered and lighted the lamp. He gazed with astonishment at the +piano. But that could wait. He was hungry. In a few minutes he had a +fire going, plates laid for two, had made coffee and cut bacon. He was +mixing the dough for hot biscuit when he heard some one ride up. He +stepped to the door. A bulky figure was pulling a saddle from a horse. +Lorry called a greeting. + +"Just a minute, friend," came from the darkness. + +Lorry stepped to the kitchen, and put the biscuit pan in the oven. A +saddle thumped on the veranda, and Bud Shoop, puffing heavily, strode +in. He nodded, filled a basin, and washed. As he polished his bald spot, +his glance traveled from the stove to the table, and thence to Lorry, +and he nodded approval. + +"Looks like you was expectin' comp'ny," he said, smiling. + +"Yep. And chuck's about ready." + +"So am I," said Bud, rubbing his hands. + +"I'm Adams, from Stacey." + +"That don't make me mad," said Bud. "How's things over to your town?" + +"All right, I guess. Mr. Torrance--" + +Bud waved his hand. "Let's eat. Been out since daylight. Them biscuits +is just right. Help yourself to the honey." + +"There's somebody outside," said Lorry, his arm raised to pass the honey +jar. + +"That's my dog, Bondsman. He had to size up your layout, and he's +through and waitin' to size up you. Reckon he's hungry, too. But +business before pleasure is his idea mostly. He's tellin' me to let him +in. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous. When did you +get in?" + +"About sundown." + +"Uh-uh. I seen that your horse hadn't grazed out far yet. How do you +like this country?" + +"Good summer country, all right. Too high for stock in winter." + +"Yes. Four feet of snow on the mesa last winter. When you say 'Arizona' +to some folks, they don't think of snow so deep a hoss can't get from +the woods over there to this cabin." Bud Shoop sighed and rose. "Never +mind them dishes. Mornin' 'll do." + +"Won't take a minute," said Lorry. + +Bud's blue eyes twinkled as he waddled to the living-room. Young Adams +was handy around a kitchen. He had laid plates for two, knew how to +punch dough, was willing to wash the dishes without a hint, and had fed +the horse in the corral. + +"He trots right along, like he knew where he was goin'," Bud said to +himself. "I like his looks--but that ain't always a sign." + +Lorry whistled as he dried the dishes. Bud was seated in a huge armchair +when Lorry entered the room. Shoop seemed to pay no attention to +Bondsman, who whined and occasionally scratched on the door. + +"Funny thing happened this mornin'," said Shoop, settling himself in his +chair. "I was ridin' down the ole Milk Ranch Trail when I looked up and +seen a bobcat lopin' straight for me. The cat didn't see me, but my hoss +stopped, waitin' for me to shoot. Well, that kittycat come right along +till I could 'a' almost roped him. Bondsman--that's my dog--never seen +him, neither, till I hollered. You ought to seen that cat start back +without losin' a jump. I like to fell off the hoss, laughin'. Bondsman +he lit out--" + +"I'll let him in," said Lorry, moving toward the door. + +"--After that cat," continued Shoop, "but the cat never treed, I reckon, +for pretty soon back comes Bondsman, lookin' as disgusted as a hen in a +rainstorm. 'We're gettin' too old,' I tells Bondsman--" + +"Ain't you goin' to let him in?" queried Lorry. + +"--We're gettin' too old to chase bobcats just for fun," concluded +Shoop. "What was you sayin'?" + +"Your dog wants to come in." + +"That's right. Now I thought you was listenin' to me." + +"I was. But ain't he hungry?" + +Shoop chuckled. "Let him in, son." + +Lorry opened the door. Bondsman stalked in, sniffed at Lorry's boots, +and padded to the kitchen. + +"What do you feed him?" said Lorry, hesitating. + +"He won't take nothin' from you," said Shoop, heaving himself up. "I've +had him since he was a pup. You set down and I'll 'tend to him. + +"And I says to him," said Shoop, as he returned to his chair,--"I says, +'Bondsman, that there cat was just passin' the buck to us to see if we +was game.' And he ain't got over it yet." + +"I've roped 'em," said Lorry--"roped 'em out of a tree." + +"Uh-uh. Where'd you learn to rope?" + +"At the Starr Ranch. I worked there once." + +"Git tired of it?" + +"Nope. I had a argument with the foreman." + +"Uh-uh. I reckon it ain't hard to pick a fuss with High Chin." + +"I wasn't lookin' for a fuss. It was his funeral." + +"So I heard; all but the procession." + +"And that's why I came up to see you. Mr. Torrance told me to hunt you +up." + +"He did, eh? Well, now, John sure gets queer idees. I don't need a man +round here." + +"I was after a job in the Service." + +"And he sends you to me. Why, I ain't ever worked a day for the +Service." + +"I guess he wanted you to look me over," said Lorry, smiling. + +"Well, they's lots of time, 'less you're in a hurry." + +"If I can't get in the Service, I'll look up a job punchin'," said +Lorry. "I got to get somethin'." + +Bondsman stalked in, licking his chops. He nuzzled Shoop's hand. Lorry +snapped his fingers. Bondsman strode to him. Lorry patted his knee. The +big dog crouched and sprang to Lorry's knees, where he sat, studying him +quizzically, his head to one side, his keen eyes blinking in the +lamplight. Lorry laughed and patted the dog. + +"He's trying to get my number," said Lorry. + +"He's got it," said Shoop. "You could 'a' snapped your fingers off afore +he'd 'a' come nigh you, 'less he wanted to. And while we're talkin' +about it, you can tell John Torrance I said to give you a try." + +Lorry sat up quickly. "Guess you didn't know that Buck Hardy is lookin' +for me," said Lorry. "Mr. Torrance says I got to square myself with Buck +afore I get the job." + +"He did, eh? Well, speakin' of Buck, how would you like to hear a little +talk from a real music-box?" + +"Fine!" + +Shoop waddled to the piano. "I ain't no reg'lar music sharp," he +explained unnecessarily, "but I got a couple of pieces broke to go +polite. This here piano is cold-mouthed, and you got to rein her just +right or she'll buffalo you. This here piece is 'Annie Laurie.'" + +As Bud struck the first note, Bondsman leaped from Lorry's knees and +took his place beside the piano. The early dew had just begun to fall +when Bondsman joined in. Lorry grinned. The dog and his master were +absolutely serious in their efforts. As the tune progressed, Lorry's +grin faded, and he sat gazing intently at the huge back of his host. + +"Why, he's playin' like he meant it," thought Lorry. "And folks says Bud +Shoop was a regular top-hand stem-winder in his day." + +Shoop labored at the piano with nervous care. When he turned to Lorry +his face was beaded with sweat. + +"I rode her clean through to the fence," he said, with a kind of +apologetic grin. "How did you like that piece?" + +"I always did like them old tunes," replied Lorry. "Give us another." + +Shoop's face beamed. "I only got one more that I can get my rope on. But +if you can stand it, I can. This here one is 'Dixie.'" + +And Bud straightened his broad shoulders, pushed back his sleeves, and +waded across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, hitting the high spots with +staccato vehemence, as though Dixie had recently suffered from an +inundation and he was in a hurry to get to dry land. Bondsman's moody +baritone reached up and up with sad persistency. + +Lorry was both amused and astonished. Shoop's intensity, his real love +for music, was a revelation. Lorry felt like smiling, yet he did not +smile. Bud Shoop could not play, but his personality forced its own +recognition, even through the absurd medium of an untutored performance +on that weird upright piano. Lorry began to realize that there was +something more to Bud Shoop than mere bulk. + +Bud swung round, puffing. "I got that tune where I can keep her in sight +as long as she lopes on the level. But when she takes to jumpin' stumps +and makin' them quick turns, I sure have to do some hard ridin' to keep +her from losin' herself. Me and Bondsman's been worryin' along behind +them two tunes for quite a spell. I reckon I ought to started in +younger. But, anyhow, that there piano is right good comp'ny. When I +been settin' here alone, nights, and feelin' out her paces, I get so het +up and interested that I don't know the fire's out till Bondsman takes +to shiverin' and whinin' and tellin' me he'd like to get some sleep +afore mornin'." + +And Bondsman, now that the music had stopped, stalked to Lorry and eyed +him with an expression which said plainly: "It's his weak spot--this +music. You will have to overlook it. He's really a rather decent sort of +person." + +"I got a mechanical player in the bedroom," said Shoop. "And a reg'lar +outfit of tunes for dances." + +Lorry was tempted to ask to hear it, but changed his mind. "I've heard +them players. They're sure good for a dance, but I like real playin' +better." + +Bud Shoop grinned. "That's the way with Bondsman here. Now he won't open +his head to one of them paper tunes. I've tried 'em all on him. You +can't tell me a dog ain't got feelin's." + + + + +Chapter XV + + +_John and Demijohn_ + +The grass on the high mesa was heavy with dew when Lorry stepped from +the cabin next morning. His pony, Gray Leg, stood close to the corral, +where Shoop's horses were playfully biting at him over the bars. Lorry +unhobbled Gray Leg and turned Shoop's horses out to water. The three +ponies trotted to the water-hole, sniffed at the water, and, whirling, +raced across the mesa, pitching and kicking in the joy of liberation. + +After breakfast Bud and Lorry sat out in the sun, enjoying the slow +warmth. The morning air was still keen in the shade. Bondsman lay +between them, watching the distant horses. + +"He won't let 'em get far into the timber," said Shoop. "He sure saves +me a lot of steps, roundin' up them hosses." + +"I can whistle Gray Leg to me," said Lorry. "Then the other horses'll +come." + +Shoop nodded. "What you goin' to do to-day?" + +"Me? Well, it's so kind of quiet and big up here I feel like settin' +around and takin' it all in. I ain't been in the high country much. +'Course I don't aim to camp on you." + +"You're sure welcome," said Shoop heartily. "It gets lonesome up here. +But if you ain't got no reg'lar plan I was thinkin' of ridin' over to +Sheep Crossin'--and mebby on down to Jason." + +"Suits me fine!" + +Shoop heaved himself up. Lorry whistled shrilly. Gray Leg, across the +mesa, raised his head. Lorry whistled again. The pony lowered his head +and nipped at the bunch-grass as he moved slowly toward the house. +Shoop's horses watched him, and finally decided that they would follow. +Gray Leg stopped just out of reach. + +"Get in the corral, there!" said Lorry, waving his arm. + +The pony shied and trotted into the corral, the other horses following. + +Bondsman was not exactly disgruntled, but he might have been happier. +Shoop had told him to "keep house" until they returned. + +"It's a funny thing," said Shoop as he mounted. "Now, if I was to tell +that dog he was gettin' too old to ramble with me, he'd feel plumb sick +and no account. But when I tell him he's got to do somethin'--like +watchin' the house--he thinks it's a reg'lar job. He's gettin' old, but, +just like folks, he wants to think he's some use. You can't tell me dogs +don't know. Why, I've seen young folks so durned fussy about their +grandmas and grandpas, trying to keep 'em from putterin' around, that +the old folks just nacherally folded their hands and set down and died, +havin' nothin' else to do. And a dog is right proud about bein' able to +do somethin'. Bondsman there keeps me so busy thinkin' of how I can keep +him busy that I ain't got time to shine my boots. That there dog bosses +me around somethin' scandalous." + +"That's right," acquiesced Lorry. "I seen a ole mule once that they +turned loose from a freight wagon because he was too old to pull his own +weight. And that mule just followed the string up and down the hills and +across the sand, doin' his best to tell the skinner that he wanted to +get back into the harness. He would run alongside the other mules, and +try to get back in his old place. They would just naturally kick him, +and he'd turn and try to wallop 'em back. Then he'd walk along, with his +head hangin' down and his ears floppin', as if he was plumb sick of +bein' free and wanted to die. The last day he was too stiff to get on +his feet, so me and Jimmy Harp heaved him up while the skinner was +gettin' the chains on the other mules. That ole mule was sure wabblin' +like a duck, but he come aside his ole place and followed along all day. +We was freightin' in to camp, back in the Horseshoe Hills. You know that +grade afore you get to the mesa? Well, the ole mule pulled the grade, +sweatin' and puffin' like he was pullin' the whole load. And I guess he +was, in his mind. Anyhow, he got to the top, and laid down and died. +Mules sure like to work. Now a horse would have fanned it." + +Shoop nodded. "I never seen a animile too lazy to work if it was only +gettin' his grub and exercise. But I've seen a sight of folks too lazy +to do that much. Why, some folks is so dog-gone no account they got to +git killed afore folks ever knowed they was livin'. Then they's some +folks so high-chinned they can't see nothin' but the stars when they'd +do tol'able well if they would follow a good hoss or a dog around and +learn how to live human. But this ain't gettin' nowhere, and the sun's +keepin' right along doin' business." + +They rode across the beautiful Blue Mesa, and entered the timberlands, +following a ranger trail through the shadowy silences. At the lower +level, they came upon another mesa through which wound a mountain +stream. And along a stream ran the trail, knee-high in grass on either +side. + +Far below them lay the plains country, its hazy reaches just visible +over the tree-tops. Where the mountain stream merged with a deeper +stream the ground was barren and dotted with countless tracks of cattle +and sheep. This was Sheep Crossing, a natural pass where the cattlemen +and sheepmen drifted their stock from the hills to the winter +feeding-grounds of the lower country. It was a checking point for the +rangers; the gateway to the hills. + +The thin mountain air was hot. The unbridled ponies drank eagerly, and +were allowed to graze. The men moved over to the shade of a blue-topped +spruce. As Lorry was about to sit down he picked an empty whiskey bottle +from the grass, turned the label toward Shoop, and grinned. He tossed +the bottle into the edge of the timber. + +Shoop rolled a cigarette, and Lorry squatted beside him. Presently +Shoop's voice broke the indolent silence of noon: "Just why did you +chuck that bottle over there?" + +"I don't know. Horse might step on it and cut himself." + +"Yes. But you chucked it like you was mad at somethin'. Would you thrun +it away if it was full?" + +"I don' know. I might 'a' smelt of it to see if it was whiskey or +kerosene some herder forgot." + +"It's right curious how a fella will smell of a bottle to see what's in +it or what's been in it. Most folks does that. I guess you know what +whiskey smells like." + +"Oh, some; with the boys once or twice. I never did get to like it right +well." + +Shoop nodded. "I ain't what you'd call a drinkin' man myself, but I +started out that way. I been tol'able well lit up at times. But +temperance folks what never took a drink can tell you more about whiskey +than I can. Now that there empty bottle, a hundred and thirty miles from +a whiskey town, kind of set me thinkin'." + +Lorry leaned back against the spruce and watched a hawk float in easy +circles round the blue emptiness above. He felt physically indolent; at +one with the silences. Shoop's voice came to him clearly, but as though +from a distance, and as Shoop talked Lorry visualized the theme, +forgetting where he was in the vivid picture the old ex-cowboy sketched +in the rough dialect of the range. + +"I've did some thinkin' in my time, but not enough to keep me awake +nights," said Shoop, pushing back his hat. "That there whiskey bottle +kind of set me back to where I was about your years and some lively. +Long about then I knowed two fellas called 'John' and 'Demijohn.' John +was young and a right good cow-hand. Demijohn was old, but he was always +dressed up like he was young, and he acted right lively. Some folks +thought he was young. They met up at a saloon down along the Santa Fé. +They got acquainted, and had a high ole time. + +"That evenin', as John was leavin' to go back to the ranch, Demijohn +tells him he'll see him later. John remembers that. They met up ag'in. +And finally John got to lookin' for Demijohn, and if he didn't show up +reg'lar John would set out and chase Demijohn all over the country, +afoot and ahorseback, and likin' his comp'ny more every time they met. + +"Now, this here Demijohn, who was by rights a city fella, got to takin' +to the timber and the mesas, with John followin' him around lively. Ole +Demijohn would set in the shade of a tree--no tellin' how he got +there--and John would ride up and light down; when mebby Demijohn would +start off to town, bein' empty, and John after him like hell wasn't hot +enough 'less he sweat runnin'. And that young John would ride clean to +town just to say 'How' to that ole hocus. And it come that John got to +payin' more attention to Demijohn than he did to punchin' cows. Then +come a day when John got sick of chasin' Demijohn all over the range, +and he quit. + +"But the first thing he knowed, Demijohn was a chasin' him. Every time +John rode in and throwed off his saddle there'd be ole Demijohn, settin' +in the corner of the corral or under his bunk or out in the box stall, +smilin' and waitin'. Finally Demijohn got to followin' John right into +the bunk-house, and John tryin' his durndest to keep out of sight. + +"One evenin', when John was loafin' in the bunk-house, ole Demijohn +crawls up to his bunk and asks him, whisperin', if he ain't most always +give John a good time when they met up. John cussed, but 'lowed that +Demijohn was right. Then Demijohn took to pullin' at young John's sleeve +and askin' him to come to town and have a good time. Pretty soon John +gets up and saddles his cayuse and fans it for town. And that time him +and Demijohn sure had one whizzer of a time. But come a week later, when +John gits back to the ranch, the boss is sore and fires him. Then John +gits sore at the boss and at himself and at Demijohn and the whole +works. So he saddles up and rides over to town to have it out with +Demijohn for losin' a good job. But he couldn't lick Demijohn right +there in town nohow. Demijohn was too frequent for him. + +"When young John wakes up next mornin' he is layin' under a tree, mighty +sick. He sees he is up on the high mesa, but he don' know how he got +there; only his pony is grazin' near by, with reins all tromped and the +saddle 'way up on his withers. John sets up and rubs his eyes, and there +he sees ole Demijohn settin' in the grass chucklin' to hisself, and his +back is turned to young John, for he don't care nohow for a fella when +he is sick. Ole Demijohn is always feelin' good, no matter how his +friends feel. Well, young John thinks a while, and pretty soon he moseys +over to a spring and gets a big, cold drink and washes his head, and +feels better. + +"He never knowed that just plain water tasted so good till that mornin'. +Then he sets awhile, smellin' of the clean pine air and listenin' to the +wind runnin' loose in the tree-tops and watchin' the clouds driftin' by, +white and clean and proud-like. Pretty soon he rares up and walks over +to the tree where ole Demijohn sets rockin' up and down and chucklin'. +He takes a holt of Demijohn by the shoulder, and he says: 'You darned +ole hocus, you, I lost my job, and I'm broke, lopin' around this country +with you.' + +"'Forget it!' says ole Demijohn. 'Ain't I good comp'ny?' + +"'Mebby you be--for some folks,' says young John. 'But not for me. You +don't belong up in this here country; you belong back in town, and I +reckon you better fan it.' + +"Ole Demijohn he laughed. 'You can't run me off the range that easy,' he +says. + +"'I can't, eh?' says young John, and he pulls his gun and up and busts +ole Demijohn over the head. Then, bein' a likely young fella, he shuts +his jaw tight and fans it back to the ranch. The fo'man is some +surprised to see him come ridin' up, whistlin' like he owned the works. +Fellas what's fired mostly looks for work some place else. But young +John got the idee that he owed it to hisself to make good where he +started as a cow-hand. 'I busted my ole friend Demijohn over the head,' +he says to the fo'man. 'We ain't friends no more.' + +"The fo'man he grins. 'All right, Jack,' he says. 'But if I see him +hangin' round the corrals ag'in, or in the bunk-house, you needn't to +wait for me to tell you which way is north.' + +"Well, young John had done a good job. 'Course ole Demijohn used to come +sneakin' round in the moonlight, once in a spell, botherin' some of the +boys, but he stayed clear of young John. And young John he took to +ridin' straight and hard and 'tendin' to business. I ain't sayin' he +ever got to be president or superintendent of a Sunday School, for this +ain't no story-book yarn; but he always held a good job when he wanted +it, and he worked for a good boss--which was hisself." + +Lorry grinned as he turned to Shoop. "That ole Demijohn never got close +enough to me to get busted on the head." + +"Them hosses is strayin' down the creek," said Shoop, rising. + +They turned and rode north, somewhat to Lorry's surprise. The trail was +ragged and steep, and led from the mesa to the cañon bottom of the White +River. Before Lorry realized where they were, Jason loomed before them +on the mesa below. + +"She's a quick trail to town in summer," explained Shoop. "Snow hangs +too heavy in the cañon to ride it in winter." + +At Jason they tied their horses, and entered the ranger's office. Lorry +waited while Shoop talked with Torrance in the private office. Presently +Shoop came to the door and gestured to Lorry. + +"Mr. Shoop says he thinks you could qualify for the Service," Torrance +said. "We will waive the matter of recommendations from the Starr +people. But there is one thing I can't do. I can't hire a man who is +wanted by the authorities. There's a deputy sheriff in town with a +warrant for you. That is strictly your affair. If you can square +yourself with the deputy, I'll put you to work." + +"I'll go see what he wants," said Lorry. + +"He wants you. Understand, you'll only jeopardize your chances by +starting a row." + +"They won't be a row," said Lorry. + +When he returned he was accompanied by the deputy. Lorry took his stand +without parley. + +"I want to ask you folks a question, and then I'm through," he asserted. +"Will you listen to what he says and what I say, and then say who is +right?" + +"That might not settle it," said Torrance. "But go ahead." + +"Then all I got to say is, was I right or wrong when I turned that hobo +loose and saved him from gettin' beat up by High Chin and the boys, and +mebby strung up, afore they got through?" + +"Morally you were right," said Torrance. "But you should have appealed +to Sheriff Hardy to guard his prisoner." + +"That's all right, Mr. Torrance. But suppose they wasn't time. And +suppose,--now Buck's deputy is here to listen to it,--suppose I was to +say that Buck is scared to death of High-Chin Bob. Everybody knows it." + +The deputy flushed. He knew that Lorry spoke the truth. + +Torrance turned to Shoop. "What do you think, Bud?" + +Bud coughed and shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Bein' as I'm drug into +this, I say the boy did a good job and he's right about Hardy, which +you can tell him," he added, turning to the deputy. + +"Then that's all I got to say," and Lorry pushed back his hat and +rumpled his hair. + +The deputy was not there to argue. He had been sent to get Lorry. + +"I don't say he ain't right. But how about my job if I ride back to +Stacey with nothin' to show for the trip but my expense card?" + +"Buck Hardy isn't a fool," said Torrance. + +"Oh, hell!" said Lorry, turning to the deputy. "I'll go back with you. +I'm sick of jawin' about the right and the wrong and who's to blame. But +I want to say in company that I'll go just as far as the county line of +this county. You're south of your county. If you can get me across the +line, I'll go on to Stacey." + +Bud Shoop mopped his face with a bandanna. He was not overhot, but he +wanted to hide the grin that spread over his broad countenance. He +imagined he could see the deputy just about the time they arrived at the +county line, and the mental picture seemed to amuse him. + +"The idee is, the kid thinks he's right," said Shoop presently. +"Speakin' personal, I never monkey with a man when he thinks he's +right--and he is." + +"All I got to go by is the law," asserted the deputy. "As for Adams here +sayin' I won't run him in, I got orders to do it, and them orders goes." + +"Adams has applied for a position in the Service," said Torrance. + +"I ain't got anything against Lorry personal," said the deputy. + +"Then just you ride back an' tell Buck Hardy that Bud Shoop says he'll +stand responsible for Adams keepin' the peace in Jason County, same as I +stood responsible for Buck oncet down in the Panhandle. Buck will +remember, all right." + +"Can't you give me a letter to Buck, explainin' things?" queried the +deputy. + +Bud glanced at Torrance. "I think we can," said the supervisor. + +Lorry stepped to the door with the deputy. There was no personal feeling +evident as they shook hands. + +"You could tell ma to send down my clothes by stage," said Lorry. + +Shoop and Torrance seemed to be enjoying themselves. + +"I put in my say," said Bud, "'cause I kind of like the kid. And I +reckon I saved that deputy a awful wallopin'. When a fella like young +Adams talks pleasant and chokes his hat to death at the same time you +can watch out for somethin' to fall." + +"Do you think Adams would have had it out with him?" + +"He'd 'a' rode along a spell, like he said. Mebby just this side of the +county line he'd 'a' told the deputy which way was north. And if the +deputy didn't take the hint, I reckon Adams would 'a' lit into him. I +knowed Adams's daddy afore he married Annie Adams and went to live in +Sonora." + +"Then you knew that his father was Jim Waring?" + +"I sure did. And I reckon I kep' somebody from gettin' a awful +wallopin'. I was a kid oncet myself." + + + + +Chapter XVI + + +_Play_ + + +The installation of Bud Shoop as supervisor of the White Mountain +District was celebrated with an old-fashioned barbecue by the cattlemen +and sheepmen leasing on the reserve. While John Torrance had always +dealt fairly with them, the natives felt that he was more or less of a +theorist in the matter of grazing-leases. Shoop was a practical cowman; +one of themselves. Naturally there was some dissatisfaction expressed by +disgruntled individuals who envied Shoop's good fortune. But this was +overwhelmed by the tide of popular acclaim with which Shoop was hailed +as a just administrator of their grazing-rights. + +The barbecue was a boisterous success. Although the day of large +holdings was past, the event lacked nothing in numbers or enthusiasm. +The man who owned a hundred head of cattle was quite as popular as his +neighbor who owned perhaps eight hundred or a thousand. Outfits +fraternized, ran pony races, roped for prizes, and rode bucking horses, +as their predecessors had raced, roped, and "rode 'em" in the days of +old. + +Lorry, itching to enter the roping contest, was checked by a suggestion +from the genial Bud. + +"I've heard you was top-hand with a rope. But you're a ranger, by the +grace of God and me and John Torrance. Let the boy's play, but don't +play with 'em yet. Keep 'em guessin' just how good you are. Let 'em get +to know you slow--and solid." + +Lorry accepted Bud's advice, and made himself popular with the various +outfits by maintaining a silence when questioned as to how he "put +High-Chin Bob out of business." The story of that affair had had a wide +circulation, and gained interest when it became known that High Chin and +his men were present. Their excuse for coming was only legitimate in +that a barbecue draws no fine lines of distinction. Any one who has a +horse and an appetite is welcome. The Starr riders were from the +northern county, but they would have been quite as welcome had they come +from Alaska. + +Bud Shoop was present in a suit of religiously severe black, his pants +outside his boots. He had donned a white shirt and knotted a black silk +bandanna round his short neck. + +The morning was noisy with pony races, roping contests, and the riding +of pitching horses. The events were not tabulated, but evolved through +the unwritten law of precedent. + +After the noon feast there was talk of a shooting-match. Few of the +local men packed guns, and none of them openly. The Starr riders were +the only exception. This fact was commented upon by some of the +old-timers, who finally accosted Bud with the suggestion that he "show +that Starr outfit what a gun was made for." Bud declined. + +"I ain't had a gun in my hand, except to clean it, since I quit +punchin'," he told them. "And, anyhow, I'm no fancy gun sharp." + +"High Chin and his outfit is sure handin' it to us," complained the +old-timers. "And you're about the only man here who could show 'em." + +"No use provin' it to 'em when they know it," Bud said. + +The committee retired and consulted among themselves. Bud was talking +with a cattleman when they again accosted him. + +"Say, Bud, them Starr boys has cleaned us out on ropin' and racin'. We +trimmed 'em on ridin'. Now that makes two to one, and we're askin' you +as a old-timer if we're goin' to let them fellas ride north a-tellin' +every hay-tosser atween here and Stacey that we're a bunch of jays?" + +"Oh, shucks!" was all Bud had to say. + +"And that High-Chin Bob says he aims to hang young Adams's scalp on his +belt afore he gits through," asserted a townsman. + +"I'll set in the game," said Bud. + +And he waddled across the street to his office. In a few minutes he came +back and mingled with the crowd. The Starr boys were pitching dollars at +a mark when Bud and a companion strolled past. High Chin invited Shoop +to join in the game. Shoop declined pleasantly. + +"Things is runnin' slow," said a Starr man. "Wish I'd 'a' fetched my +music along. Mebby I could git somebody to sing me to sleep." + +Bud laughed. "Have a good time, boys." And he moved on. + +"That was one for you--and yore piano," said his companion. + +"Mebby so. We'll let that rest. I'm lookin' for a friend of mine." And +Shoop edged along the crowd. + +The man that Shoop was looking for was standing alone beneath the shade +of an acacia, watching the crowd. He was a tall, heavy man, +dark-featured, with a silver-gray beard and brown eyes that seemed to +twinkle with amusement even when his lips were grim. The giant sheepman +of the south country was known to every one on account of his great +physique and his immense holdings in land and sheep. Shoop talked with +him for a few minutes. Together they strolled back to the crowd. + +The Starr boys were still pitching dollars when Shoop and the sheepman +approached. + +"Who's top-hand in this game?" queried Shoop genially. + +"High Chin--and at any game you got," said a Starr man. + +"Well, now!" + +"Any game you got." + +Shoop gazed about, saw Lorry, and beckoned to him. + +"Here's my candidate," said Shoop. "He kep' out of the ropin' so as to +give you fellas a chance." And he turned to Lorry. "Give him a whirl," +he said, indicating High Chin. "It's worth a couple of dollars just to +find out how good he is." + +High Chin surveyed the circle of faces, poised a dollar, and threw it. +Lorry threw and lost. High Chin pocketed the two dollars. The Starr boys +grinned. High Chin threw again. The dollar slid close to the line. Lorry +shied his dollar and knocked the other's coin several feet away from the +line. + +"Try him ag'in," said Shoop. + +Lorry tossed again. His dollar dropped on the line. High Chin threw. His +coin clinked squarely on Lorry's, but spun off, leaving it undisturbed. + +"You break even--at that game," said Shoop. "It was a good shot." + +"Folks been sayin' the same of you," said High Chin, turning to the +supervisor. + +"Oh, folks will talk. They're made that way," chuckled Shoop. + +"Well, I got ten bucks that says High Chin can outshoot any hombre in +this crowd," said a Starr boy. + +"I'm right glad you got it," said Shoop pleasantly. + +"Meanin' I stand to lose it, eh?" + +"Oh, gosh, no! You're steppin' on your bridle. I was congratulatin' you +on your wealth." + +"I ain't seen that you been flashin' any money," said the cowboy. + +"Nope. That ain't what money's made for. And I never bet on a sure +thing. Ain't no fun in that." + +The giant sheepman, whose movements were as deliberate as the sun's, +slowly reached in his pocket and drew out a leather pouch. He counted +out forty dollars in gold-pieces. + +"I'll lay it even," he said, his eyes twinkling, "that Bud Shoop can +outshoot any man in the crowd." + +"I'll take ten of that," said the Starr man. + +"And I'll take ten," said another cowboy. + +"John," said Shoop, turning to the sheepman, "you're a perpendicular +dam' fool." + +Word went forth that High-Chin Bob, of the Starr, and Bud Shoop were to +shoot a match for a thousand dollars a side, and some of the more +enthusiastic believed it. In a few minutes the street was empty of all +save the ponies at the hitching-rails. + +In a shallow arroyo back of town the excited throng made wagers and +talked of wonderful shots made by the principals. High Chin was known as +a quick and sure shot. Shoop's reputation was known to fewer of the +crowd. The Starr boys backed their foreman to the last cent. A judge was +suggested, but declined as being of the locality. Finally the giant +sheepman, despite his personal wager, was elected unanimously. He was +known to be a man of absolute fairness, and qualified to judge +marksmanship. He agreed to serve, with the proviso that the Starr boys +or any of High Chin's friends should feel free to question his +decisions. The crowd solidified back of the line, where Shoop and High +Chin stood waiting for the test. + +The marksmen faced two bottles on a rock some thirty paces away. At the +word, each was to "go for his gun" and shoot. High Chin carried his gun +in the usual holster. Bud Shoop's gun was tucked in the waistband of his +pants. + +"Go!" said the sheepman. + +High Chin's hand flashed to his hip. His gun jumped and spoke. Shoop's +wrist turned. Both bottles were shattered on the instant. A tie was +declared. + +The men were placed with their backs toward the targets--two empty +bottles. The sheepman faced them, with his hands behind his back. When +he snapped his fingers they were to turn and fire. Many of the onlookers +thought this test would leave High Chin a point ahead. + +Both men swung and fired at the signal. Again both bottles were +shattered. Although a tie was again declared, the crowd cheered for +Shoop, realizing his physical handicap. Yet many asserted that High Chin +was the faster man, won to this decision by his lightning speed of +movement and his easy manner, suggesting a kind of contemptuous +indifference to results. + +In contrast to High Chin's swift, careless efficiency, Shoop's solid +poise and lack of elbow motion showed in strong relief. Their methods +were entirely dissimilar. But it was evident to the old-timers that +Shoop shot with less effort and waste motion than his lithe competitor. +And High Chin was the younger man by twenty years. + +Thus far the tests had not been considered difficult. But when the +sheepman stepped off ten paces and faced the competitors with a cigar +held at arm's length, the chattering of the crowd ceased. High Chin, as +guest, was asked to shoot first. He raised his gun. It hung poised for a +second. As it jumped in his hand the ash flirted from the end of the +cigar. The crowd stamped and cheered. Shoop congratulated High Chin. The +crowd hooted and called to Shoop to make good. Even as they called, his +hand flashed up. Hardly had the report of his gun startled them to +silence when they saw that his hands were empty. A roar of laughter +shook the crowd. Some one pointed toward the sheepman. The laughter died +down. He held a scant two inches of cigar in his fingers. Then they +understood, and were silent again. They gathered round the sheepman. He +held up his arms. Shoop's bullet had nipped the cigar in two before they +had realized that he intended to shoot. + +"You're havin' the luck," said High. + +"You're right," said Shoop. "And luck, if she keeps steady gait, is just +as good a hoss to ride as they is." + +Still, there were those who maintained that Shoop had made a chance +hit. But High Chin knew that this was not so. He had met his master at +the six-gun game. + +Bud Shoop's easy manner had vanished. As solid as a rock, his lips in a +straight line, he waited for the next test while High Chin talked and +joked with the bystanders. + +"You'll shoot when you see something to shoot at," was the sheepman's +word. The crowd laughed. He stood behind the marksmen, a tin can in each +hand. Both High Chin and Shoop knew what was coming, and Shoop decided +to surprise the assemblage. The main issue was not the shooting contest, +and if High-Chin Bob had not already seen enough of Shoop's work to +satisfy him, the genial Bud intended to clinch the matter right there. + +Without warning, the sheepman tossed the cans into the air. Shoop and +High Chin shot on the instant. But before High Chin's can touched the +ground Shoop shot again. It was faster work than any present had ever +seen. A man picked up the cans and brought them to the sheepman. One can +had a clean hole in it. The other had two holes through it. Those +nearest the marksmen wondered why Shoop had not shot twice at his own +can. But the big sheepman knew that Shoop had called High Chin's bluff +about "any game going." + +Even then the match was a tie so far as precedent demanded. Each man +had made a hit on a moving target. + +The crowd had ceased to applaud. + +"How about a try from the saddle?" suggested High Chin. + +"I reckon I look just as fat and foolish settin' in a saddle as +anywhere," said Shoop. + +The crowd shuffled over to a more open spot, on the mesa. Shoop and High +Chin mounted their horses. A tin cracker box was placed on a flat rock +out in the open. + +The men were to reload and shoot at top speed as they rode past the box. +The Starr foreman immediately jumped his pony to a run, and, swaying +easily, threw a shot at the box as he approached it, another and another +when opposite, and, turning in the saddle, fired his three remaining +shots. The box was brought back and inspected. The six shots had all +hit. + +Shoop, straight and solid as a statue, ran his pony down the course, but +held his fire until almost opposite the box. Then six reports rippled +out like the drawing of a stick quickly across a picket fence. It was +found that the six shots had all hit in one side of the box. The +sheepman was asked for a decision. He shook his head and declared the +match a draw. And technically it was a draw. Every one seemed satisfied, +although there was much discussion among individuals as to the relative +merits of the contestants. + +As the crowd dispersed and some of them prepared to ride home, two +horsemen appeared on the northern road, riding toward town. As they drew +nearer Shoop chuckled. Lorry, standing a few paces away, glanced at him. + +The supervisor was talking to Bob Brewster. "High, you're the best I +ever stacked up against, exceptin' one, and it's right curious that he +is just a-ridin' into this powwow. If you want to see what real shootin' +is, get him to show you." + +"I don't know your friend," said High, eyeing the approaching horsemen, +"but he's a beaut if he can outshoot you." + +"Outshoot me? Say, High, that hombre ridin' the big buckskin hoss there +could make us look about as fast as a couple of fence-posts when it +comes to handlin' a gun. And his pardner ain't what you'd call slow." + +High Chin's lean face darkened as he recognized Waring riding beside a +gaunt, long-legged man whose gray eyes twinkled as he surveyed the +little group. + +"Pat--and Jim Waring," muttered Shoop. "And us just finished what some +would call a ole-time shootin'-bee!" + +"Who's your friend?" queried High Chin, although he knew. + +"Him? That's Jim Waring, of Sonora. And say, High, I ain't his +advertisin' agent, but between you and me he could shoot the fuzz out of +your ears and never as much as burn 'em. What I'm tellin' you is +first-class life insurance if you ain't took out any. And before you go +I just want to pass the word that young Adams is workin' for _me_. +Reckon you might be interested, seein' as how he worked for you a +spell." + +High Chin met Shoop's gaze unblinkingly. He was about to speak when Pat +and Waring, rode up and greeted the supervisor. High Chin wheeled his +horse and loped back to town. A few minutes later he and his men rode +past. To Shoop's genial wave of farewell they returned a whoop that +seemed edged with a vague challenge. + +Pat, who was watching them, asked Shoop who the man was riding the +pinto. + +"Why, that's High-Chin Bob Brewster, Starr fo'man. He's kind of a wild +bird. I reckon he came over here lookin' for trouble. He's been walkin' +around with his wings and tail spread like he was mad at somethin'." + +"I thought I knew him," said Pat. And he shrugged his shoulders. + +Shoop noticed that Waring was gazing at Pat in a peculiar manner. He +attached no significance to this at the time, but later he recalled the +fact that there had been trouble between Pat and the Brewster boys some +years ago. The Brewsters had then openly threatened to "get Pat if he +ever rode north again." + + + + +Chapter XVII + + +_Down the Wind_ + +Waring, several miles out from the home shack, on the new range, sat his +horse Dexter, watching his men string fence. They ran the barbed wire +with a tackle, stringing it taut down the long line of bare posts that +twinkled away to dots in the west. Occasionally Waring rode up and +tested the wire with his hand. The men worked fast. Waring and Pat had +picked their men; three husky boys of the high country who considered +stringing fence rather pleasant exercise. There was no recognized +foreman. Each knew his work, and Waring had added a foreman's pay to +their salaries, dividing it equally among them. Later they would look +after the ranch and the cattle. + +Twenty thousand acres under fence, with plenty of water, would take care +of eight hundred or a thousand head of cattle. And as a provision +against a lean winter, Waring had put a mowing-machine in at the eastern +end of the range, where the bunch-grass was heavy enough to cut. It +would be necessary to winter-feed. Four hundred white-faced Herefords +grazed in the autumn sunshine. Riding round and among them leisurely was +the Mexican youth, Ramon. + +Backed against a butte near the middle of the range was the broad, +low-roofed ranch-house. A windmill purred in the light breeze, its lean, +flickering shadow aslant the corrals. The buildings looked new and raw +in contrast to the huge pile of grayish-green greasewood and scrub cedar +gathered from the clearing round them. + +In front of the house was a fenced acre, ploughed and harrowed to a dead +level. This was to be Pat's garden, wherein he had planned to grow all +sorts of green things, including cucumbers. At the moment Pat was +standing under the veranda roof, gazing out across the ranch. The old +days of petty warfare, long night rides, and untold hardships were past. +Next spring his garden would bloom; tiny green tendrils would swell to +sturdy vines. Corn-leaves would broaden to waving green blades shot with +the rich brown of the ripening ears. Although he had never spoken of it, +Pat had dreamed of blue flowers nodding along the garden fence; +old-fashioned bachelor's-buttons that would spring up as though by +accident. But he would have to warn Waco, the erstwhile tramp, not to +mistake them for weeds. + +"Peace and plenty," muttered Pat, smiling to himself. "The Book sure +knows how to say those things." + +The gaunt, grizzled ex-sheriff reached in his vest for a cigar. As he +bit the end off and felt for a match, he saw a black speck wavering in +the distance. He shaded his eyes with his hand. + +"'Tain't a machine," he said. "And it ain't a buckboard. Some puncher +lookin' for a job, most likely." + +He turned and entered the house. Waco, shaven and in clean shirt and +overalls, was "punching dough" in the kitchen. + +"Did Jim say when he would ride in?" queried Pat. + +"About sundown. I fixed 'em up some chuck this morning. Jim figures +they're getting too far out to ride in every noon." + +"Well, when you get your bread baked we'll take a whirl at those +ditches. How are the supplies holding out?" + +"We're short on flour. Got enough to last over till Monday. Plenty bacon +and beans and lard." + +"All right. We'll hook up to-morrow and drive in." + +Waco nodded as he tucked a roll of dough into the pan. Pat watched him +for a moment. Waco, despite his many shortcomings, could cook, and, +strangely enough, liked to putter round the garden. + +Picked up half-starving on the mesa road, near St. Johns, he had been +brought to the ranch by Pat, where a month of clean air and industry had +reshaped the tramp to something like a man. Both Pat and Waring knew +that the hobo was wanted in Stacey. They had agreed to say nothing about +the tramp's whereabouts just so long as he made himself useful about +the ranch. They would give him a chance. But, familiar with his kind, +they were mildly skeptical as to Waco's sincerity of purpose. If he took +to drinking, or if Buck Hardy heard of his whereabouts, he would have to +go. Meanwhile, he earned his keep. He was a good cook, and a good cook, +no matter where or where from, is a power in the land. + +As Waco closed the oven door some one hallooed. Pat stepped to the +veranda. A cowboy astride a bay pony asked if Waring were around. + +"I can take your message," said Pat. + +"Well, it's for you, I guess. Letter from Buck Hardy." + +"Yes, it's for me," said Pat. "Who sent you?" + +"Hardy. Said something about you had a man down here he wanted." + +"All right. Stay for chuck?" + +"I got to git back. How's things down this way?" + +"Running on time. Just tell Buck I'll be over right soon." + +"To-day?" + +Pat's gray eyes hardened. "Buck tell you to ask me that?" + +"Well--no. I was just wonderin'." + +"Then keep right on wondering," said Pat. "You got your answer." + +The cowboy swung up and rode off. "To hell with him!" he said. "Thinks +he can throw a scare into me because he's got a name for killin'. To +hell him!" + +Pat climbed the hill back of the house and surveyed the glimmering +levels. + +"Wish Jim would ride in. Funny thing--Hardy sending a Starr boy with +word for me. But perhaps the kid was riding this way, anyhow." + +Pat shook his head, and climbed slowly down to the house. Waco was busy +in the kitchen when he came in. + +After the noon meal, Pat again climbed the hill. He seemed worried about +something. When he returned he told Waco to hitch the pintos to the +buckboard. + +"Get your coat," he told Waco. "We're going over to Stacey." + +Waco's hands trembled. "Say, boss, if you don't mind--" + +"Get your coat. I'll talk to Buck. You needn't to worry. I'll square you +with Buck. We can use you here." + +Waco did as he was told. They drove out of the yard. Waco leaped down +and closed the gate. + +The pintos shook themselves into the harness and trotted down the +faintly marked new road. The buckboard swayed and jolted. Something +rubbed against Waco's hip. He glanced down and saw Pat's gun on the seat +between them. Pat said nothing. He was thinking hard. The cowboy +messenger's manner had not been natural. The note bore the printed +heading of the sheriff's office. Perhaps it was all right. And if it +were not, Pat was not the man to back down from a bluff. + +Several miles out from the ranch ran the naked posts of the line fence. +Pat reined in the ponies and gazed up and down the line. A mile beyond, +the ranch road merged with the main-traveled highway running east and +west. He spoke to the horses. They broke into a fast trot. Waco, +gripping the seat, stared straight ahead. Why had Pat laid that gun on +the seat? + +A thin, gray veil drifted across the sun. From the northwest a light +wind sprang up and ran across the mesa, whipping the bunch-grass. The +wind grew heavier, and with it came a fine, dun-colored dust. An hour +and the air was thick with a shifting red haze of sand. The sun glowed +dimly through the murk. + +Waco turned up his coat-collar and shivered. The air was keen. The +ponies fought the bit, occasionally breaking into a gallop. Pat braced +his feet and held them to a trot. A weird buzzing came down the wind. +The ponies reared and took to the ditch as a machine flicked past and +drummed away in the distance. + +To Waco, rigid and staring, the air seemed filled with a kind of +hovering terror, a whining threat of danger that came in bursts of +driving sand and dwindled away to harsh whisperings. He stood it as +long as he could. Pat had not spoken. + +[Illustration: A huddled shape near a boulder] + +Waco touched his arm. "I got a hunch," he said hoarsely,--"I got a hunch +we oughta go back." + +Pat nodded. But the ponies swept on down the road, their manes and tails +whipping in the wind. Another mile and they slowed down in heavy sand. +The buckboard tilted forward as they descended the sharp pitch of an +arroyo. Unnoticed, Pat's gun slipped to the floor of the wagon. + +In the arroyo the wind seemed to have died away, leaving a startled +quietness. It still hung above them, and an occasional gust filled their +eyes with grit. Waco drew a deep breath. The ponies tugged through the +heavy sand. + +Without a sound to warn them a rider appeared close to the front wheel +of the buckboard. Waco shrank down in sodden terror. It was the Starr +foreman, High-Chin Bob. Waco saw Pat's hand flash to his side, then +fumble on the seat. + +"I'm payin' the Kid's debt," said High Chin, and, laughing, he threw +shot after shot into the defenseless body of his old enemy. + +Waco saw Pat slump forward, catch himself, and finally topple from the +seat. As the reins slipped from his fingers the ponies lunged up the +arroyo. Waco crouched, clutching the foot-rail. A bullet hummed over his +head. Gaining the level, the ponies broke into a wild run. The red wind +whined as it drove across the mesa. The buckboard lurched sickeningly. +A scream of terror wailed down the wind as the buckboard struck a +telegraph pole. A blind shock--and for Waco the droning of the wind had +ceased. + +Dragging the broken traces, the ponies circled the mesa and set off at a +gallop toward home. At the side of the road lay the splintered +buckboard, wheels up. And Waco, hovering on the edge of the black abyss, +dreamed strange dreams. + + * * * * * + +Waring, riding in with the crew, found the ranch-house deserted and the +pinto ponies dragging the shreds of a broken harness, grazing along the +fence. Waring sent a man to catch up the team. Ramon cooked supper. The +men ate in silence. + +After supper Waring changed his clothes, saddled Dex, and packed some +food in the saddle-pockets. "I am going out to look for Pat," he told +one of his men. "If Waco shows up, keep him here till I get back. Those +horses didn't get away from Pat. Here's a signed check. Get what you +need and keep on with the work. You're foreman till I get back." + +"If there's anything doing--" began the cowboy. + +"I don't know. Some one rode in here to-day. It was along about noon +that Pat and Waco left. The bread was baked. I'd say they drove to town +for grub; only Pat took his gun--without the holster. It looks bad to +me. If anything happens to me, just send for Lorry Adams at the Ranger +Station." + +Waring rode out, looking for tracks. His men watched him until he had +disappeared behind a rise. Bender, the new foreman, turned to his +fellows. + +"I'd hate to be the man that the boss is lookin' for," he said, shaking +his head. + +"Why, he's lookin' for Pat, ain't he?" queried one of the men. + +"That ain't what I mean," said the foreman. + + * * * * * + +The wind died down suddenly. The sun, just above the horizon, glowed +like a disk of burnished copper. The wagon ruts were filled with fine +sand. Waring read the trail. The buckboard had traveled briskly. It had +stopped at the line. The tracks of the fretting ponies showed that +clearly. Alongside the tracks of the ponies were the half-hidden tracks +of a single horse. Waring glanced back at the sun, and put Dex to a +lope. He swung into the main road, his gaze following the +half-obliterated trail of the single horseman. Suddenly he reined up. +The horseman had angled away from the road and had ridden north across +the open country. He had not gone to Stacey. Waring knew that the +horseman had been riding hard. Straight north from where Waring had +stopped was the Starr Ranch. + +He rode on, his heart heavy with a black premonition. The glowing +copper disk was now half-hidden by the western hills. + +At the brink of the arroyo he dismounted. He could see nothing +distinctly in the gloom of its depths. Stooping, he noted the wagon +tracks as he worked on down. His foot struck against something hard. He +fumbled and picked Pat's gun from the sand. Every chamber was loaded. + +"He didn't have a chance." Waring was startled by his own voice. He +thrust the gun in his waistband. The twilight deepened rapidly. Rocks +and ridges in the arroyo assumed peculiar shapes like those of men +crouching; men prone; men with heads up, listening, watching, waiting. +Yet Waring's instinct for hidden danger told him that there was no +living thing in the arroyo--unless--Suddenly he sprang forward and +dropped to his knees beside a huddled shape near a boulder. + +"Pat!" he whispered. + +Then he knew; saw it all as clearly as though he had witnessed it--the +ambushment in the blinding sandstorm; the terror-stricken Waco; the +frightened ponies; the lunging and swaying buckboard. And Pat, left for +dead, but who had dragged himself from the roadway in dumb agony. + +The dole of light from the sinking sun was gone. Waring's hands came +away from the opened shirt shudderingly. He wiped his hands on the sand, +and, rising, ran back to Dex. He returned with a whiskey flask. Pat was +of tough fiber and tremendous vitality. If the spark were still +unquenched, if it could be called back even for a breath, that which +Waring knew, yet wanted to confirm beyond all doubt, might be given in a +word. He raised Pat's head, and barely tilted the flask. The spirit of +the mortally stricken man, perchance loath to leave such a brave +hermitage, winged slowly back from the far shore of dreams. In the black +pit of the arroyo, where death crouched, waiting, life flamed for an +instant. + +Waring felt the limp body stir. He took Pat's big, bony hand in his. + +"Pat!" he whispered. + +A word breathed heavily from the motionless lips. "You, Jim?" + +"Yes! For God's sake, Pat, who did this thing?" + +"Brewster--Bob. Letter--in my coat." + +"I'll get _him_!" said Waring. + +"Shake!" exclaimed the dying man, and the grip of his hand was like +iron. Waring thought he had gone, and leaned closer. "I'm--kind of +tired--Jim. Reckon--I'll--rest." + +Waring felt the other's grip relax. He drew his hand from the stiffening +fingers. A dull pain burned in his throat. He lighted a match, and found +the message that had lured Pat to his death in the other's coat-pocket. +He rose and stumbled up the arroyo to his horse. + +Halfway back to the ranch, and he met Ramon riding hard. "Ride back," +said Waring. "Hook up to the wagon and come to the arroyo." + +"Have you found the Señor Pat?" + +"Yes. He is dead." + +Ramon whirled his pony and pounded away in the darkness. + +Out on the highway two long, slender shafts of light slid across the +mesa, dipped into an arroyo, and climbed skyward as a machine buzzed up +the opposite pitch. The lights straightened again and shot on down the +road, swinging stiffly from side to side. Presently they came to a stop. +In the soft glow of their double radiance lay a yellow-wheeled +buckboard, shattered and twisted round a telegraph pole. The lights +moved up slowly and stopped again. + +A man jumped from the machine and walked round the buckboard. Beneath it +lay a crumpled figure. The driver of the machine ran a quick hand over +the neck and arms of Waco, who groaned. The driver lifted him and +carried him to the car. Stacey lay some twenty miles behind him. He was +bound south. The first town on his way was thirty miles distant. But the +roads were good. He glanced back at the huddled figure in the tonneau. +The car purred on down the night. The long shafts of light lifted over a +rise and disappeared. + +In about an hour the car stopped at the town of Grant. Waco was carried +from the machine to a room in the hotel, and a doctor was summoned. +Waco lay unconscious throughout the night. + +In the morning he was questioned briefly. He gave a fictitious name, and +mentioned a town he had heard of, but had never been in. His horses had +run away with him. + +The man who had picked him up drove away next morning. Later the doctor +told Waco that through a miracle there were no bones broken, but that he +would have to keep to his bed for at least a week. Otherwise he would +never recover from the severe shock to his nervous system. + +And Waco, recalling the horror of the preceding day, twisted his head +round at every footstep in the hall, fearing that Waring had come to +question him. He knew that he had done no wrong; in fact, he had told +Pat that they had better drive back home. But a sense of shame at his +cowardice, and the realization that his word was as water in evidence, +that he was but a wastrel, a tramp, burdened him with an aching desire +to get away--to hide himself from Waring's eyes, from the eyes of all +men. + +He kept telling himself that he had done nothing wrong, yet fear shook +him until his teeth chattered. What could he have done even had he been +courageous? Pat had had no chance. + +He suffered with the misery of indecision. Habit inclined him to flee +from the scene of the murder. Fear of the law urged him. Three nights +after he had been brought to Grant, he dressed and crept down the back +stairs, and made his way to the railroad station. Twice he had heard the +midnight freight stop and cut out cars on the siding. He hid in the +shadows until the freight arrived. He climbed to an empty box-car and +waited. Trainmen crunched past on the cinders. A jolt and he was swept +away toward the west. He sank into a half sleep as the iron wheels +roared and droned beneath him. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + +_A Piece of Paper_ + +In the little desert hotel at Stacey, Mrs. Adams was singing softly to +herself as she moved about the dining-room helping Anita clear away the +breakfast dishes. Mrs. Adams had heard from Lorry. He had secured a +place in the Ranger Service. She was happy. His letter had been filled +with enthusiasm for the work and for his chief, Bud Shoop. This in +itself was enough to make her happy. She had known Bud in Las Cruces. He +was a good man. And then--Jim had settled down. Only last week he had +ridden over and told her how they were getting on with the work at the +ranch. He had hinted then that he had laid his guns away. Perhaps he had +wanted her to know _that_ more than anything else. She had kissed him +good-bye. His gray eyes had been kind. "Some day, Annie," he had said. +Her face flushed as she recalled the moment. + +A boot-heel gritted on the walk. She turned. Waring was standing in the +doorway. His face was set and hard. Involuntarily she ran to him. + +"What is it, Jim? Lorry?" + +He shook his head. She saw at once that he was dressed for a long ride +and that--an unusual circumstance--a gun swung at his hip. He usually +wore a coat and carried his gun in a shoulder holster. But now he was +in his shirt-sleeves. A dread oppressed her. He was ready on the instant +to fight, but with whom? Her eyes grew big. + +"What is it?" she whispered again. + +"The Brewster boys got Pat." + +"Not--they didn't kill him!" + +Waring nodded. + +"But, Jim--" + +"In the Red Arroyo on the desert road. I found him. I came to tell you." + +"And you are going--" + +"Yes. I was afraid this would happen. Pat made a mistake." + +"But, Jim! The law--the sheriff--you don't have to go." + +"No," he said slowly. + +"Then why do you go? I thought you would never do that again. +I--I--prayed for you, Jim. I prayed for you and Lorry. I asked God to +send you back to me with your two hands clean. I told Him you would +never kill again. Oh, Jim, I wanted you--here! Don't!" she sobbed. + +He put his arm round her shoulders. Stooping, he kissed her. + +"You are going?" she asked, and her hands dropped to her sides. + +"Yes; I told Pat I would get Brewster. Pat went out with his hand in +mine on that word. My God, Annie, do you think I could ride back to the +ranch and face the boys or sleep nights with Pat's hand reaching for me +in the dark to remind me of my word? Can't you see where I stand? Do you +think I could look Lorry in the face when he knew that I sat idle while +the man that murdered Pat was riding the country free?" + +"Pat was your friend. I am your wife," said Mrs. Adams. + +Waring's lips hardened. "Pat's gone. But I'm calling myself his friend +yet. And the man that got him is going to know it." + +Before she could speak again Waring was gone. + +She dropped to a chair and buried her face in her arms. Anita came to +her and tried to comfort her. But Mrs. Adams rose and walked to the +office doorway. She saw Waring riding down the street. She wanted to +call out to him, to call him back. She felt that he was riding to his +death. If he would only turn! If he would only wave his hand to show +that he cared--But Waring rode on, straight and stern, black hate in his +heart, his free hand hollowed as though with an invisible vengeance that +was gone as he drew his fingers tense. + +He rode north, toward the Starr Ranch. He passed a group of riders +drifting some yearlings toward town. A man spoke to him. He did not +reply. + +And as he rode he heard a voice--the Voice of his desert wanderings, the +Voice that had whispered to him from the embers of many a night fire in +the Southern solitudes. Yet there, was this difference. That voice had +been strangely dispassionate, detached; not the voice of a human being. +But now the Voice was that of his friend Pat softly reiterating: "Not +this way, Jim." + +And Waring cursed. His plan was made. He would suffer no interference. +If Brewster were at the Starr Ranch, he would question him first. If he +were not, there would be no questioning. Waring determined to trail him. +If Brewster had left that part of the country, that would prove his +guilt. + +Waring knew that Hardy and his men had ridden south, endeavoring to find +some clue to the murderer's whereabouts. Waring, guided by almost +absolute knowledge, rode in the opposite direction and against a keen +instinct that told him High-Chin Bob was not at the ranch. Yet Waring +would not overlook the slightest chance. Brewster was of the type that +would kill a man in a quarrel and ride home, depending on his nerve and +lack of evidence to escape punishment. + +The Voice had said, "Not this way, Jim." And Waring knew that it had +been the voice of his own instinct. Yet a stubborn purpose held him to +his course. There was one chance in a thousand that Bob Brewster was at +the ranch and would disclaim all knowledge of the shooting. + +Starr was away when Waring arrived. Mrs. Starr made Waring welcome, and +told him that her husband would be in that evening. He was out with one +of his men running a line for a new fence. The old days of open range +were past. And had Mr. Waring heard that Pat had been killed? Buck Hardy +was out searching for the murderer. Did Mr. Waring know of a likely +foreman? Bob Brewster had left suddenly. Jasper--her husband--was not +well: had the rheumatics again. He could hardly walk--and his foreman +had left. "Things always happened that way." + +Mrs. Starr paused for lack of breath. + +"When did Brewster leave, Mrs. Starr?" + +"Why, the last Jasper seen of him was Wednesday morning. Jasper is +worried. I'm right glad you rode over. He'll be glad to see you." + +"Do you mind if I look over the horses in your corral?" + +"Goodness, no! I'll have Sammy go with you--" + +"Thanks; but I'd rather you said nothing to the boys." + +"You don't think that Bob--" + +"Mrs. Starr, I wouldn't say so if I knew it. Bob Brewster has friends up +here. I'm looking for one of them." + +"Goodness, Mr. Waring, I hope you don't think any of our boys was mixed +up in that." + +"I hope not. Have you seen Tony or Andy Brewster lately?" + +"Why, no. I--why, yes! Tony and Andy rode over last Sunday. I remember +it was Sunday because Bob was out to the line shack. Tony and Andy hung +around for a while, and then rode out to look for Bob." + +"Well, I'll step over and look at the horses. You say Jasper will be in +this evening?" + +"If he ain't too stiff with rheumatics to ride back." + +Waring walked round the corrals, looking for a pony lame forward and +with half a front shoe gone. Finally he noticed a short-coupled bay that +had not moved when he had waved his arm. Waring climbed through the bars +and cornered the horse. One front shoe was entirely gone, and the pony +limped as Waring turned him loose. + +Mrs. Starr was getting supper when Waring returned to the house. + +"Any of the boys coming in with Jasper?" he queried. + +"Why, nobody except Pete. Pete's been layin' off. He claims his horse +stepped in a gopher hole and threw him. Jasper took him along, feelin' +like he wanted some one on account of his rheumatics. Jasper gets so +stiff ridin' that sometimes he can hardly get on his horse. Mebby you +noticed Pete's pony, that chunky bay in the corral--lame forward." + +"Yes, I noticed that. But that pony didn't step in a gopher hole. He was +ridden down by some one in a hurry to get somewhere. He cast a shoe and +went tender on the rocks." + +Mrs. Starr stared at Waring. + +He shook his head and smiled. "I don't know. I can only guess at it." + +"Well, you'll stay for supper--and you can talk to Jasper. He's +worried." + +"Thank you. And would you mind asking this man Pete in to supper with +us?" + +"I figured to, him being with Jasper and not feeling right well." + +About sundown Starr rode in. Waring helped him from his horse. They +shook hands in silence. The old cattleman knew at once why Waring had +come, but he had no inkling of what was to follow. + +The cowboy, Pete, took care of the horses. A little later he clumped +into the house and took a seat in a corner. Waring paid no attention to +him, but talked with Starr about the grazing and the weather. + +Just before supper Starr introduced Waring. + +The cowboy winced at Waring's grip. "Heard tell of you from the boys," +he said. + +"You want to ride over to our place," said Waring pleasantly. "Pat and I +will show you some pretty land under fence." + +The cowboy's eyelids flickered. How could this man Waring speak of Pat +that way, when he must know that Pat had been killed? Everybody knew +that. Why didn't Mrs. Starr or Starr say something? But Starr was +limping to the table, and Mrs. Starr was telling them to come and have +supper. + +In the glow of the hanging lamp, Starr's lined, grizzled features were +as unreadable as carved bronze. Waring, at his left, sat directly +opposite the cowboy, Pete. The talk drifted from one subject to another, +but no one mentioned the killing of Pat. Waring noted the cowboy's lack +of appetite. + +"I looked over your saddle-stock this afternoon," said Waring. "Noticed +you had a bay out there, white blaze on his nose. You don't want to sell +that pony, do you?" + +"Oh, that's Pete's pony, Baldy," said Mrs. Starr. + +Starr glanced at Waring. The horse Baldy was good enough as cow-ponies +went, but Waring had not ridden over to buy horses. + +"I aim to keep that cayuse," said Pete, swallowing hard. + +"But every man has his price,"--and Waring smiled. "I'll make my offer; +a hundred, cash." + +"Not this evenin'," said the cowboy. + +Waring felt in the pocket of his flannel shirt. "I'll go you one better. +I'll make it a hundred, cash, and this to boot." And his arm +straightened. + +Pete started back. Waring's hand was on the table, the fingers closed. +His fingers slowly opened, and a crumpled piece of paper lay in his +palm. The cowboy's lips tightened. His eyes shifted from Waring to +Starr, and then back again. + +Mrs. Starr, who could not understand the strange silence of the men, +breathed hard and wiped her forehead with her apron. + +"Read it!" said Waring sharply. + +The cowboy took the piece of paper, and, spreading it out, glanced at it +hurriedly. + +"This ain't for me," he asserted. + +"Did you ever see it before?" + +"This? No. What have I got to do with the sheriff's office?" + +"Pete," said Waring, drawing back his hand, "you had better read that +note again." + +"Why, I--Pete can't read," said Mrs. Starr. "He can spell out printed +reading some, but not writing." + +"Then how did you know this paper was from the sheriff's office?" +queried Waring. + +The cowboy half rose. + +"Sit down!" thundered Waring. "Who sent you with a note to Pat last +Wednesday?" + +"Who said anybody sent me?" + +"Don't waste time! I say so. That broken shoe your cayuse cast says so, +for I trailed him from my ranch to the line fence. And you have said so +yourself. This paper is not from the sheriff's office. It's a tax +receipt." + +The cowboy's face went white. + +"Honest, so help me, Mr. Waring, I didn't know the Brewster boys was +after Pat. Bob he give me the paper. Said it was from the sheriff, and +I was to give it to Pat if you weren't around." + +"And if I happened to be around?" + +"I was to wait until you was out with the fence gang--" + +"How did you know I would be out with them?" + +"Bob Brewster told me you would be." + +Waring folded the piece of paper and tore it across. + +"Starr," he said, turning to the old cattleman, "you have heard and seen +what has happened since we sat down." And Waring turned on the cowboy. +"How much did Bob Brewster give you for this work?" + +"I was to get fifty dollars if I put it through." + +"And you put it through! You knew it was crooked. And you call yourself +a man! And you took a letter to Pat that called him out to be shot down +by that coyote! Do you know that Pat's gun was loaded when I found it; +that he didn't have a chance?" + +Waring's face grew suddenly old. He leaned back wearily. + +"I wonder just how you feel?" he said presently. "If I had done a trick +like that I'd take a gun and blow my brains out. God, I'd rather be +where Pat is than have to carry your load the rest of my life! But +you're yellow clean through, and Bob Brewster knew it and hired you. Now +you will take that lame cayuse and ride north just as quick as you can +throw a saddle on him. And when you go,"--and Waring rose and pointed +toward the doorway,--"forget the way back to this country." + +The cowboy shuffled his feet and picked up his hat. Starr got up stiffly +and limped to his room. He came out with a check, which he gave to the +cowboy. + +Waring pushed back his chair as though to step round the table and +follow the cowboy, but he hesitated, and finally sat down. + +"I'm sorry it happened this way, Mrs. Starr," he said. + +"It's awful! And one of our men!" + +"That's not your fault, Mrs. Starr." + +Starr fumbled along the clock shelf, found his pipe, and lighted it. He +sat down near Waring as Mrs. Starr began to clear away the dishes. + +"If I can do anything to help run down that white-livered skunk--" + +"You can, Jasper. Just keep it to yourself that I have been here. Pete +left of his own accord. I don't want the Brewster boys to know I'm out +on their trail." + +Starr nodded and glanced at his wife. "I looked to see you kill him," he +said, gesturing toward the doorway. + +"What! That poor fool? I thought you knew me better, Jasper." + + + + +Chapter XIX + + +_The Fight in the Open_ + +Starr was awakened at midnight by the sound of boot-heels on the +ranch-house veranda. He lighted a lamp and limped to the door. The +lamplight shone on the smooth, young face of a Mexican, whose black +sombrero was powdered with dust. + +"What do you want?" queried Starr. + +"I am look for the Señor Jim. I am Ramon, of his place. From the rancho +I ride to Stacey. He is not there. Then I come here." + +"And you ain't particular about wakin' folks up to tell 'em, either." + +"I would find him," said Ramon simply. + +"What's your business with Jim Waring?" + +"It is that I am his friend. I know that he is ride looking for the men +who killed my patron the Señor Pat. I am Ramon." + +"Uh-uh. Well, suppose you are?" + +"It is not the suppose. I am. I would find Señor Jim." + +"Who said he was here?" + +"The señora at the hotel would think that he was here." + +Starr scratched his grizzled head. Waring had said nothing about the +Mexican. And Starr did not like Mexicans. Moreover, Waring had said to +tell no one that he had been at the Starr Ranch. + +"I don't know where Jim Waring is," said Starr, and, stepping back, he +closed the door. + +Ramon strode to his horse and mounted. All gringos were not like the +Señor Jim. Many of them hated Mexicans. Ah, well, he would ride back to +Stacey. The señora at the cantina was a pleasant woman. She would not +shut the door in his face, for she knew who he was. He would ask for a +room for the night. In the morning he would search for Señor Jim. He +must find him. + +Mrs. Adams answered his knock at the hotel door by coming down and +letting him in. Ramon saw by the office clock that it was past three. +She showed him to a room. + +No, the señor had not been at the Starr Rancho. But he would find him. + +Ramon tiptoed to the open window, and knelt with his arms on the sill. A +falling star streaked the night. + +"And I shall as soon find him as I would find that star," he murmured. +"Yet to-morrow there will be the sun. And I will ask the Holy Mother to +help me. She will not refuse, knowing my heart." + +Without undressing, he flung himself on the bed. As he slept he dreamed; +a strange, vivid dream of the setting sun and a tiny horseman limned +against the gold. The horseman vanished as he rose to follow. If he +were only sure that it was the Señor Jim! The dream had said that the +señor had ridden into the west. In the morning-- + +With the dawn Ramon was up. Some one was moving about in the kitchen +below. Ramon washed and smoothed his long black hair with his hands. He +stepped quietly downstairs. Breakfast was not ready, so he walked to the +kitchen and talked with Anita. + +To her, who understood him as no gringo could, he told of his quest. She +knew nothing of the Señor Jim's whereabouts, save that he had come +yesterday and talked with the señora. Anita admired the handsome young +Mexican, whose face was so sad save when his quick smile lightened the +shadow. And she told him to go back to the ranch and not become +entangled in the affairs of the Americanos. It would be much better for +him so. + +Ramon listened patiently, but shook his head. The Señor Jim had been +kind to him; had given him his life down in the Sonora desert. Was Ramon +Ortego to forget that? + +Mrs. Adams declined to take any money for Ramon's room. He worked for +her husband, and it was at Ramon's own expense that he would make the +journey in search for him. Instead she had Anita put up a lunch for +Ramon. + +He thanked her and rode away, taking the western trail across the +morning desert. + +Thirty miles beyond Stacey, he had news of Waring. A Mexican rancher +had seen the gringo pass late in the evening. He rode a big buckskin +horse. He was sure it must be the man Ramon sought. There was not +another such horse in Arizona. + +Ramon rode on next day, inquiring occasionally at a ranch or crossroad +store. Once or twice he was told that such a horse and rider had passed +many hours ago. At noon he rested and fed his pony. All that afternoon +he rode west. Night found him in the village of Downey, where he made +further inquiry, but without success. + +Next morning he was on the road early, still riding west. No dream had +come to guide him, yet the memory of the former dream was keen. If that +dream were not true, all dreams were lies and prayer a useless ceremony. + +For three days he rode, tracing the Señor Jim from town to town, but +never catching up with him. Once he learned that Waring had slept in the +same town, but had departed before daybreak. Ramon wondered why no dream +had come to tell him of this. + +That day he rode hard. There were few towns on his way. He reined in +when he came to the fork where the southern highway branches from the +Overland Road. The western road led on across the mountains past the +great cañon. The other swept south through cattle land and into the +rough hills beyond which lay Phoenix and the old Apache Trail. He hailed +a buck-board coming down the southern road. The driver had seen nothing +of a buckskin horse. Ramon hesitated, closing his eyes. Suddenly in the +darkness glared a golden sun, and against it the tiny, black silhouette +of a horseman. His dream could not lie. + +Day by day the oval of his face grew narrower, until his cheek-bones +showed prominently. His lips lost their youthful fullness. Only his eyes +were the same; great, velvet-soft black eyes, gently questioning, veiled +by no subtlety, and brighter for the deepening black circles beneath +them. + +The fifth day found him patiently riding west, despite the fact that all +trace of Waring had been lost. Questioned, men shook their heads and +watched him ride away, his lithe figure upright, but his head bowed as +though some blind fate drew him on while his spirit drowsed in stagnant +hopelessness. + +To all his inquiries that day he received the same answer. Finally, in +the high country, he turned and retraced his way. + +A week after he had left Stacey he was again at the fork of the highway. +The southern road ran, winding, toward a shallow valley. He took this +road, peering ahead for a ranch, or habitation of any kind. That +afternoon he stopped at a wayside store and bought crackers and canned +meat. He questioned the storekeeper. Yes, the storekeeper had seen such +a man pass on a big buckskin cayuse several days ago. Ramon thanked him +and rode on. He camped just off the road that evening. In the morning he +set out again, cheered by a new hope. His dream had not lied; only +there should have been another dream to show him the way before he had +come to the fork in the road. + +That afternoon three men passed him, riding hard. They were in their +shirt-sleeves and were heavily armed. Their evident haste caused Ramon +to note their passing with some interest. Yet they had thundered past +him so fast, and in such a cloud of dust, that he could not see them +clearly. + + * * * * * + +Waring, gaunt as a wolf, unshaven, his hat rimmed with white dust, +pulled up in front of the weathered saloon in the town of Criswell on +the edge of the desert. + +He dismounted and stepped round the hitching-rail. His face was lined +and gray. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy. As he strode toward the +saloon door, he staggered and caught himself. Dex shuffled uneasily, +knowing that something was wrong with his master. + +Waring drew his hand across his eyes, and, entering the saloon, asked +for whiskey. As in a dream, he saw men sitting in the back of the place. +They leaned on their elbows and talked. He drank and called for more. +The loafers in the saloon glanced at each other. Three men had just +ridden through town and down into the desert, going over-light for such +a journey. And here was the fourth. They glanced at Waring's boots, his +belt, his strong shoulders, and his dusty sombrero. Whoever he was, he +fitted his clothes. But a man "going in" was a fool to take more than +one drink. The three men ahead had not stopped at the saloon. One of +them had filled a canteen at the tank near the edge of the town. They +had seemed in a great hurry for men of their kind. + +Waring wiped his lips and turned. His eyes had grown bright. For an +instant he glanced at the men, the brown walls spotted with "Police +Gazette" pictures, the barred window at the rear of the room. He drew +out his gun, spun the cylinder, and dropped it back into the holster. + +The stranger, whoever he was, seemed to be handy with that kind of tool. +Well, it was no affair of theirs. The desert had taken care of such +affairs in the past, and there was plenty of room for more. + +From the saloon doorway they saw Waring ride to the edge of town, +dismount, and walk out in the desert in a wide circle. He returned to +his horse, and, mounting, rode at right angles to the course the three +riders had taken. + +One of the men in the doorway spoke. "Thought so," he said with +finality. + +The others nodded. It was not their affair. The desert would take care +of that. + +About the middle of the afternoon, Waring rode down a sandy draw that +deepened to an arroyo. Near the mouth of the arroyo, where it broke off +abruptly to the desert level, he reined up. His horse stood with head +lowered, his gaunt sides heaving. Waring patted him. + +"Not much longer, old boy," he said affectionately. + +With his last burst of strength, the big buckskin had circled the course +taken by the three men, urged by Waring's spur and voice. They were +heading in a direct line across the level just beyond the end of the +arroyo where Waring was concealed. He could not see them, but as usual +he watched Dex's ears. The horse would be aware of their nearness +without seeing them. And Waring dared not risk the chance of discovery. +They must have learned that he was following them, for they had ridden +hard these past few days. Evidently they had been unwilling to chance a +fight in any of the towns. And, in fact, Waring had once been ahead of +them, knowing that they would make for the desert. But that night he had +overslept, and they had passed him in the early hours of morning. + +Slowly Dex raised his head and sniffed. Waring patted him, afraid that +he would nicker. He had dismounted to tighten the cinches when he +thought he heard voices in argument. He mounted again. The men must have +ridden hard to have made such good time. Again he heard voices. The men +were near the mouth of the arroyo. Waring tossed his hat to the ground +and dropped his gauntlets beside his hat. Carefully he wiped his +sweating hands on his bandanna. Dex threw up his head. His nostrils +worked. Waring spoke to him. + +A shadow touched the sand at the mouth of the arroyo. Waring leaned +forward and drove in the spurs. The big buckskin leaped to a run as he +rounded the shoulder of the arroyo. + +The three horsemen, who had been riding close together, spread out on +the instant. Waring threw a shot at the foremost figure even as High +Chin's first shot tore away the front of his shirt. Waring fired again. +Tony Brewster, on the ground, emptied his gun as Waring spurred over +him. Turning in the saddle as he flashed past High Chin, Waring fired at +close range at the other's belt buckle. Out on the levels, Andy +Brewster's horse was running with tail tucked down. Waring threw his +remaining shot at High Chin, and, spurring Dex, stood in his stirrups as +he reloaded his gun. + +The rider ahead was rocking in the saddle. He had been hit, although +Waring could not recall having shot at him. Suddenly the horse went +down, and Andy Brewster pitched to the sand. Waring laughed and reined +round on the run, expecting each instant to feel the blunt shock of a +bullet. High Chin was still sitting his horse, his gun held muzzle up. +Evidently he was not hard hit, or, if he were, he was holding himself +for a final shot at Waring. Behind him, almost beneath his horse, his +brother Tony had raised himself on his elbow and was fumbling with his +empty gun. + +Waring rode slowly toward High Chin. High Chin's hand jerked down. +Waring's wrist moved in answer. The two reports blended in a blunt, +echoless roar. Waring felt a shock that numbed his thigh. High Chin sat +stiffly in the saddle, his hand clasping the horn. He turned and gazed +down at his brother. + +"Thought you got him," said Tony Brewster from the ground. "Sit still +and I'll get him from under your horse." + +Waring knew now that High Chin was hit hard. The foreman had let his gun +slip from his fingers. Waring saw a slight movement just beneath High +Chin's horse. A shock lifted him from the saddle, and he dropped to the +ground as Tony Brewster fired. But there was no such thing as quit just +so long as Waring could see to shoot. Dragging himself to his gun, he +shook the sand from its muzzle. He knew that he could not last long. +Already flecks of fire danced before his eyes. He bit his lip as he +raised himself and drew fine on that black figure beneath High Chin's +horse. The gun jumped in his hand. Waring saw the black figure twitch +and roll over. Then his sight grew clouded. He tried to brush away the +blur that grew and spread. For an instant his eyes cleared. High Chin +still sat upright in the saddle. Waring raised his gun and fired +quickly. As his hand dropped to the sand, High Chin pitched headlong and +lay still. + +Then came a soft black veil that hid the glimmering sun and the wide +desert reaches. + +High Chin, his legs paralyzed by a slug that had torn through his +abdomen and lodged in his spine, knew that he had made his last fight. +He braced himself on his hands and called to his brother Tony. But his +brother did not answer. High Chin's horse had strayed, and was grazing +up the arroyo. The stricken man writhed round, feeling no pain, but +conscious of a horrible numbness across his back and abdomen. + +"When it hits my heart I'm done," he muttered. "Guess I'll go over and +keep Tony company." + +Inch by inch he dragged himself across the sand. Tony Brewster lay on +his back. High Chin touched him; felt of the limp arm, and gazed +curiously at the blue-edged hole in his brother's chest. With awful +labor that brought a clammy moisture to his face, he managed to drag +himself close to his brother and writhe round to a position where he +could sit up, braced against the other's body. He gazed out across the +desert. It had been a fast fight. Waring was done for. High Chin +wondered how long he would last. The sun was near the horizon. It seemed +only a few minutes ago that the sun had been directly overhead and he +and his brothers had been cursing the heat. It was growing cold. He +shivered. A long shadow reached out toward him from the bank of the +arroyo. In a few minutes it would touch him. Then would come night and +the stars. The numbness was creeping toward his chest. He could not +breathe freely. He moved his arms. _They_ were alive yet. He opened and +closed his fingers, gazing at them curiously. It was a strange thing +that a man should die like this; a little at a time, and not suffer much +pain. The fading flame of his old recklessness flared up. + +"I'm goin' across," he said. "But, by God, I'm takin' Jim Waring with +me!" + +He glanced toward the buckskin horse that stood so patiently beside that +silent figure out there. Waring was done for. High Chin blinked. A long +shaft of sunlight spread across the sand, and in the glow High Chin saw +that the horse was moving toward him. He stared for a few seconds. Then +he screamed horribly. + +Waring, his hand gripping the stirrup, was dragging across the sand +beside the horse that stepped sideways and carefully as Waring urged him +on. Dex worked nearer to High Chin, but so slowly that High Chin thought +it was some horrible phantasy sent to awaken fear in his dulled brain. +But that dragging figure, white-faced and terrible--that was real! +Within a few paces of High Chin, Dex stopped and turned his head to look +down at Waring. And Waring, swaying up on his hands, laughed wildly. + +"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun--" He collapsed and lay +still. + +High Chin sat staring dully at the gunman's uncovered head. The horse +sniffed at Waring. High Chin's jaw sagged. He slumped down, and lay +back across the body of his brother. + + * * * * * + +A pathway of lamplight floated out and across the main street of +Criswell. A solitary figure lounged at the saloon bar. The sharp barking +of a dog broke the desert silence. The lounger gazed at the path of +lamplight which framed the bare hitching-rail. His companions of the +afternoon had departed to their homes. Again the dog barked shrilly. The +saloon-keeper moved to a chair and picked up a rumpled paper. + +The lounger, leaning on his elbow, suddenly straightened. He pointed +toward the doorway. The saloon-keeper saw the motion from the corner of +his eye. He lowered his paper and rose. In the soft radiance a riderless +horse stood at the hitching-rail, his big eyes glowing, his ears pricked +forward. Across the horse's shoulder was a ragged tear, black against +the tawny gold of his coat. The men glanced at each other. It was the +horse of the fourth man; the man who had staggered in that afternoon, +asked for whiskey, and who had left as buoyantly as though he went to +meet a friend. + +"They got him," said the saloon-keeper. + +"They got him," echoed the other. + +Together they moved to the doorway and peered out. The man who had first +seen the horse stepped down and tied the reins to the rail. He ran his +hand down the horse's shoulder over muscles that quivered as he +examined the wound. He glanced at the saddle, the coiled rope, the +slackened cinches, and pointed to a black stain on the stirrup leather. + +[Illustration: I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun] + +"From the south," he said. "Maguey rope, and that saddle was made in +Mexico." + +"Mebby he wants water," suggested the saloon-keeper. + +"He's had it. Reins are wet where he drug 'em in the tank." + +"Wonder who them three fellas was?" + +"Don' know. From up north, by their rig. I'm wonderin' who the fourth +fella was--and where he is." + +"Why, he's out there, stiff'nin' on the sand. They's been a fight. And, +believe me, if the others was like him--she was a dandy!" + +"I guess it's up to us to do somethin'," suggested the lounger. + +"Not to-night, Bill. You don't ketch me ridin' into a flash in the dark +before I got time to tell myself I'm a dam' fool. In the mornin', +mebby--" + +Their heads came up as they heard a horse pounding down the road. A lean +pony, black with sweat, jumped to a trembling stop. + +A young Mexican swung down and walked stiffly up to Dex. + +"Where is Señor Jim?" he queried, breathing hard. + +"Don' know, hombre. This his hoss?" + +"Si! It is Dex." + +'Well, the hoss came in, recent, draggin' the reins." + +"Then you have seen him?" + +"Seen who? Who are you, anyway?" + +"Me, I am Ramon Ortego, of Sonora. The Señor Jim is my friend. I would +find him." + +"Well, if your friend sports a black Stetson and a dam' bad eye and +performs with a short-barreled .45, he rode in this afternoon just about +a hour behind three other fellas. They lit out into the dry spot. Reckon +you'll find your friend out there, if the coyotes ain't got to him." + +Ramon limped to the rail and untied Dex. Then he mounted his own horse. + +"Dex," he said softly, riding alongside, "where is the Señor Jim?" + +The big buckskin swung his head round and sniffed Ramon's hand. Then he +plodded down the street toward the desert. At the tank Ramon let his +horse drink. Dex, like a great dog, sniffed the back trail on which he +had come, plodding through the night toward the spot where he knew his +master to be. + +Ramon, burdened with dread and weariness, rode with his hands clasped +round the saddle-horn. The Señor Jim, his Señor Jim, had found those +whom he sought. He had not come back. Ramon was glad that he had filled +the canteen. If the man who had killed his Señor Jim had escaped, he +would follow him even as he had followed Waring. And he would find him. +"And then I shall kill him," said Ramon simply. "He does not know my +face. As I speak to him the Señor Jim's name I shall kill him, and the +Señor Jim will know then that I have been faithful." + +The big buckskin plodded on across the sand, the empty stirrups +swinging. Ramon's gaze lifted to the stars. He smiled wanly. + +"I follow him. Wherever he has gone, I follow him, and he will not lose +the way." + +His bowed head, nodding to the pace of the pony, seemed to reiterate in +grotesque assertion his spoken word. Ramon's tired body tingled as Dex +strode faster. The horse nickered, and an answering nicker came from the +night. His own tired pony struck into a trot. Dex stopped. Ramon slid +down, and, stumbling forward, he touched a black bulk that lay on the +sand. + +Waring, despite his trim build, was a heavy man. Ramon was just able to +lift him and lay him across the saddle. A coyote yipped from the brush +of the arroyo. As Ramon started back toward town his horse shied at +something near the arroyo's entrance. Ramon did not know that the bodies +of Tony and Bob Brewster formed that low mound half-hidden by the +darkness. + +A yellow star, close to the eastern horizon, twinkled faintly and then +disappeared. The saloon at Criswell had been closed for the night. + +Next morning the marshal of Criswell sent a messenger to the telegraph +office at the junction. There was no railroad entering the Criswell +Valley. The messenger bore three telegraph messages; one to Sheriff +Hardy, one to Bud Shoop, and one to Mrs. Adams. + +Ramon, outside Waring's room in the marshal's house, listened as the +local doctor moved about. Presently he heard the doctor ask a question. +Waring's voice answered faintly. Ramon stepped from the door and found +his way to the stable. Dex, placidly munching alfalfa, turned his head +as Ramon came in. + +"The Señor Jim is not dead," he told the horse. + +And, leaning against Dex, he wept softly, as women weep, with a +happiness too great to bear. The big horse nuzzled his shoulder with his +velvet-smooth nose, as though he would sympathize. Then he turned to +munching alfalfa again in huge content. He had had a weary journey. And +though his master had not come to feed him, here was the gentle, +low-voiced Ramon, whom he knew as a friend. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +_City Folks_ + +Bud Shoop's new duties kept him exceedingly busy. As the days went by he +found himself more and more tied to office detail. Fortunately Torrance +had left a well-organized corps of rangers, each with his own special +work mapped out, work that Shoop understood, with the exception of +seeding and planting experiments, which Lundy, the expert, attended to +as though the reserve were his own and his life depended upon successful +results along his special line. + +Shoop had long since given up trying to dictate letters. Instead he +wrote what he wished to say on slips of paper which his clerk cast into +conventional form. The genial Bud's written directions were brief and to +the point. + +Among the many letters received was one from a writer of Western +stories, applying for a lease upon which to build a summer camp. His +daughter's health was none too good, and he wanted to be in the +mountains. Shoop studied the letter. He had a vague recollection of +having heard of the writer. The request was legitimate. There was no +reason for not granting it. + +Shoop called in his stenographer. "Ever read any of that fella's +books?" + +"Who? Bronson? Yes. He writes bang-up Western stories." + +"He does, eh? Well, you get hold of one of them stories. I want to read +it. I've lived in the West a few minutes myself." + +A week later Shoop had made his decision. He returned a shiny, new +volume to the clerk. + +"I never took to writin' folks reg'lar," he told the clerk. "Mebby I got +the wrong idee of 'em. Now I reckon some of them is human, same as you +and me. Why, do you know I been through lots of them things he writes +about. And, by gollies, when I read that there gun-fight down in Texas, +I ketched myself feelin' along my hip, like I was packin' a gun. And +when I read about that cowboy's hoss,--the one with the sarko eye and +the white legs,--why, I ketched myself feelin' for my ole bandanna to +blow my nose. An' I seen dead hosses a-plenty. But you needn't to say +nothin' about that in the letter. Just tell him to mosey over and we'll +talk it out. If a man what knows hosses and folks like he does wa'n't +raised in the West, he ought to been. Heard anything from Adams?" + +"He was in last week. He's up on Baldy. Packed some stuff up to the +lookout." + +"Uh-uh. Now, the land next to my shack on the Blue ain't a bad place for +this here writer. I got the plat, and we can line out the five acres +this fella wants from my corner post. But he's comin' in kind of late to +build a camp." + +"It will be good weather till December," said the clerk. + +"Well, you write and tell him to come over. Seen anything of Hardy and +his men lately?" + +"Not since last Tuesday." + +"Uh-uh. They're millin' around like a lot of burros--and gettin' +nowhere. But Jim Waring's out after that bunch that got Pat. If I wasn't +so hefty, I'd 'a' gone with him. I tell you the man that got Pat ain't +goin' to live long to brag on it." + +"They say it was the Brewster boys," ventured the stenographer. + +"They say lots of things, son. But Jim Waring _knows_. God help the man +that shot Pat when Jim Waring meets up with him. And I want to tell you +somethin'. Be kind of careful about repeatin' what 'they say' to +anybody. You got nothin' to back you up if somebody calls your hand. +'They' ain't goin' to see you through. And you named the Brewster boys. +Now, just suppose one of the Brewster boys heard of it and come over +askin' you what you meant? I bet you a new hat Jim Waring ain't said +Brewster's name to a soul--and he _knows_. I'm goin' over to Stacey. Any +mail the stage didn't get?" + +"Letter for Mrs. Adams." + +"Uh-uh. Lorry writes to his ma like he was her beau--reg'lar and +plenty. Funny thing, you can't get a word out of him about wimmin-folk, +neither. He ain't that kind of a colt. But I reckon when he sees the gal +he wants he'll saddle up and ride out and take her." And Bud chuckled. + +Bondsman rapped the floor with his tail. Bondsman never failed to +express a sympathetic mood when his master chuckled. + +"Now, look at that," said Shoop, grinning. "He knows I'm goin' over to +Stacey. He heard me say it. And he says I got to take him along, 'cause +he knows I ain't goin' on a hoss. That there dog bosses me around +somethin' scandalous." + +The stenographer smiled as Shoop waddled from the office with Bondsman +at his heels. There was something humorous, almost pathetic, in the +gaunt and grizzled Airedale's affection for his rotund master. And +Shoop's broad back, with the shoulders stooped slightly and the set +stride as he plodded here and there, often made the clerk smile. Yet +there was nothing humorous about Shoop's face when he flashed to anger +or studied some one who tried to mask a lie, or when he reprimanded his +clerk for naming folk that it was hazardous to name. + +The typewriter clicked; a fly buzzed on the screen door; a beam of +sunlight flickered through the window. The letter ran:-- + + Yours of the 4th inst. received and contents noted. In answer would + state that Supervisor Shoop would be glad to have you call at your + earliest convenience in regard to leasing a camp-site on the White + Mountain Reserve. + +Essentially a business letter of the correspondence-school type. + +But the stenographer was not thinking of style. He was wondering what +the girl would be like. There was to be a girl. The writer had said that +he wished to build a camp to which he could bring his daughter, who was +not strong. The clerk thought that a writer's daughter might be an +interesting sort of person. Possibly she was like some of the heroines +in the writer's stories. It would be interesting to meet her. He had +written a poem once himself. It was about spring, and had been published +in the local paper. He wondered if the writer's daughter liked poetry. + +In the meantime, Lorry, with two pack-animals and Gray Leg, rode the +hills and cañons, attending to the many duties of a ranger. + +And as he caught his stride in the work he began to feel that he was his +own man. Miles from headquarters, he was often called upon to make a +quick decision that required instant and individual judgment. He made +mistakes, but never failed to report such mistakes to Shoop. Lorry +preferred to give his own version of an affair that he had mishandled +rather than to have to explain some other version later. He was no +epitome of perfection. He was inclined to be arbitrary when he knew he +was in the right. Argument irritated him. He considered his "Yes" or +"No" sufficient, without explanation. + +He made Shoop's cabin his headquarters, and spent his spare time cording +wood. He liked his occupation, and felt rather independent with the +comfortable cabin, a good supply of food, a corral and pasture for the +ponies, plenty of clear, cold water, and a hundred trails to ride each +day from dawn to dark as he should choose. Once unfamiliar with the +timber country, he grew to love the twinkling gold of the aspens, the +twilight vistas of the spruce and pines, and the mighty sweep of the +great purple tides of forest that rolled down from the ranges into a +sheer of space that had no boundary save the sky. + +He grew a trifle thinner in the high country. The desert tan of his +cheeks and throat deepened to a ruddy bronze. + +Aside from pride in his work, he took special pride in his equipment, +keeping his bits and conchas polished and his leather gear oiled. +Reluctantly he discarded his chaps. He found that they hindered him when +working on foot. Only when he rode into Jason for supplies did he wear +his chaps, a bit of cowboy vanity quite pardonable in his years. + +If he ever thought of women at all, it was when he lounged and smoked by +the evening fire in the cabin, sometimes recalling "that Eastern girl +with the jim-dandy mother." He wondered if they ever thought of him, and +he wished that they might know he was now a full-fledged ranger with +man-size responsibilities. "And mebby they think I'm ridin' south yet," +he would say to himself. "I must have looked like I didn't aim to pull +up this side of Texas, from the way I lit out." But, then, women didn't +understand such things. + +Occasionally he confided something of the kind to the spluttering fire, +laughing as he recalled the leg of lamb with which he had waved his +hasty farewell. + +"And I was scared, all right. But I wasn't so scared I forgot I'd get +hungry." Which conclusion seemed to satisfy him. + +When he learned that a writer had leased five acres next to Bud's cabin, +he was skeptical as to how he would get along with "strangers." He liked +elbow-room. Yet, on second thought, it would make no difference to him. +He would not be at the cabin often nor long at a time. The evenings were +lonely sometimes. + +But when camped at the edge of the timber on some mountain meadow, with +his ponies grazing in the starlit dusk, when the little, leaping flame +of his night fire flung ruddy shadows that danced in giant mimicry in +the cavernous arches of the pines; when the faint tinkle of the belled +pack-horse rang a faëry cadence in the distance; then there was no such +thing as loneliness in his big, outdoor world. Rather, he was content in +a solid way. An inner glow of satisfaction because of work well done, a +sense of well-being, founded upon perfect physical health and ease, +kept him from feeling the need of companionship other than that of his +horses. Sometimes he sat late into the night watching the pine gum ooze +from a burning log and swell to golden bubbles that puffed into tiny +flames and vanished in smoky whisperings. At such times a companion +would not have been unwelcome, yet he was content to be alone. + +Later, when Lorry heard that the writer was to bring his daughter into +the high country, he expressed himself to Shoop's stenographer briefly: +"Oh, hell!" Yet the expletive was not offensive, spoken gently and +merely emphasizing Lorry's attitude toward things feminine. + +While Lorry was away with the pack-horses and a week's riding ahead of +him, the writer arrived in Jason, introduced himself and his +daughter,--a rather slender girl of perhaps sixteen or eighteen,--and +later, accompanied by the genial Bud, rode up to the Blue Mesa and +inspected the proposed camp-site. As they rode, Bud discoursed upon the +climate, ways of building a log cabin, wild turkeys, cattle, sheep, +grazing, fuel, and water, and concluded his discourse with a +dissertation upon dogs in general and Airedales in particular. The +writer was fond of dogs and knew something about Airedales. This +appealed to Shoop even more than had the writer's story of the West. + +Arrived at the mesa, tentative lines were run and corners marked. The +next day two Mormon youths from Jason started out with a load of lumber +and hardware. The evening of the second day following they arrived at +the homestead, pitched a tent, and set to work. That night they unloaded +the lumber. Next morning they cleared a space for the cabin. By the end +of August the camp was finished. The Mormon boys, to whom freighting +over the rugged hills was more of a pastime than real work, brought in a +few pieces of furniture--iron beds, a stove, cooking-utensils, and the +hardware and provisions incidental to the maintenance of a home in the +wilderness. + +The writer and his daughter rode up from Jason with the final load of +supplies. Excitement and fatigue had so overtaxed the girl's slender +store of strength that she had to stay in bed for several days. +Meanwhile, her father put things in order. The two saddle-horses, +purchased under the critical eye of Bud Shoop, showed an inclination to +stray back to Jason, so the writer turned them into Lorry's corral each +evening, as his own lease was not entirely fenced. + +Riding in from his long journey one night, Lorry passed close to the new +cabin. It loomed strangely raw and white in the moonlight. He had +forgotten that there was to be a camp near his. The surprise rather +irritated him. Heretofore he had considered the Blue Mesa was his by a +kind of natural right. He wondered how he would like the city folks. +They had evidently made themselves at home. Their horses were in his +corral. + +As he unsaddled Gray Leg, a light flared up in the strange camp. The +door opened, and a man came toward him. + +"Good-evening," said the writer. "I hope my horses are not in your way." + +"Sure not," said Lorry as he loosened a pack-rope. + +He took off the packs and lugged them to the veranda. The tired horses +rolled, shook themselves, and meandered toward the spring. + +"I'm Bronson. My daughter is with me. We are up here for the summer." + +"My name is Adams," said Lorry, shaking hands. + +"The ranger up here. Yes. Well, I'm glad to meet you, Adams. My daughter +and I get along wonderfully, but it will be rather nice to have a +neighbor. I heard you ride by, and wanted to explain about my horses." + +"That's all right, Mr. Bronson. Just help yourself." + +"Thank you. Dorothy--my daughter--has been under the weather for a few +days. She'll be up to-morrow, I think. She has been worrying about our +using your corral. I told her you would not mind." + +"Sure not. She's sick, did you say?" + +"Well, over-tired. She is not very strong." + +"Lungs?" queried Lorry, and immediately he could have kicked himself for +saying it. + +"I'm afraid so, Adams. I thought this high country might do her good." + +"It's right high for some. Folks got to take it easy at first; +'specially wimmin-folk. I'm right sorry your girl ain't well." + +"Thank you. I shouldn't have mentioned it. She is really curious to know +how you live, what you do, and, in fact, what a real live ranger looks +like. Mr. Shoop told her something about you while we were in Jason. +They became great friends while the camp was building. She says she +knows all about you, and tries to tease me by keeping it to herself." + +"Bud--my boss--is some josher," was all that Lorry could think of to say +at the time. + +Bronson went back to his cabin. Lorry, entering his camp, lighted the +lamp and built a fire. The camp looked cozy and cheerful after a week on +the trail. + +When he had eaten he sat down to write to his mother. He would tell her +all about the new cabin and the city folks. But before he had written +more than to express himself "that it was too darned bad a girl had to +stay up in the woods without no other wimmin-folks around," he became +drowsy. The letter remained unfinished. He would finish it to-morrow. He +would smoke awhile and then go to bed. + +A healthy young animal himself, he could not understand what sickness +meant. And as for lungs--he had forgotten there were such things in a +person's make-up. And sick folks couldn't eat "regular grub." It must be +pretty tough not to be able to eat heartily. Now, there was that wild +turkey he had shot near the Big Spring. He tiptoed to the door. The +lights were out in the other cabin. It was closed season for turkey, but +then a fellow needed a change from bacon and beans once in a while. + +He had hidden the turkey in a gunny-sack which hung from a kitchen +rafter. Should he leave it in the sack, hang it from a rafter of their +veranda, out of reach of a chance bobcat or coyote, or--it would be much +more of a real surprise to hang the big bird in front of their door in +all his feathered glory. The sack would spoil the effect. + +He took off his boots and walked cautiously to the other cabin. The +first person to come out of that cabin next morning would actually bump +into the turkey. It would be a good joke. + +"And if he's the right kind of a hombre he won't talk about it," thought +Lorry as he returned to his camp. "And if he ain't, I am out one fine +bird, and I'll know to watch out for him." + + + + +Chapter XXI + + +_A Slim Whip of a Girl_ + +When Bronson opened his door to the thin sunlight and the crisp chill of +the morning, he chuckled. He had made too many camps in the outlands to +be surprised by an unexpected gift of game out of season. His neighbor +was a ranger, and all rangers were incidentally game wardens. Bronson +believed heartily in the conservation of game, and in this instance he +did not intend to let that turkey spoil. + +He called to his daughter. + +Her brown eyes grew big. "Why, it's a turkey!" + +Bronson laughed. "And to-day is Sunday. We'll have a housewarming and +invite the ranger to dinner." + +"Did he give it to you? Isn't it beautiful! What big wings--and the +breast feathers are like little bronze flames! Do wild turkeys really +fly?" + +"Well, rather. It's a fine sight to see them run to a rim rock and float +off across a cañon." + +"Did you tell him about our horses? Is he nice? What did he say? But I +could never imagine a turkey like that flying. I always think of turkeys +as strutting around a farmyard with their heads held back and all puffed +out in front. This one is heavy! I can't see how he could even begin to +fly." + +"They have to get a running start. Then they usually flop along and +sail up into a tree. Once they are in a tree, they can float off into +space easily. They seem to fly slowly, but they can disappear fast +enough. The ranger seems to be a nice chap." + +"Did he really give the turkey to us?" + +"It was hanging right here when I came out. I can't say that he gave it +to us. You see, it is closed season for turkey." + +"But we must thank him." + +"We will. Let's ask him to dinner. He seems to be a pleasant chap; quite +natural. He said we were welcome to keep our horses in his corral. But +if you want to have him for a real friendly neighbor, Dorothy, don't +mention the word 'turkey.' We'll just roast it, make biscuits and gravy, +and ask him to dinner. He will understand." + +"Then I am going to keep the wings and tail to put on the wall of my +room. How funny, not to thank a person for such a present." + +"The supervisor would reprimand him for killing game out of season, if +he heard about it." + +"But just one turkey?" + +"That isn't the idea. If it came to Mr. Shoop that one of his men was +breaking the game laws, Mr. Shoop would have to take notice of it. Not +that Shoop would care about one of his men killing a turkey to eat, but +it would hurt the prestige of the Service. The natives would take +advantage of it and help themselves to game." + +"Of course, you know all about those matters. But can't I even say +'turkey' when I ask him to have some?" + +"Oh," laughed Bronson, "call it chicken. He'll eat just as heartily." + +"The ranger is up," said Dorothy. "I can hear him whistling." + +"Then let's have breakfast and get this big fellow ready to roast. It +will take some time." + +An hour later, Lorry, fresh-faced and smiling, knocked on the lintel of +their open doorway. + +Bronson, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a diminutive apron to which +clung a fluff of turkey feathers, came from the kitchen. + +"Good-morning. You'll excuse my daughter. She is busy." + +"I just came over to ask how she was." + +"Thank you. She is much better. We want you to have dinner with us." + +"Thanks. But I got some beans going--" + +"But this is chicken, man! And it is Sunday." + +Lorry's gray eyes twinkled. "Chickens are right scarce up here. And +chicken sure tastes better on Sunday. Was you goin' to turn your stock +out with mine?" + +"That's so!" + +They turned Bronson's horses out, and watched them charge down the mesa +toward the three animals grazing lazily in the morning sunshine. + +"Your horses will stick with mine," said Lorry. "They won't stray now." + +"Did I hear a piano this morning, or did I dream that I heard some one +playing?" + +"Oh, it was me, foolin' with Bud's piano in there. Bud's got an amazin' +music-box. Ever see it?" + +"No. I haven't been in your cabin." + +"Well, come right along over. This was Bud's camp when he was +homesteadin'. Ever see a piano like that?" + +Bronson gazed at the carved and battered piano, stepping close to it to +inspect the various brands. "It is rather amazing. I didn't know Mr. +Shoop was fond of music." + +"Well, he can't play reg'lar. But he sure likes to try. You ought to +hear him and Bondsman workin' out that 'Annie Laurie' duet. First off, +you feel like laughin'. But Bud gets so darned serious you kind of +forget he ain't a professional. 'Annie Laurie' ain't no dance tune--and +when Bud and the dog get at it, it is right mournful." + +"I have seen a few queer things,"--and Bronson laughed,--"but this beats +them all." + +"You'd be steppin' square on Bud's soul if you was to josh him about +that piano," said Lorry. + +"I wouldn't. But thank you just the same. You have a neat place here, +Adams." + +"When you say 'neat' you say it all." + +"I detest a fussy camp. One gets enough of that sort of thing in town. +Is that a Gallup saddle or a Frazier?" + +"Frazier." + +"I used a Heiser when I was in Mexico. They're all good." + +"That's what I say. But there's a hundred cranks to every make of saddle +and every rig. You said you were in Mexico?" + +"Before I was married. As a young man I worked for some of the mines. I +went there from college." + +"I reckon you've rambled some." And a new interest lightened Lorry's +eyes. Perhaps this man wasn't a "plumb tenderfoot," after all. + +"Oh, not so much. I punched cattle down on the Hassayampa and in the +Mogollons. Then I drifted up to Alaska. But I always came back to +Arizona. New Mexico is mighty interesting, and so is Colorado. +California is really the most wonderful State of all, but somehow I +can't keep away from Arizona." + +"Shake! I never been out of Arizona, except when I was a kid, but she's +the State for me." + +A shadow flickered in the doorway. Lorry turned to gaze at a delicate +slip of a girl, whose big brown eyes expressed both humor and +trepidation. + +"My daughter Dorothy, Mr. Adams. This is our neighbor, Dorothy." + +"I'm right glad to meet you, miss." + +And Lorry's strong fingers closed on her slender hand. To his robust +sense of the physical she appealed as something exceedingly fragile and +beautiful, with her delicate, clear coloring and her softly glowing +eyes. What a little hand! And what a slender arm! And yet Lorry thought +her arm pretty in its rounded slenderness. He smiled as he saw a turkey +feather fluttering on her shoulder. + +"Looks like that chicken was gettin' the best of you," he said, smiling. + +"That's just it," she agreed, nothing abashed. "Father, you'll have to +help." + +"You'll excuse us, won't you? We'll finish our visit at dinner." + +Lorry had reports to make out. He dragged a chair to the table. That man +Bronson was all right. Let's see--the thirtieth--looked stockier in +daylight. Had a good grip, too, and a clear, level eye. One mattock +missing in the lookout cabin--and the girl; such a slender whip of a +girl! Just like a young willow, but not a bit like an invalid. Buckley +reports that his man will have the sheep across the reservation by the +fourth of the month. Her father had said she was not over-strong. And +her eyes! Lorry had seen little fawns with eyes like that--big, +questioning eyes, startled rather than afraid. + +"Reckon everything she sees up here is just amazin' her at every jump. +I'll bet she's happy, even if she _has_ got lungs. Now, a fella couldn't +help but to like a girl like that. She would made a dandy sister, and a +fella would just about do anything in the world for such a sister. And +she wouldn't have to ask, at that. He would just naturally want to do +things for her, because--well, because he couldn't help feeling that +way. Funny how some wimmin made a man feel like he wanted to just about +worship them, and not because they did anything except be just +themselves. Now, there was that Mrs. Weston. She was a jim-dandy +woman--but she was different. She always seemed to know just what she +was going to say and do. And Mrs. Weston's girl, Alice. Reckon I'd scrap +with her right frequent. She was still--" + +Dog-gone it! Where was he drifting to? Sylvestre's sheep were five days +crossing the reserve. Smith reported a small fire north of the lookout. +The Ainslee boys put the fire out. It hadn't done any great damage. + +Lorry sat back and chewed the lead pencil. As he gazed out of the window +across the noon mesa a faint fragrance was wafted through the doorway. +He sniffed and grinned. It was the warm flavor of wild turkey, a flavor +that suggested crispness, with juicy white meat beneath. Lorry jumped up +and grabbed a pail as he left the cabin. On his way back from the +spring, Bronson waved to him. Lorry nodded. And presently he presented +himself at Bronson's cabin, his face glowing, his flannel shirt neatly +brushed, and a dark-blue silk bandanna knotted gracefully at his throat. + +"This is the princess," said Bronson, gesturing toward his daughter. +"And here is the feast." + +"And it was a piano," continued Bronson as they sat down. + +"Really? 'Way up here?" + +"My daughter plays a little," explained Bronson. + +"Well, you're sure welcome to use that piano any time. If I'm gone, the +door is unlocked just the same." + +"Thank you, Mr. Adams, I only play to amuse myself now." + +Lorry fancied there was a note of regret in her last word. He glanced at +her. She was gazing wistfully out of the window. It hurt him to see that +tinge of hopelessness on her young face. + +"This here chicken is fine!" he asserted. + +The girl's eyes were turned to him. She smiled and glanced roguishly at +her father. Lorry laughed outright. + +"What is the joke?" she demanded. + +"Nothin'; only my plate is empty, Miss Bronson." + +Bronson grabbed up carving-knife and fork. "Great Caesar! I must have +been dreaming. I _was_ dreaming. I was recalling a turkey hunt down in +Virginia with Colonel Stillwell and his man Plato. Plato was a good +caller--but we didn't get a turkey. Now, this is as tender as--as it +ought to be. A little more gravy? And as we came home, the colonel, who +was of the real mint-julep type, proposed as a joke that Plato see what +he could do toward getting some kind of bird for dinner that night. And +when Plato lifted the covers, sure enough there was a fine, fat roast +chicken. The colonel, who lived in town and did not keep chickens, asked +Plato how much he had paid for it. Plato almost dropped the cover. +'Mars' George,' he said with real solicitude in his voice,' is you +sick?' And speaking of turkeys--" + +"Who was speaking of turkeys?" asked Dorothy. + +"Why, I think this chicken is superior to any domestic turkey I ever +tasted," concluded Bronson. + +"Was you ever in politics?" queried Lorry. And they all laughed +heartily. + +After dinner Lorry asked for an apron. + +Dorothy shook her finger at him. "It's nice of you--but you don't mean +it." + +"Now, ma wouldn't 'a' said that, miss. She'd 'a' just tied one of her +aprons on me and turned me loose on the dishes. I used to help her like +that when I was a kid. Ma runs the hotel at Stacey." + +"Why, didn't we stop there for dinner?" asked Dorothy. + +"Yes, indeed. All right, Adams, I'll wash 'em and you can dry 'em, and +Dorothy can rest." + +"It's a right smilin' little apron," commented Lorry as Dorothy handed +it to him. + +"And you do look funny! My, I didn't know you were so big! I'll have to +get a pin." + +"I reckon it's the apron looks funny," said Lorry. + +"I made it," she said, teasing him. + +"Then that's why it is so pretty," said Lorry gravely. + +Dorothy decided to change the subject. "I think you should let me wash +the dishes, father." + +"You cooked the dinner, Peter Pan." + +"Then I'll go over and try the piano. May I?" + +"If you'll play for us when we come over, Miss Bronson." + +Bronson and Lorry sat on the veranda and smoked. Dorothy was playing a +sprightly melody. She ceased to play, and presently the sweet old tune +"Annie Laurie" came to them. Lorry, with cigarette poised in his +fingers, hummed the words to himself. Bronson was watching him +curiously. The melody came to an end. Lorry sighed. + +"Sounds like that ole piano was just singin' its heart out all by +itself," he said. "I wish Bud could hear that." + +Almost immediately came the sprightly notes of "Anitra's Dance." + +"And that's these here woods--and the water prancin' down the rocks, and +a slim kind of a girl dancin' in the sunshine and then runnin' away to +hide in the woods again." And Lorry laughed softly at his own conceit. + +"Do you know the tune?" queried Bronson. + +"Nope. I was just makin' that up." + +"That's just Dorothy," said Bronson. + +Lorry turned and gazed at him. And without knowing how it came about, +Lorry understood that there had been another Dorothy who had played and +sung and danced in the sunshine. And that this sprightly, slender girl +was a bud of that vanished flower, a bud whose unfolding Bronson watched +with such deep solicitude. + + + + +Chapter XXII + + +_A Tune for Uncle Bud_ + +Lorry had ridden to Jason, delivered his reports to the office, and +received instructions to ride to the southern line of the reservation. +He would be out many days. He had brought down a pack-horse, and he +returned to camp late that night with provisions and some mail for the +Bronsons. + +The next day he delayed starting until Dorothy had appeared. Bronson +told him frankly that he was sorry to see him go, especially for such a +length of time. + +"But I'm glad," said Dorothy. + +Lorry stared at her. Her face was grave, but there was a twinkle of +mischief in her eyes. She laughed. + +"Because it will be such fun welcoming you home again." + +"Oh, I thought it might be that piano--" + +"Now I shan't touch it!" she pouted, making a deliberate face at him. + +He laughed. She did such unexpected things, did them so unaffectedly. +Bronson put his arms about her shoulders. + +"We're keeping Mr. Adams, Peter Pan. He is anxious to be off. He has +been ready for quite a while and I think he has been waiting till you +appeared so that he could say good-bye." + +"Are you anxious to be off?" she queried. + +"Yes, ma'am. It's twenty miles over the ridge to good grass and water." + +"Why, twenty miles isn't so far!" + +"They's considerable up and down in them twenty miles, Miss Bronson. +Now, it wouldn't be so far for a turkey. He could fly most of the way. +But a horse is different, and I'm packin' a right fair jag of stuff." + +"Well, good-bye, ranger man. Good-bye, Gray Leg,--and you two poor +horses that have to carry the packs. Don't stay away all winter." + +Lorry swung up and started the pack-horses. At the edge of the timber he +turned and waved his hat. Dorothy and her father answered with a hearty +Good-bye that echoed through the slumbering wood lands. + +One of Bronson's horses raised his head and nickered. "Chinook is saying +'Adios,' too. Isn't the air good? And we're right on top of the world. +There is Jason, and there is St. Johns, and 'way over there ought to be +the railroad, but I can't see it." + +Bronson smiled down at her. + +She reached up and pinched his cheek. "Let's stay here forever, daddy." + +"We'll see how my girl is by September. And next year, if you want to +come back--" + +"Come back! Why, I don't want to go away--ever!" + +"But the snow, Peter Pan." + +"I forgot that. We'd be frozen in tight, shouldn't we?" + +"I'm afraid we should. Shall we look at the mail? Then I'll have to go +to work." + +"Mr. Adams thinks quite a lot of his horses, doesn't he?" she queried. + +"He has to. He depends on them, and they depend on him. He has to take +good care of them." + +"I shouldn't like it a bit if I thought he took care of them just +because he had to." + +"Oh, Adams is all right, Peter. I have noticed one or two things about +him." + +"Well, I have noticed that he has a tremendous appetite," laughed +Dorothy. + +"And you're going to have, before we leave here, Peter Pan." + +"Then you'd better hurry and get that story written. I want a new saddle +and, oh, lots of things!" + +Bronson patted her hand as she walked with him to the cabin. He sat down +to his typewriter, and she came out with a book. + +She glanced up occasionally to watch the ponies grazing on the mesa. She +was deeply absorbed in her story when some one called to her. She jumped +up, dropping her book. + +Bud Shoop was sitting his horse a few paces away, smiling. He had ridden +up quietly to surprise her. + +"A right lovely mornin', Miss Bronson. I reckon your daddy is busy." + +"Here I am," said Bronson, striding out and shaking hands with the +supervisor. "Won't you come in?" + +"About that lease," said Shoop, dismounting. "If you got time to talk +business." + +"Most certainly. Dorothy will excuse us." + +"Is Adams gone?" + +"He left this morning." + +"Uh-uh. Here, Bondsman, quit botherin' the young lady." + +"He isn't bothering. I know what he wants." And she ran to the kitchen. + +Shoop's face grew grave. "I didn't want to scare the little lady, +Bronson, but Lorry's father--Jim Waring--has been shot up bad over to +Criswell. He went in after that Brewster outfit that killed Pat. I +reckon he got 'em--but I ain't heard." + +"Adams's father!" + +"Yes, Jim Waring. Here comes the little missy. I'll tell you later. Now +Bondsman is sure happy." + +And Bud forced a smile as Dorothy gave the dog a pan of something that +looked suspiciously like bones and shreds of turkey meat. + +A little later Bud found excuse to call Bronson aside to show him a good +place to fence-in the corral. Dorothy was playing with Bondsman. + +"Jim's been shot up bad. I was goin' to tell you that Annie Adams, over +to Stacey, is his wife. She left him when they was livin' down in +Mexico. Lorry is their boy. Now, Jim is as straight as a ruler; I don't +know just why she left him. But let that rest. I got a telegram from the +marshal of Criswell. Reads like Jim was livin', but livin' mighty clost +to the edge. Now, if I was to send word to Lorry he'd just nacherally +buckle on a gun and go after them Brewster boys, if they's any of 'em +left. He might listen to me if I could talk to him. Writin' is no good. +And I ain't rigged up to follow him across the ridge. It's bad country +over there. I reckon I better leave word with you. If he gets word of +the shootin' while he's out there, he'll just up and cut across the +hills to Criswell a-smokin'. But if he gets this far back he's like to +come through Jason--and I can cool him down, mebby." + +"He ought to know; if his father is--" + +"That's just it. But I'm thinkin' of the boy. Jim Waring's lived a big +chunk of his life. But they ain't no use of the kid gettin' shot up. It +figures fifty that I ought to get word to him, and fifty that I ought to +keep him out of trouble--" + +"I didn't know he was that kind of a chap: that is, that he would go out +after those men--" + +"He's Jim Waring's boy," said Bud. + +"It's too bad. I heard of that other killing." + +"Yes. And I've a darned good mind to fly over to Criswell myself. I +knowed Pat better than I did Jim. But I can't ride like I used to. +But"--and the supervisor sighed heavily--"I reckon I'll go just the +same." + +"I'll give your message to Adams, Mr. Shoop." + +"All right. And tell him I want to see him. How's the little lady these +days?" + +"She seems to be much stronger, and she is in love with the hills and +cañons." + +"I'm right glad of that. Kind of wish I was up here myself. Why, already +they're houndin' me down there to go into politics. I guess they want to +get me out of this job, 'cause I can't hear crooked money jingle. My +hands feels sticky ever' time I think of politics. And even if a fella's +hands ain't sticky--politics money is. Why, it's like to stick to his +feet if he ain't right careful where he walks!" + +"I wish you would stay to dinner, Mr. Shoop." + +"So I'll set and talk my fool notions--and you with a writin' machine +handy? Thanks, but I reckon I'll light a shuck for Jason. See my piano?" + +"Yes, indeed. Dorothy was trying it a few nights ago." + +"Then she can play. Missy," and he called to Dorothy, who was having an +extravagant romp with Bondsman, "could you play a tune for your Uncle +Bud?" + +"Of course." And she came to them. + +They walked to the cabin. Bondsman did not follow. He had had a hard +play, and was willing to rest. + +Dorothy drew up the piano stool and touched the keys. Bud sank into his +big chair. Bronson stood in the doorway. By some happy chance Dorothy +played Bud's beloved "Annie Laurie." + +When she had finished, Bud blew his nose sonorously. "I know that tune," +he said, gazing at Dorothy in a sort of huge wonderment. "But I never +knowed all that you made it say." + +He rose and shuffled to the doorway, stopping abruptly as he saw +Bondsman. Could it be possible that Bondsman had not recognized his own +tune? Bud shook his head. There was something wrong somewhere. Bondsman +had not offered to come in and accompany the pianist. He must have been +asleep. But Bondsman had not been asleep. He rose and padded to Shoop's +horse, where he stood, a statue of rugged patience, waiting for Shoop to +start back toward home. + +"Now, look at that!" exclaimed Bud. "He's tellin' me if I want to get +back to Jason in time to catch the stage to-morrow mornin' I got to +hustle. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +When Shoop had gone, Dorothy turned to her father. "Mr. Shoop didn't ask +me to play very much. He seemed in a hurry." + +"That's all right, Peter Pan. He liked your playing. But he has a very +important matter to attend to." + +"He's really just delicious, isn't he?" + +"If you like that word, Peter. He is big and sincere and kind." + +"Oh, so were some of the saints for that matter," said Dorothy, making a +humorous mouth at her father. + + + + +Chapter XXIII + + +_Like One Who Sleeps_ + +Bondsman sat in the doorway of the supervisor's office, gazing +dejectedly at the store across the street. He knew that his master had +gone to St. Johns and would go to Stacey. He had been told all about +that, and had followed Shoop to the automobile stage, where it stood, +sand-scarred, muddy, and ragged as to tires, in front of the +post-office. Bondsman had watched the driver rope the lean mail bags to +the running-board, crank up the sturdy old road warrior of the desert, +and step in beside the supervisor. There had been no other passengers. +And while Shoop had told Bondsman that he would be away some little +time, Bondsman would have known it without the telling. His master had +worn a coat--a black coat--and a new black Stetson. Moreover, he had +donned a white shirt and a narrow hint of a collar with a black +"shoe-string" necktie. If Bondsman had lacked any further proof of his +master's intention to journey far, the canvas telescope suitcase would +have been conclusive evidence. + +The dog sat in the doorway of the office, oblivious to the clerk's +friendly assurances that his master would return poco tiempo. Bondsman +was not deceived by this kindly attempt to soothe his loneliness. + +Toward evening the up-stage buzzed into town. Bondsman trotted over to +it, watched a rancher and his wife alight, sniffed at them incuriously, +and trotted back to the office. That settled it. His master would be +away indefinitely. + +When the clerk locked up that evening, Bondsman had disappeared. + +As Bronson stepped from his cabin the following morning he was startled +to see the big Airedale leap from the veranda of Shoop's cabin and bound +toward him. Then he understood. The camp had been Bondsman's home. The +supervisor had gone to Criswell. Evidently the dog preferred the lonely +freedom of the Blue Mesa to the monotonous confines of town. + +Bronson called to his daughter. "We have a visitor this morning, +Dorothy." + +"Why, it's Bondsman! Where is Mr. Shoop?" + +"Most natural question. Mr. Shoop had to leave Jason on business. +Bondsman couldn't go, so he trotted up here to pay us a visit." + +"He's hungry. I know it. Come, Bondsman." + +From that moment he attached himself to Dorothy, following her about +that day and the next and the next. But when night came he invariably +trotted over to Shoop's cabin and slept on the veranda. Dorothy wondered +why he would not sleep at their camp. + +"He's very friendly," she told her father. "He will play and chase +sticks and growl, and pretend to bite when I tickle him, but he does it +all with a kind of mental reservation. Yesterday, when we were having +our regular frolic after breakfast, he stopped suddenly and stood +looking out across the mesa, and it was only my pony, just coming from +the edge of the woods. Bondsman tries to be polite, but he is really +just passing the time while he is waiting for Mr. Shoop." + +"You don't feel flattered, perhaps. But don't you admire him all the +more for it?" + +"I believe I do. Poor Bondsman! It's just like being a social pet, isn't +it? Have to appear happy whether you are or not." + +Bondsman knew that she proffered sympathy, and he licked her hand +lazily, gazing up at her with bright, unreadable eyes. + + * * * * * + +Bud Shoop wasted no time in Stacey. He puffed into the hotel, indecision +behind him and a definite object in view. + +"No use talkin'," he said to Mrs. Adams. "We got to go and take care of +Jim. I couldn't get word to Lorry. No tellin' where to locate him just +now. Mebby it's just as well. They's a train west along about midnight. +Now, you get somebody to stay here till we get back--" + +"But, Mr. Shoop! I can't leave like this. I haven't a thing ready. Anita +can't manage alone." + +"Well, if that's all, I admire to say that I'll set right down and run +this here hotel myself till you get back. But it ain't right, your +travelin' down there alone. We used to be right good friends, Annie. Do +you reckon I'd tell you to go see Jim if it wa'n't right? If he ever +needed you, it's right now. If he's goin' to get well, your bein' +there'll help him a pow'ful sight. And if he ain't, you ought to be +there, anyhow." + +"I know it, Bud. I wish Lorry was here." + +"I don't. I'm mighty glad he's out there where he is. What do you think +he'd do if he knowed Jim was shot up?" + +"He would go to his father--" + +"Uh-uh?" + +"And--" + +"Go ahead. You wa'n't born yesterday." + +"He would listen to me," she concluded weakly. + +"Yep. But only while you was talkin'. That boy is your boy all right, +but he's got a lot of Jim Waring under his hide. And if you want to keep +that there hide from gettin' shot full of holes by a no-account outlaw, +you'll just pack up and come along." + +Bud wiped his forehead, and puffed. This sort of thing was not exactly +in his line. + +"Here's the point, Annie," he continued. "If I get there afore Lorry, +and you're there, he won't get into trouble. Mebby you could hold him +with your hand on the bridle, but he's runnin' loose right where he is. +Can't you get some lady in town to run the place?" + +"I don't know. I'll see." + +Bud heaved a sigh. It was noticeably warmer in Stacey than at Jason. + +Bud's reasoning, while rough, had appealed to Mrs. Adams. She felt that +she ought to go. She had only needed some such impetus to send her +straight to Waring. The town marshal's telegram had stunned her. She +knew that her husband had followed the Brewsters, but she had not +anticipated the awful result of his quest. In former times he had always +come back to her, taking up the routine of their home life quietly. But +this time he had not come back. If only he had listened to her! And deep +in her heart she felt that old jealousy for the lure which had so often +called him from her to ride the grim trails of his profession. But this +time he had not come back. She would go to him, and never leave him +again. + +Anita thought she knew of a woman who would take charge of the hotel +during Mrs. Adams's absence. Without waiting for an assurance of this, +Bud purchased tickets, sent a letter to his clerk, and spent half an +hour in the barber shop. + +"Somebody dead?" queried the barber as Bud settled himself in the chair. + +"Not that I heard of. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing, Mr. Shoop. I seen that you was dressed in black and had on +a black tie--" + +Later, as Bud surveyed himself in the glass, trying ineffectually to +dodge the barber's persistent whisk-broom, he decided that he did look a +bit funereal. And when he appeared at the supper table that evening he +wore an ambitious four-in-hand tie of red and yellow. There was going to +be no funeral or anything that looked like it, if he knew it. + +Aboard the midnight train he made Mrs. Adams comfortable in the chair +car. It was but a few hours' run to The Junction. He went to the smoker, +took off his coat, and lit a cigar. Around him men sprawled in all sorts +of awkward attitudes, sleeping or trying to sleep. He had heard nothing +further about Waring's fight with the Brewsters. They might still be at +large. But he doubted it. If they were--Shoop recalled the friendly +shooting contest with High-Chin Bob. If High Chin were riding the +country, doubtless he would be headed south. But if he should happen to +cross Shoop's trail by accident--Bud shook his head. He would not look +for trouble, but if it came his way it would bump into something solid. + +Shoop had buckled on his gun before leaving Jason. His position as +supervisor made him automatically a deputy sheriff. But had he been +nothing more than a citizen homesteader, his aim would have been quite +as sincere. + +It was nearly daylight when they arrived at The Junction. Shoop +accompanied Mrs. Adams to a hotel. After breakfast he went out to get a +buck-board and team. Criswell was not on the line of the railroad. + +They arrived in Criswell that evening, and were directed to the +marshal's house, where Ramon met them. + +"How's Jim?" was Shoop's immediate query. + +"The Señor Jim is like one who sleeps," said Ramon. + +Mrs. Adams grasped Shoop's arm. + +"He wakens only when the doctor is come. He has spoken your name, +señora." + +The marshal's wife, a thin, worried-looking woman, apologized for the +untidy condition of her home, the reason for which she wished to make +obvious. She was of the type which Shoop designated to himself as +"vinegar and salt." + +"Reckon I better go in first, Annie?" + +"No." And Mrs. Adams opened the door indicated by the other woman. + +Shoop caught a glimpse of a white face. The door closed softly. Shoop +turned to Ramon. + +"Let's go take a smoke, eh?" + +Ramon led the way down the street and on out toward the desert. At the +edge of town, he paused and pointed across the spaces. + +"It was out there, señor. I found him. The others were not found until +the morning. I did not know that they were there." + +"The others? How many?" + +"Three. One will live, but he will never ride again. The others, High +of the Chin and his brother, were buried by the marshal. None came to +claim them." + +"Were you in it?" + +"No, señor. It was alone that Señor Jim fought them. He followed them +out there alone. I come and I ask where he is gone. I find him that +night. I do not know that he is alive." + +"What became of his horse?" + +"Dex he come back with no one on him. It is then that I tell Dex to find +for me the Señor Jim." + +"And he trailed back to where Jim went down, eh? Uh-uh! I got a dog +myself." + +"Will the Señor Jim ride again?" queried Ramon. + +"I dunno, boy, I dunno. But if you and me and the doc and the +señora--and mebby God--get busy, why, mebby he'll stand a chance. How +many times was he hit?" + +"Two times they shot him." + +"Two, eh? Well, speakin' from experience, they was three mighty fast +guns ag'in' him. Say five shots in each gun, which is fifteen. And he +had to reload, most-like, for he can empty a gun quicker than you can +think. Fifteen to five for a starter, and comin' at him from three ways +to once. And he got the whole three of 'em! Do you know what that means, +boy? But shucks! I'm forgettin' times has changed. How they been usin' +you down here?" + +"I am sleep in the hay by Dex." + +"Uh-uh. Let that rest. Mebby it's a good thing, anyhow. Got any money?" + +"No, señor. I have use all." + +"Where d' you eat?" + +"I have buy the can and the crackers at the store." + +"Can and crackers, eh? Bet you ain't had a square meal for a week. But +we'll fix that. Here, go 'long and buy some chuck till I get organized." + +"Gracias, señor. But I can pray better when I do not eat so much." + +"Good Lord! But, that's some idee! Well, if wishin' and hopin' and such +is prayin', I reckon Jim'll pull through. I reckon it's up to the missus +now." + +"Lorry is not come?" + +"Nope. Couldn't get to him. When does the mail go out of this +bone-hill?" + +"I do not know. To-morrow or perhaps the next day." + +"Uh-uh. Well, you get somethin' to eat, and then throw a saddle on Dex +and I'll give you a couple of letters to take to The Junction. And, come +to think, you might as well keep right on fannin' it for Stacey and +home. They can use you over to the ranch. The missus and me'll take care +of Señor Jim." + +"I take the letter," said Ramon, "but I am come back. I am with the +Señor Jim where he goes." + +"Oh, very well, amigo. Might as well give a duck a bar of soap and ask +him to take a bath as to tell you to leave Jim. Such is wastin' talk." + + + + +Chapter XXIV + + +_The Genial Bud_ + +"And just as soon as he can be moved, his wife aims to take him over to +Stacey." + +So Bud told the Marshal of Criswell, who, for want of better +accommodations, had his office in the rear of the general store. + +The marshal, a gaunt individual with a watery blue eye and a soiled +goatee, shook his head. "The law is the law," he stated sententiously. + +"And a gun's a gun," said Shoop. "But what evidence you got that Jim +Waring killed Bob Brewster and his brother Tony?" + +"All I need, pardner. When I thought Andy Brewster was goin' to pass +over, I took his antimortim. But he's livin'. And he is bound over to +appear ag'in' Waring. What you say about the killin' over by Stacey +ain't got nothin' to do with this here case. I got no orders to hold +Andy Brewster, but I'm holdin' him for evidence. And I'm holdin' Waring +for premeditated contempt and shootin' to death of said Bob Brewster and +his brother Tony. And I got said gun what did it." + +"So you pinched Jim's gun, eh? And when he couldn't lift a finger or say +a word to stop you. Do you want to know what would happen if you was to +try to get a holt of said gun if Jim Waring was on his two feet? Well, +Jim Waring would pull said trigger, and Criswell would bury said city +marshal." + +"The law is the law. This town's payin' me to do my duty, and I'm goin' +to do it." + +"Speakin' in general, how much do you owe the town so far?" + +"Look-a-here! You can't run no whizzer like that on me. I've heard tell +of you, Mr. Shoop. No dinky little ole forest ranger can come +cantelopin' round here tellin' me my business!" + +"Mebby I'm dinky, and mebby, I'm old, but your eyesight wants fixin' if +you callin' me little, old hoss. An' I ain't tryin' to tell you your +business. I'm tellin' you mine, which is that Jim Waring goes to Stacey +just the first minute he can put his foot in a buck-board. And he's +goin' peaceful. I got a gun on me that says so." + +"The law is the law. I can run you in for packin' concealed weapons, Mr. +Shoop." + +"Run me in!" chuckled Shoop. "Nope. You'd spile the door. But let me +tell you. A supervisor is a deputy sheriff--and that goes anywhere +they's a American flag. I don't see none here, but I reckon Criswell is +in America. What's the use of your actin' like a goat just because you +got chin whiskers? I'm tellin' you Jim Waring done a good job when he +beefed them coyotes." + +The marshal's pale-blue eyes blinked at the allusion to the goat. "Now, +don't you get pussonel, neighbor. The law is the law, and they ain't no +use you talkin'." + +Bud's lips tightened. The marshal's reiterated reference to the law was +becoming irksome. He would be decidedly impersonal henceforth. + +"I seen a pair of walkin' overalls once, hitched to a two-bit shirt with +a chewin'-tobacco tag on it. All that held that there fella together was +his suspenders. I don't recollec' whether he just had goat whiskers or +chewed tobacco, but somebody who had been liquorin' up told him he +looked like the Emperor Maximilian. And you know what happened to Maxy." + +"That's all right, neighbor. But mebby when I put in my bill for board +of said prisoner and feed for his hoss and one Mexican, mebby you'll +quit talkin' so much, 'less you got friends where you can borrow money." + +"Your bill will be paid. Don't you worry about that. What I want to know +is: Does Jim Waring leave town peaceful, or have I got to hang around +here till he gets well enough to travel, and then show you? I got +somethin' else to do besides set on a cracker barrel and swap lies with +my friends." + +"You can stay or you can go, but the law is the law--" + +"And a goat is a goat. All right, hombre, I'll stay." + +"As I was sayin'," continued the marshal, ignoring the deepening color +of Shoop's face, "you can stay. You're too durned fat to move around +safe, anyhow. You might bust." + +Shoop smiled. He had stirred the musty marshal to a show of feeling. The +marshal, who had keyed himself up to make the thrust, was disappointed. +He made that mistake, common to his kind, of imagining that he could +continue that sort of thing with impunity. + +"You come prancin' into this town with a strange woman, sayin' that she +is the wife of the defendant. Can you tell me how her name is Adams and +his'n is Waring?" + +"I can!" And with a motion so swift that the marshal had no time to help +himself, Bud Shoop seized the other's goatee and yanked him from the +cracker barrel. "I got a job for you," said Shoop, grinning until his +teeth showed. + +And without further argument on his part, he led the marshal through the +store and up the street to his own house. The marshal back-paddled and +struggled, but he had to follow his chin. + +Mrs. Adams answered Bud's knock. Bud jerked the marshal to his knees. + +"Apologize to this lady--quick!" + +"Why, Mr. Shoop!" + +"Yes, it's me, Annie. Talk up, you pizen lizard!" + +"But, Bud, you're hurting him!" + +"Well, I didn't aim to feed him ice-cream. Talk up, you Gila +monster--and talk quick!" + +"I apologize," mumbled the marshal. + +Bud released him and wiped his hand on his trousers. + +"Sticky!" he muttered. + +The marshal shook his fist at Bud. "You're under arrest for disturbin' +the peace. You're under arrest!" + +"What does it mean?" queried Mrs. Adams. + +"Nothin' what he ain't swallowed, Annie. Gosh 'mighty, but I wasted a +lot of steam on that there walkin' clothes-rack! The blamed horn toad +says he's holdin' Jim for shootin' the Brewsters." + +"But he can't," said Mrs. Adams. "Wait a minute; I'll be right out. Sit +down, Bud. You are tired out and nervous." + +Bud sat down heavily. "Gosh! I never come so clost to pullin' a gun in +my life. If he was a man, I reckon I'd 'a' done it. What makes me mad is +that I let him get _me_ mad." + +When Mrs. Adams came out to the porch she had a vest in her hand. Inside +the vest was pinned the little, round badge of a United States marshal. +Bud seized the vest, and without waiting to listen to her he plodded +down the street and marched into the general store, where the town +marshal was talking to a group of curious natives. + +"Can you read?" said Bud, and without waiting for an answer shoved the +little silver badge under the marshal's nose. "The law is the law," +said Bud. "And that there vest belongs to Jim Waring." + +Bud had regained his genial smile. He was too full of the happy +discovery to remain silent. + +"Gentlemen," he said, assuming a manner, "did your honorable peace +officer here tell you what he said about the wife of the man who is +layin' wounded and helpless in his own house? And did your honorable +peace officer tell you-all that it is her money that is payin' for the +board and doctorin' of Tony Brewster, likewise layin' wounded and +helpless in your midst? And did your honorable peace officer tell you +that Jim Waring is goin' to leave comfortable and peaceful just as soon +as the A'mighty and the doc'll turn him loose? Well, I seen he was +talkin' to you, and I figured he might 'a' been tellin' you these +things, but I wa'n't sure. Was you-all thinkin' of stoppin' me? Such +doin's! Why, when I was a kid I used to ride into towns like this +frequent, turn 'em bottom side up, spank 'em, and send 'em bawlin' to +their--to their city marshal, and I ain't dead yet. Now, I come peaceful +and payin' my way, but if they's any one here got any objections to how +I wear my vest or eat my pie, why, he can just oil up his objection, +load her, and see that she pulls easy and shoots straight. I ain't no +charity organization, but I'm handin' you some first-class life +insurance free." + +That afternoon Buck Hardy arrived, accompanied by a deputy. Andy +Brewster again made deposition that without cause Waring had attacked +and killed his brothers. Hardy had a long consultation with Shoop, and +later notified Brewster that he was under arrest as an accomplice in the +murder of Pat and for aiding the murderer to escape. While +circumstantial evidence pointed directly toward the Brewsters, who had +threatened openly from time to time to "get" Pat, there was valuable +evidence missing in Waco, who, it was almost certain, had been an +eye-witness of the tragedy. Waco had been traced to the town of Grant, +at which place Hardy and his men had lost the trail. The demolished +buckboard had been found by the roadside. Hardy had tracked the +automobile to Grant. + +Shoop suggested that Waco might have taken a freight out of town. +Despite Hardy's argument that Waco had nothing to fear so far as the +murder was concerned, Shoop realized that the tramp had been afraid to +face the law and had left that part of the country. + +Such men were born cowards, irresolute, weak, and treacherous even to +their own infrequent moments of indecision. There was no question but +that Waring had acted within the law in killing the Brewsters. Bob +Brewster had fired at him at sight. But the fact that one of the +brothers survived to testify against Waring opened up a question that +would have to be answered in court. Shoop offered the opinion that +possibly Andy Brewster, the youngest of the brothers, was not directly +implicated in the murder, only taking sides with his brother Bob when he +learned that he was a fugitive. In such a premise it was not unnatural +that his bitterness toward Waring should take the angle that it did. And +it would be difficult to prove that Andy Brewster was guilty of more +than aiding his brother to escape. + +The sheriff and Shoop talked the matter over, with the result that Hardy +dispatched a telegram from The Junction to all the Southern cities to +keep a sharp watch for Waco. + +Next morning Shoop left for Jason with Hardy and his deputy. + +Several days later Waring was taken to The Junction by Mrs. Adams and +Ramon, where Ramon left them waiting for the east-bound. The Mexican +rode the big buckskin. He had instructions to return to the ranch. + +Late that evening, Waring was assisted from the train to the hotel at +Stacey. He was given Lorry's old room. It would be many weeks before he +would be strong enough to walk again. + +For the first time in his life Waring relinquished the initiative. His +wife planned for the future, and Waring only asserted himself when she +took it for granted that the hotel would be his permanent home. + +"There's the ranch, Annie," he told her. "I can't give that up." + +"And you can't go back there till I let you," she asserted, smiling. + +"I'll get Lorry to talk to you about that. I'm thinking of making him an +offer of partnership. He may want to set up for himself some day. I +married young." + +"I'd like to see the girl that's good enough for my Lorry." + +Waring smiled. "Or good enough to call you 'mother.'" + +"Jim, you're trying to plague me." + +"But you will some day. There's always some girl. And Lorry is a pretty +live boy. He isn't going to ride a lone trail forever." + +Mrs. Adams affected an indifference that she by no means felt. + +"You're a lot better to-day, Jim." + +"And that's all your fault, Annie." + +She left the room, closing the door slowly. In her own room at the end +of the hall, she glanced at herself in the glass. A rosy face and +dark-brown eyes smiled back at her. + +But there were many things to attend to downstairs. She had been away +more than a week. And there was evidence of her absence in every room in +the place. + + + + +Chapter XXV + + +_The Little Fires_ + +With the coming of winter the Blue Mesa reclaimed its primordial +solitude. Mount Baldy's smooth, glittering roundness topped a world that +swept down in long waves of dark blue frosted with silver; the serried +minarets of spruce and pine bulked close and sprinkled with snow. +Blanketed in white, the upland mesas lay like great, tideless lakes, +silent and desolate from green-edged shore to shore. The shadowy caverns +of the timberlands, touched here and there with a ray of sunlight, +thrilled to the creeping fingers of the cold. Tough fibers of the +stiff-ranked pines parted with a crackling groan, as though unable to +bear silently the reiterant stabbing of the frost needles. The frozen +gum of the black spruce glowed like frosted topaz. The naked whips of +the quaking asp were brittle traceries against the hard blue of the sky. + +Below the rounded shoulders of the peaks ran an incessant whispering as +thin swirls of powdered snow spun down the wind and sifted through the +moving branches below. + +The tawny lynx and the mist-gray mountain lion hunted along snow-banked +ranger trails. The blue grouse sat stiff and close to the tree-trunk, +while gray squirrels with quaintly tufted ears peered curiously at +sinuous forms that nosed from side to side of the hidden trail below. + +The two cabins of the Blue Mesa, hooded in white, thrust their lean +stovepipes skyward through two feet of snow. The corrals were shallow +fortifications, banked breast-high. The silence seemed not the silence +of slumber, but that of a tense waiting, as though the whole winter +world yearned for the warmth of spring. + +No creak of saddle or plod of hoof broke the bleak stillness, save when +some wandering Apache hunted the wild turkey or the deer, knowing that +winter had locked the trails to his ancient heritage; that the white +man's law of boundaries was void until the snows were thin upon the +highest peaks. + +Thirty miles north of this white isolation the low country glowed in a +sun that made golden the far buttes and sparkled on the clay-red waters +of the Little Colorado. Four thousand feet below the hills cattle +drifted across the open lands. + +Across the ranges, to the south, the barren sands lay shimmering in a +blur of summer heat waves; the winter desert, beautiful in its golden +lights and purple, changing shadows. And in that Southern desert, where +the old Apache Trail melts into the made roads of ranchland and town, +Bronson toiled at his writing. And Dorothy, less slender, more +sprightly, growing stronger in the clean, clear air and the sun, +dreamed of her "ranger man" and the blue hills of her autumn wonderland. +With the warmth of summer around her, the lizards on the rocks, and the +chaparral still green, she could hardly realize that the Blue Mesa could +be desolate, white, and cold. As yet she had not lived long enough in +the desert to love it as she loved the wooded hills, where to her each +tree was a companion and each whisper of the wind a song. + +She often wondered what Lorry was doing, and whether Bondsman would come +to visit her when they returned to their cabin on the mesa. She often +recalled, with a kind of happy wonderment, Bondsman's singular visit and +how he had left suddenly one morning, heedless of her coaxing. The big +Airedale had appeared in Jason the day after Bud Shoop had returned from +Criswell. That Bondsman should know, miles from the town, that his +master had returned was a mystery to her. She had read of such +happenings; her father had written of them. But to know them for the +very truth! That was, indeed, the magic, and her mountains were towering +citadels of the true Romance. + +Long before Bronson ventured to return to his mountain camp, Lorry was +riding the hill trails again as spring loosened the upland snows and +filled the cañons and arroyos with a red turbulence of waters bearing +driftwood and dead leaves. With a companion ranger he mended trail and +rode along the telephone lines, searching for sagging wires; made notes +of fresh down timber and the effect of the snow-fed torrents on the +major trails. + +Each day the air grew warmer. Tiny green shoots appeared in the rusty +tangle of last season's mesa grasses. Imperceptibly the dull-hued mesas +became fresh carpeted with green across which the wind bore a subtly +soft fragrance of sun-warmed spruce and pine. + +To Lorry the coming of the Bronsons was like the return of old friends. +Although he had known them but a short summer season, isolation had +brought them all close together. Their reunion was celebrated with an +old-fashioned dinner of roast beef and potatoes, hot biscuit and honey, +an apple pie that would have made a New England farmer dream of his +ancestors, and the inevitable coffee of the high country. + +And Dorothy had so much to tell him of the wonderful winter desert; the +old Mexican who looked after their horses, and his wife who cooked for +them. Of sunshine and sandstorms, the ruins of ancient pueblos in which +they discovered fragments of pottery, arrowheads, beads, and trinkets, +of the lean, bronzed cowboys of the South, of the cattle and sheep, +until in her enthusiasm she forgot that Lorry had always known of these +things. And Lorry, gravely attentive, listened without interrupting her +until she asked why he was so silent. + +"Because I'm right happy, miss, to see you lookin' so spry and pretty. +I'm thinkin' Arizona has been kind of a heaven for you." + +"And you?" she queried, laughing. + +"Well, it wasn't the heat that would make me call it what it was up here +last winter. I rode up once while you was gone. Gray Leg could just make +it to the cabin. It wasn't so bad in the timber. But comin' across the +mesa the cinchas sure scraped snow." + +"Right here on our mesa?" + +"Right here, miss. From the edge of the timber over there to this side +it was four feet deep on the level." + +"And now," she said, gesturing toward the wavering grasses. "But why did +you risk it?" + +Lorry laughed. He had not considered it a risk. "You remember that book +you lent me. Well, I left it in my cabin. There was one piece that kep' +botherin' me. I couldn't recollect the last part about those 'Little +Fires.' I was plumb worried tryin' to remember them verses. When I got +it, I sure learned that piece from the jump to the finish." + +"The 'Little Fires'? I'm glad you like it. I do. + + "'From East to West they're burning in tower and forge + and home, + And on beyond the outlands, across the ocean foam; + On mountain crest and mesa, on land and sea and height, + The little fires along the trail that twinkle down the night.' + +"And about the sheep-herder; do you remember how-- + + "'The Andalusian herder rolls a smoke and points the way, + As he murmurs, "Caliente," "San Clemente," "Santa Fé," + Till the very names are music, waking memoried desires, + And we turn and foot it down the trail to find the little fires. + Adventuring! Adventuring! And, oh, the sights to see! + And little fires along the trail that wink at you and me.'" + +"That's it! But I couldn't say it like that. But I know some of them +little fires." + +"We must make one some day. Won't it be fun!" + +"It sure is when a fella ain't hustlin' to get grub. That poem sounds +better after grub, at night, when the stars are shinin' and the horses +grazin' and mebby the pack-horse bell jinglin' 'way off somewhere. Then +one of them little fires is sure friendly." + +"Have you been reading this winter?" + +"Oh, some. Mostly forestry and about the war. Bud was tellin' me to read +up on forestry. He's goin' to put me over west--and a bigger job this +summer." + +"You mean--to stay?" + +"About as much as I stay anywhere." + +Dorothy pouted. She had thought that the Blue Mesa and the timberlands +were more beautiful than ever that spring, but to think that the +neighboring cabin would be vacant all summer! No cheery whistling and no +wood smoke curling from the chimney and no blithe voice talking to the +ponies. No jolly "Good-mornin', miss, and the day is sure startin' out +proud to see you." Well, Dorothy had considered Mr. Shoop a friend. She +would have a very serious talk with Mr. Shoop when she saw him. + +She had read of Waring's fight in the desert and of his slow recovery, +and that Waring was Lorry's father; matters that she could not speak of +to Lorry, but the knowledge of them lent a kind of romance to her ranger +man. At times she studied Lorry, endeavoring to find in him some trace +of his father's qualities. She had not met Waring, but she imagined much +from what she had heard and read. And could Lorry, who had such kind +gray eyes and such a pleasant face, deliberately go out and kill men as +his father had done? Why should men kill each other? The world was so +beautiful, and there was so much to live for. + +Although the trail across the great forest terraces below was open clear +up to the Blue Mesa, the trails on the northern side of the range were +still impassable. The lookout man would not occupy his lonely cabin on +Mount Baldy for several weeks to come, and Lorry's work kept him within +a moderate radius of the home camp. + +Several times Dorothy and her father rode with Lorry, spending the day +searching for new vistas while he mended trail or repaired the telephone +line that ran from Mount Baldy to the main office. Frequently they would +have their evening meal in Bronson's camp, after which Lorry always +asked them to his cabin, where Dorothy would play for them while they +smoked contentedly in front of the log fire. To Dorothy it seemed that +they had always lived in a cabin on the Blue Mesa and that Lorry had +always been their neighbor, whom it was a joy to tease because he never +showed impatience, and whose attitude toward her was that of a brother. + +And without realizing it, Lorry grew to love the sprightly, slender +Dorothy with a wholesome, boyish affection. When she was well, he was +happy. When she became over-tired, and was obliged to stay in her room, +he was miserable, blaming himself for suggesting some expedition that +had been too much for her strength, so often buoyed above its natural +level by enthusiasm. At such times he would blame himself roundly. And +if there seemed no cause for her depression, he warred silently with the +power that stooped to harm so frail a creature. His own physical freedom +knew no such check. He could not quite understand sickness, save when it +came through some obvious physical injury. + +Bronson was glad that there was a Lorry; both as a companion to himself +and as a tower of strength to Dorothy. Her depression vanished in the +young ranger's presence. It was a case of the thoroughbred endeavoring +to live up to the thoroughbred standard. And Bronson considered anything +thoroughbred that was true to type. Yet the writer had known men +physically inconsequent who possessed a fine strain of courage, loyalty, +honor. The shell might be misshapen, malformed, and yet the spirit burn +high and clear. And Bronson reasoned that there was a divinity of blood, +despite the patents of democracy. + +Bronson found that he had to go to Jason for supplies. Dorothy asked to +go with him. Bronson hesitated. It was a long ride, although Dorothy had +made it upon occasion. She teased prettily. Lorry was away. She wasn't +afraid to stay alone, but she would be lonesome. If she kissed him three +times, one right on top of the other, would he let her come? Bronson +gave in to this argument. They would ride slowly, and stay a day longer +in Jason to rest. + +When they arrived at Jason, Dorothy immediately went to bed. She wanted +to be at her best on the following day. She was going to talk with Mr. +Shoop. It was a very serious matter. + +And next morning she excused herself while her father bought supplies. +She called at the supervisor's office. Bud Shoop beamed. She was so +alert, so vivacious, and so charming in her quick slenderness. The +genial Bud placed a chair for her with grandiloquent courtesy. + +"I'm going to ask a terrible favor," she began, crossing her legs and +clasping her knee. + +"I'm pow'ful scared," said Bud. + +"I don't want favors that way. I want you to like me, and then I will +tell you." + +"My goodness, missy! Like you! Who said I didn't?" + +"No one. But you have ordered Lorry Adams to close up his camp and go +over to work right near the Apache Reservation." + +"I sure did." + +"Well, Mr. Shoop, I don't like Apaches." + +"You got comp'ny, missy. But what's that got to do with Lorry?" + +"Oh, I suppose he doesn't care. But what do you think his _mother_ would +say to you if he--well, if he got _scalped_?" + +A slow grin spread across Bud's broad face. Dorothy looked solemn +disapproval. "I can't help it," he said as he shook all over. Two tears +welled in the corner of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I can't +help it, missy. I ain't laughin' at you. But Lorry gettin' scalped! Why, +here you been livin' up here, not five miles from the Apache line, and I +ain't heard you tell of bein' scared of Injuns. And you ain't no bigger +than a minute at that." + +"That's just it! Suppose the Apaches did come over the line? What could +we do if Lorry were gone?" + +"Well, you might repo't their trespassin' to me. And I reckon your daddy +might have somethin' to say to 'em. He's been around some." + +"Oh, I suppose so. But there is a lot of work to do in Lorry's district, +I noticed, coming down. The trails are in very bad condition." + +"I know it. But he's worth more to the Service doin' bigger work. I got +a young college man wished onto me that can mend trails." + +"Will he live at Lorry's cabin?" + +"No. He'll head in from here. I ain't givin' the use of my cabin and my +piano to everybody." + +Dorothy's eyes twinkled. "If Lorry were away some one might steal your +piano." + +"Now, see here, missy; you're joshin' your Uncle Bud. Do you know that +you're tryin' to bribe a Gov'ment officer? That means a pow'ful big +penalty if I was to repo't to Washington." + +Dorothy wrinkled her nose. "I don't care if you do! You'd get what-for, +too." + +"Well, I'll tell you, missy. Let's ask Bondsman about this here hocus. +Are you willin' to stand by what he says?" + +"Oh, that's not fair! He's _your_ dog." + +"But he's plumb square in his jedgments, missy. Now, I'll tell you. +We'll call him in and say nothin'. Then you ask him if he thinks I ought +to put Lorry Adams over west or leave him to my camp this summer. Now, +if Bondsman wiggles that stub tail of his, it means, 'yes.' If he don't +wiggle his tail, he says, 'no,'--huh?" + +"Of course he'll wiggle his tail. He always does when I talk to him." + +"Then suppose I do the talkin'?" + +"Oh, you can make him do just as you wish. But all right, Mr. Shoop. +And you will really let Bondsman decide?" + +"'Tain't accordin' to rules, but seein' it's you--" + +Bud called to the big Airedale. Bondsman trotted in, nosed Dorothy's +hand, and looked up at his master. + +"Come 'ere!" commanded Shoop brusquely. "Stand right there! Now, quit +tryin' to guess what's goin' on and listen to the boss. Accordin' to +your jedgment, which is plumb solid, do I put Lorry to work over on the +line this summer?" + +Bondsman cocked his ears, blinked, and a slight quiver began at his +shoulders, which would undoubtedly accentuate to the affirmative when it +reached his tail. + +"Rats!" cried Dorothy. + +The Airedale grew rigid, and his spike of a tail cocked up straight and +stiff. + +Bud Shoop waved his hands helplessly. "I might 'a' knowed it! A lady can +always get a man steppin' on his own foot when he tries to walk around a +argument with her. You done bribed me and corrupted Bondsman. But I'm +stayin' right by what I said." + +Dorothy jumped up and took Bud's big hand in her slender ones. "You're +just lovely to us!" And her brown eyes glowed softly. + +Bud coughed. His shirt-collar seemed tight. He tugged at it, and coughed +again. + +"Missy," he said, leaning forward and patting her hand,--"missy, I +would send Lorry plumb to--to--Phoenix and tell the Service to go find +him, just to see them brown eyes of yours lookin' at me like that. But +don't you say nothin' about this here committee meetin' to nobody. I +reckon you played a trick on me for teasin' you. So you think Lorry is a +right smart hombre, eh?" + +"Oh," indifferently, "he's rather nice at times. He's company for +father." + +"Then I reckon you set a whole lot of store by your daddy. Now, I wonder +if I was a young, bow-legged cow-puncher with kind of curly hair and +lookin' fierce and noble, and they was a gal whose daddy was plumb +lonesome for company, and I was to get notice from the boss that I was +to vamose the diggin's and go to work,--now, I wonder who'd ride twenty +miles of trail to talk up for me?" + +"Why, I would!" + +"You got everything off of me but my watch," laughed Bud. "I reckon +you'll let me keep that?" + +"Is it a good watch?" she asked, and her eyes sparkled with a great +idea. + +"Tol'able. Cost a dollar. I lost my old watch in Criswell. I reckon the +city marshal got it when I wa'n't lookin'." + +"Well, you may keep it--for a while yet. When are you coming up to visit +us?" + +"Just as soon as I can, missy. Here's your daddy. I want to talk to him +a minute." + +Three weeks later, when the wheels of the local stage were beginning to +throw a fine dust, instead of mud, as they whirred from St. Johns to +Jason, Bud Shoop received a tiny flat package addressed in an unfamiliar +hand. He laid it aside until he had read the mail. Then he opened it. In +a nest of cotton batting gleamed a plain gold watch. A thin watch, +reflecting something aristocratic in its well-proportioned simplicity. +As he examined it his genial face expressed a sort of childish +wonderment. There was no card to show from where it had come. He opened +the back of the case, and read a brief inscription. + +"And the little lady would be sendin' this to me! And it's that slim and +smooth; nothin' fancy, but a reg'lar thoroughbred, just like her." + +He laid the watch carefully on his desk, and sat for a while gazing out +of the window. It was the first time in his life that a woman had made +him a present. Turning to replace the watch in the box, he saw something +glitter in the cotton. He pulled out a layer of batting, and discovered +a plain gold chain of strong, serviceable pattern. + +That afternoon, as Bud came from luncheon at the hotel, a townsman +accosted him in the street. During their chat the townsman commented +upon the watch-chain. Bud drew the watch from his pocket and exhibited +it proudly. + +"Just a little present from a lady friend. And her name is inside the +cover, along with mine." + +"A lady friend, eh? Now, I thought it was politics mebby?" + +"Nope. Strictly pussonel." + +"Well, Bud, you want to watch out." + +"If you're meanin' that for a joke," retorted Bud, "it's that kind of a +joke what's foundered in its front laigs and can't do nothin' but walk +around itself. I got the same almanac over to my office." + + + + +Chapter XXVI + + +_Idle Noon_ + +The occasional raw winds of spring softened to the warm calm of summer. +The horses had shed their winter coats, and grew sleek and fat on the +lush grasses of the mesa. The mesa stream cleared from a ropy red to a +sparkling thread of silver banked with vivid green. If infrequent +thunderstorms left a haze in the cañons, it soon vanished in the light +air. + +Bronson found it difficult to keep Dorothy from over-exerting herself. +They arose at daybreak and went to bed at dusk, save when Lorry came for +an after-dinner chat or when he prevailed upon Dorothy to play for them +in his cabin. On such occasions she would entertain them with old +melodies played softly as they smoked and listened, the lamp unlighted +and the door wide open to the stars. + +One evening, when Dorothy had ceased to play for them, Lorry mentioned +that he was to leave on the following day for an indefinite time. There +had been some trouble about a new outfit that was grazing cattle far to +the south. Shoop had already sent word to the foreman, who had ignored +the message. Lorry had been deputized to see the man and have an +understanding with him. The complaint had been brought to Shoop by one +of the Apache police that some cowboys had been grazing stock and +killing game on the Indian reservation. + +Dorothy realized that Lorry might be away for some time. She would miss +him. And that night she asked her father if she might not invite a girl +friend up for the summer. They were established. And Dorothy was much +stronger and able to attend to the housekeeping. Bronson was quite +willing. He realized that he was busy most of the time, writing. He was +not much of a companion except at the table. So Dorothy wrote to her +friend, who was in Los Angeles and had already planned to drive East +when the roads became passable. + +Lorry was roping the packs next morning when Dorothy appeared in her new +silver-gray corduroy riding-habit--a surprise that she had kept for an +occasion. She was proud of the well-tailored coat and breeches, the +snug-fitting black boots, and the small, new Stetson. Her gray silk +waist was brightened by a narrow four-in-hand of rich blue, and her tiny +gauntlets of soft gray buckskin were stitched with blue silk. + +She looked like some slender, young exquisite who had stepped from the +stage of an old play as she stood smoothing the fingers of her gloves +and smiling across at Lorry. He said nothing, but stared at her. She was +disappointed. She wanted him to tell her that he liked her new things, +she had spent so much time and thought on them. But there he stood, the +pack-rope slack in his hand, staring stupidly. + +She nodded, and waved her hand. + +"It's me," she called. "Good-morning!" + +Lorry managed to stammer a greeting. He felt as though she were some +strange person that looked like Dorothy, but like a new Dorothy of such +exquisite attitude and grace and so altogether charming that he could do +nothing but wonder how the transformation had come about. He had always +thought her pretty. But now she was more than that. She was alluring; +she was the girl he loved from the brim of her gray Stetson to the toe +of her tiny boot. + +"Would you catch my pony for me?" + +Lorry flushed. Of course she wanted Chinook. He swung up on Gray Leg and +spurred across the mesa. His heart was pounding hard. He rode with a +dash and a swing as he rounded up the ponies. As he caught up her horse +he happened to think of his own faded shirt and overalls. He was wearing +the essentially proper clothing for his work. For the first time he +realized the potency of carefully chosen attire. As he rode back with +the pastured pony trailing behind him, he felt peculiarly ashamed of +himself for feeling ashamed of his clothing. Silently he saddled +Chinook, accepted her thanks silently, and strode to his cabin. When he +reappeared he was wearing a new shirt, his blue silk bandanna, and his +silver-studded chaps. He would cache those chaps at his first camp out, +and get them when he returned. + +Bronson came to the doorway. + +Dorothy put her finger to her lips. "Lorry is stunned, I think. Do I +look as spiff as all that?" + +"Like a slim young cavalier; very dashing and wonderful, Peter Pan." + +"Not a bit like Dorothy?" + +"Well, the least bit; but more like Peter Pan." + +"I was getting tired of being just Dorothy. That was all very well when +I wasn't able to ride and camp and do all sorts of adventures. + +"And that isn't all," she continued. "I weigh twelve pounds more than I +did last summer. Mr. Shoop weighed me on the store scales. I wanted to +weigh him. He made an awful pun, but he wouldn't budge." + +Bronson nodded. "I wouldn't ride farther than the Big Spring, Peter. +It's getting hot now." + +"All right, daddy. I wish that horrid old story was finished. You never +ride with me." + +"You'll have some one to ride with you when Alice comes." + +"Yes; but Alice is only a girl." + +Bronson laughed, and she scolded him with her eyes. Just then Lorry +appeared. + +Bronson stooped and kissed her. "And don't ride too far," he cautioned. + +Lorry drove the pack-animals toward Bronson's cabin. He dismounted to +tighten the cinch on Chinook's saddle. + +The little cavalcade moved out across the mesa. Dorothy rode behind the +pack-animals, who knew their work too well to need a lead-rope. It was +_her_ adventure. At the Big Spring, she would graciously allow Lorry to +take charge of the expedition. + +Lorry, riding behind her, turned as they entered the forest, and waved +farewell to Bronson. + +To ride the high trails of the Arizona hills is in itself an +unadulterated joy. To ride these wooded uplands, eight thousand feet +above the world, with a sprightly Peter Pan clad in silver-gray +corduroys and chatting happily, is an enchantment. In such +companionship, when the morning sunlight dapples the dun forest carpet +with pools of gold, when vista after vista unfolds beneath the high +arches of the rusty-brown giants of the woodlands; when somewhere above +there is the open sky and the marching sun, the twilight underworld of +the green-roofed caverns is a magic land. + +The ponies plodded slowly upward, to turn and plod up the next angle of +the trail, without loitering and without haste. When Dorothy checked her +pony to gaze at some new vista, the pack-animals rested, waiting for the +word to go on again. Lorry, awakened to a new charm in Dorothy, rode in +a silence that needed no interpreter. + +At a bend in the trail, Dorothy reined up. "Oh, I just noticed! You are +wearing your chaps this morning." + +Lorry flushed, and turned to tie a saddle-string that was already quite +secure. + +Dorothy nodded to herself and spoke to the horses. They strained on up a +steeper pitch, pausing occasionally to rest. + +Lorry seemed to have regained his old manner. Her mention of the chaps +had wakened him to everyday affairs. After all, she was only a girl; not +yet eighteen, her father had said. "Just a kid," Lorry had thought; "but +mighty pretty in those city clothes." He imagined that some women he had +seen would look like heck in such a riding-coat and breeches. But +Dorothy looked like a kind of stylish boy-girl, slim and yet not quite +as slender as she had appeared in her ordinary clothes. Lorry could not +help associating her appearance with a thoroughbred he had once seen; a +dark-bay colt, satin smooth and as graceful as a flame. He had all but +worshiped that horse. Even as he knew horses, through that colt he had +seen perfection; his ideal of something beautiful beyond words. + +From his pondering, Lorry arrived at a conclusion having nothing to do +with ideals. He would buy a new suit of clothes the first time he went +to Phoenix. It would be a trim suit of corduroy and a dark-green flannel +shirt, like the suit and shirt worn by Lundy, the forestry expert. + +At the base of a great gray shoulder of granite, the Big Spring spread +in its natural rocky bowl which grew shallower toward the edges. Below +the spring in the black mud softened by the overflow were the tracks of +wild turkey and the occasional print of a lynx pad. The bush had been +cleared from around the spring, and the ashes of an old camp-fire marked +the spot where Lorry had often "bushed over-night" on his way to the +cabin. + +Lorry dismounted and tied the pack-horses. He explained that they were +still a little too close to home to be trusted untied. + +Dorothy decided that she was hungry, although they had been but two +hours on the trail. Could they have a real camp-fire and make coffee? + +"Yes, ma'am; right quick." + +"Lorry, don't say 'yes, ma'am.' I--it's nice of you, but just say +'Dorothy.'" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Dorothy's brown eyes twinkled. + +Lorry gazed at her, wondering why she smiled. + +"Yes, ma'am," she said stiffly, as though to a superior whom she feared. + +Lorry grinned. She was always doing something sprightly, either making +him laugh or laughing at him, talking to the horses, planning some +little surprise for their occasional dinners in the Bronson cabin, +quoting some fragment of poetry from an outland song,--she called these +songs "outlandish," and had explained her delight in teasing her father +with "outlandish" adjectives; whistling in answer to the birds, and +amusing herself and her "men-folks" in a thousand ways as spontaneous as +they were delightful. + +With an armful of firewood, Lorry returned to the spring. The ponies +nodded in the heat of noon. Dorothy, spreading their modest luncheon on +a bright new Navajo blanket, seemed daintier than ever against the +background of the forest. They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she +had prepared. After luncheon Lorry smoked, leaning back against the +granite rock, his hat off, and his legs crossed in lazy content. + +"If it could only be like this forever," sighed Dorothy. + +Lorry promptly shook his head. "We'd get hungry after a spell." + +"Men are always hungry. And you've just eaten." + +"But I could listen to a poem," he said, and he winked at a tree-trunk. + +"It's really too warm even to speak of 'The Little Fires,' isn't it? Oh, +I know! Do you remember the camp we made?" + +"Where?" + +"Oh, silly!" + +"Well, I ain't had time to remember this one yet--and this is the first +for us." + +"Lorry, you're awfully practical." + +"I got to be." + +"And I don't believe you know a poem when you see one." + +"I reckon you're right. But I can tell one when I hear it." + +"Very well, then. Shut your eyes tight and listen:-- + +"'Do you remember the camp we made as we nooned on the mesa + floor, + Where the grass rolled down like a running sea in the wind-- + and the world our own? +You laughed as you sat in the cedar shade and said 't was the + ocean shore + Of an island lost in a wizardry of dreams, for ourselves alone. + +"'Our ponies grazed in the idle noon, unsaddled, at ease, and + slow; + The ranges dim were a faëryland; blue hills in a haze of gray. +Hands clasped on knee, you hummed a tune, a melody light and + low; + And do you remember the venture planned in jest--for your + heart was gay?'" + +Dorothy paused. "You may open your eyes. That's all." + +"Well, it's noon," said Lorry, "and there are the ponies, and the hills +are over there. Won't you say the rest of it?" + +"Oh, the rest of it is about a venture planned that never came true. It +couldn't, even in a poem. But I'll tell you about it some day." + +"I could listen right now." + +Dorothy shook her head. "I am afraid it would spoil our real adventure. +But if I were a boy--wouldn't it be fun! We would ride and camp in the +hills at night and find all the little fires along the trail--" + +"We'd make our own," said Lorry. + +"Of course, Mr. Practical Man." + +"Well, I can't help bein' like I am. But sometimes I get lazy and sit +and look at the hills and the cañons and mesas down below, and wonder +what's the good of hustlin'. But somehow I got to quit loafin' after a +spell--and go right to hustlin' again. It's a sure good way to get +rested up; just to sit down and forget everything but the big world +rollin' down to the edge of nothin'. It makes a fella's kickin' and +complainin' look kind of small and ornery." + +"I never heard you complain, Lorry." + +"Huh! You ain't been along with me when I been right up against it and +mebby had to sweat my way out of some darned box cañon or make a ride +through some down timber at night. I've said some lovely things them +times." + +"Oh, I get cross. But, then, I'm a girl. Men shouldn't get cross." + +"I reckon you're right. The sun's comin' through that pine there. +Gettin' too hot?" + +"No, I love it. But I must go. I'll just ride down to the cabin and +unsaddle Chinook and say 'Hello' to father--and that's the end of our +adventure." + +"Won't those city folks be comin' in soon?" + +"Yes. And Alice Weston is lovely. I know you'll like her." + +"Alice who, did you say?" + +"Weston. Alice and her mother are touring overland from Los Angeles. I +know you will admire Alice." + +"Mebby. If she's as pretty as you." + +"Oh, fudge! You like my new suit. And Alice isn't like me at all. She is +nearly as tall as you, and big and strong and really pretty. Bud Shoop +told me I wasn't bigger than a minute." + +"A minute is a whole lot sometimes," said Lorry. + +"You're not so practical as you were, are you?" + +"More. I meant that." + +Dorothy rose and began to roll the Navajo blanket. + +Lorry stepped up and took it from her. "Roll it long and let it hang +down. Then it won't bother you gettin' on or off your horse. That's the +way the Indians roll 'em." + +He jerked the tie-strings tight. "Well, I reckon I'll be goin'," he +said, holding out his hand. + +"Good-bye, ranger man." + +"Good-bye, Dorothy." + +Her slender hand was warm in his. She looked up at him, smiling. He had +never looked at her that way before. She hoped so much that he would say +nothing to spoil the happiness of their idle noon. + +"Lorry, we're great friends, aren't we?" + +"You bet. And I'd do most anything to make you happy." + +"But you don't have to do anything to make me happy. I _am_ happy. +Aren't you?" + +"I aim to be. But what makes you ask?" + +"Oh, you looked so solemn a minute ago. We'll be just friends always, +won't we?" + +"Just friends," he echoed, "always." + +Her brown eyes grew big as he stooped and kissed her. She had not +expected that he would do that. + +"Oh, I thought you liked me!" she said, clasping her hands. + +Lorry bit his lips, and the hot flush died from his face. + +"But I didn't know that you cared--like that! I really don't mind +because you kissed me good-bye--if it was just good-bye and nothing +else." And she smiled a little timidly. + +"I--I reckon I was wrong," he said, "for I was tryin' not to kiss you. +If you say the word, I'll ride back with you and tell your father. I +ain't ashamed of it--only if you say it was wrong." + +Dorothy had recovered herself. A twinkle of fun danced in her eyes. "I +can't scold you now. You're going away. But when you get back--" And she +shook her finger at him and tried to look very grave, which made him +smile. + +"Then I'll keep right on ridin' south," he said. + +"But you'd get lonesome and come back to your hills. I know! And it's +awfully hot in the desert." + +"Would you be wantin' me to come back?" + +"Of course. Father would miss you." + +[Illustration: They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had +prepared] "And that would make you unhappy--him bein' lonesome, so I +reckon I'll come back." + +"I shall be very busy entertaining my guests," she told him with a +charming tilt of her chin. And she straightway swung to the saddle. + +Lorry started the pack-horses up the hill and mounted Gray Leg. She sat +watching him as he rode sideways gazing back at her. + +As he turned to follow the pack-horses up the next ascent she called to +him:-- + +"Perhaps I won't scold you when you come back." + +He laughed, and flung up his arm in farewell. Dorothy reined Chinook +round, and rode slowly down through the silent woodlands. + +Her father came out and took her horse. She told him of their most +wonderful camp at the Big Spring. Bronson smiled. + +"And Lorry kissed me good-bye," she concluded. "Wasn't it silly of him?" + +Bronson glanced at her quickly. "Do you really care for Lorry, Peter +Pan?" + +"Heaps! He's the nicest boy I ever met. Why shouldn't I?" + +"There's no reason in the world why you shouldn't. But I thought you two +were just friends." + +"Why, that's what I said to Lorry. Don't look so mournful, daddy. You +didn't think for a minute that I'd _marry_ him, did you?" + +"Of course not. What would I do without you?" + + + + +Chapter XXVII + + +_Waco_ + +The tramp Waco, drifting south through Prescott, fell in with a quartet +of his kind camped along the railroad track. He stumbled down the +embankment and "sat in" beside their night fire. He was hungry. He had +no money, and he had tramped all that day. They were eating bread and +canned peaches, and had coffee simmering in a pail. They asked no +questions until he had eaten. Then the usual talk began. + +The hobos cursed the country, its people, the railroad, work and the +lack of it, the administration, and themselves. Waco did not agree with +everything they said, but he wished to tramp with them until something +better offered. So he fell in with their humor, but made the mistake of +cursing the trainmen's union. A brakeman had kicked him off a freight +car just outside of Prescott. + +One of the hobos checked Waco sharply. + +"We ain't here to listen to your cussin' any union," he said. "And seem' +you're so mouthy, just show your card." + +"Left it over to the White House," said Waco. + +"That don't go. You got your three letters?" + +"Sure! W.B.Y. Catch onto that?" + +"No. And this ain't no josh." + +"Why, W.B.Y. is for 'What's bitin' you?' Know the answer?" + +"If you can't show your I.W.W., you can beat it," said the tramp. + +"Tryin' to kid me?" + +"Not so as your mother would notice. Got your card?" + +Waco finally realized that they meant business. "No, I ain't got no +I.W.W. card. I'm a bo, same as you fellas. What's bitin' you, anyway?" + +"Let's give him the third, fellas." + +Waco jumped to his feet and backed away. The leader of the group +hesitated wisely, because Waco had a gun in his hand. + +"So that's your game, eh? Collectin' internal revenue. Well, we're union +men. You better sift along." And the leader sat down. + +"I've a dam' good mind to sift you," said Waco, backing toward the +embankment. "Got to have a card to travel with a lousy bunch like you, +eh?" + +He climbed to the top of the embankment, and, turning, ran down the +track. Things were in a fine state when a guy couldn't roll in with a +bunch of willies without showing a card. Workmen often tramped the +country looking for work. But hobos forming a union and calling +themselves workmen! Even Waco could not digest that. + +But he had learned a lesson, and the next group that he overtook +treading the cinders were more genial. One of them gave him some bread +and cold meat. They tramped until nightfall. That evening Waco +industriously "lifted" a chicken from a convenient hencoop. The hen was +old and tough and most probably a grandmother of many years' setting, +but she was a welcome contribution to their evening meal. While they ate +Waco asked them if they belonged to the I.W.W. They did to a man. He had +lost his card. Where could he get a renewal? From headquarters, of +course. But he had been given his card up in Portland; he had cooked in +a lumber camp. In that case he would have to see the "boss" at Phoenix. + +There were three men in the party besides Waco. One of them claimed to +be a carpenter, another an ex-railroad man, and the third an iron +moulder. Waco, to keep up appearances, said that he was a cook; that he +had lost his job in the Northern camps on account of trouble between the +independent lumbermen and the I.W.W. It happened that there had been +some trouble of that kind recently, so his word was taken at its face +value. + +In Phoenix, he was directed to the "headquarters," a disreputable +lounging-room in an abandoned store on the outskirts of the town. There +were papers and magazines scattered about; socialistic journals and many +newspapers printed in German, Russian, and Italian. The place smelled of +stale tobacco smoke and unwashed clothing. But the organization +evidently had money. No one seemed to want for food, tobacco, or +whiskey. + +The "boss," a sharp-featured young man, aggressive and apparently +educated, asked Waco some questions which the tramp answered lamely. The +boss, eager for recruits of Waco's stamp, nevertheless demurred until +Waco reiterated the statement that he could cook, was a good cook and +had earned good money. + +"I'll give you a renewal of your card. What was the number?" queried the +boss. + +"Thirteen," said Waco, grinning. + +"Well, we may be able to use you. We want cooks at Sterling." + +"All right. Nothin' doin' here, anyway." + +The boss smiled to himself. He knew that Waco had never belonged to the +I.W.W., but if the impending strike at the Sterling smelter became a +reality a good cook would do much to hold the I.W.W. camp together. Any +tool that could be used was not overlooked by the boss. He was paid to +hire men for a purpose. + +In groups of from ten to thirty the scattered aggregation made its way +to Sterling and mingled with the workmen after hours. A sinister +restlessness grew and spread insidiously among the smelter hands. Men +laid off before pay-day and were seen drunk in the streets. Others +appeared at the smelter in a like condition. They seemed to have money +with which to pay for drinks and cigars. The heads of the different +departments of the smelter became worried. Local papers began to make +mention of an impending strike when no such word had as yet come to the +smelter operators. Outside papers took it up. Surmises were many and +various. Few of the papers dared charge the origin of the disturbances +to the I.W.W. The law had not been infringed upon, yet lawlessness was +everywhere, conniving in dark corners, boasting openly on the street, +setting men's brains afire with whiskey, playing upon the ignorance of +the foreign element, and defying the intelligence of Americans who +strove to forfend the threatened calamity. + +The straight union workmen were divided in sentiment. Some of them voted +to work; others voted loudly to throw in with the I.W.W., and among +these were many foreigners--Swedes, Hungarians, Germans, Poles, +Italians; the usual and undesirable agglomeration to be found in a +smelter town. + +Left to themselves, they would have continued to work. They were in +reality the cheaper tools of the trouble-makers. There were fewer and +keener tools to be used, and these were selected and turned against +their employers by that irresistible potency, gold; gold that came from +no one knew where, and came in abundance. Finally open threats of a +strike were made. Circulars were distributed throughout town +over-night, cleverly misstating conditions. A grain of truth was +dissolved in the slaver of anarchy into a hundred lies. + +Waco, installed in the main I.W.W. camp just outside the town, cooked +early and late, and received a good wage for his services. More men +appeared, coming casually from nowhere and taking up their abode with +the disturbers. + +A week before the strike began, a committee from the union met with a +committee of townsmen and representatives of the smelter interests. The +argument was long and inconclusive. Aside from this, a special committee +of townsmen, headed by the mayor, interviewed the I.W.W. leaders. + +Arriving at no definite understanding, the citizens finally threatened +to deport the trouble-makers in a body. The I.W.W. members laughed at +them. Socialism, in which many of the better class of workmen believed +sincerely, began to take on the red tinge of anarchy. A notable advocate +of arbitration, a foreman in the smelter, was found one morning beaten +into unconsciousness. And no union man had done this thing, for the +foreman was popular with the union, to a man. The mayor received an +anonymous letter threatening his life. A similar letter was received by +the chief of police. And some few politicians who had won to prominence +through questionable methods were threatened with exposure if they did +not side with the strikers. + +Conditions became deplorable. The papers dared not print everything +they knew for fear of political enmity. And they were not able to print +many things transpiring in that festering underworld for lack of +definite knowledge, even had they dared. + +Noon of an August day the strikers walked out. Mob rule threatened +Sterling. Women dared no longer send their children to school or to the +grocery stores for food. They hardly dared go themselves. A striker was +shot by a companion in a saloon brawl. The killing was immediately +charged to a corporation detective, and our noble press made much of the +incident before it found out the truth. + +Shortly after this a number of citizens representing the business +backbone of the town met quietly and drafted a letter to a score of +citizens whom they thought might be trusted. That was Saturday evening. +On Sunday night there were nearly a hundred men in town who had been +reached by the citizens' committee. They elected a sub-committee of +twelve, with the sheriff as chairman. Driven to desperation by +intolerable conditions, they decided to administer swift and conclusive +justice themselves. To send for troops would be an admission that the +town of Sterling could not handle her own community. + +It became whispered among the I.W.W. that "The Hundred" had organized. +Leaders of the strikers laughed at these rumors, telling the men that +the day of the vigilante was past. + +On the following Wednesday a rabid leader of the disturbers, not a +union man, but a man who had never done a day's work in his life, +mounted a table on a street corner and addressed the crowd which quickly +swelled to a mob. Members of "The Hundred," sprinkled thinly throughout +the mob, listened until the speaker had finished. Among other things, he +had made a statement about the National Government which should have +turned the mob to a tribunal of prompt justice and hanged him. But many +of the men were drunk, and all were inflamed with the poison of the +hour. When the man on the table continued to slander the Government, and +finally named a name, there was silence. A few of the better class of +workmen edged out of the crowd. The scattered members of "The Hundred" +stayed on to the last word. + +Next morning this speaker was found dead, hanging from a bridge a little +way out of town. Not a few of the strikers were startled to a sense of +broad justice in his death, and yet such a hanging was an outrage to any +community. One sin did not blot out another. And the loyal "Hundred" +realized too late that they had put a potent weapon in the hands of +their enemies. + +A secret meeting was called by "The Hundred." Wires were commandeered +and messages sent to several towns in the northern part of the State to +men known personally by members of "The Hundred" as fearless and loyal +to American institutions. Already the mob had begun rioting, but, +meeting with no resistance, it contented itself with insulting those +whom they knew were not sympathizers. Stores were closed, and were +straightway broken into and looted. Drunkenness and street fights were +so common as to evoke no comment. + +Two days later a small band of cowboys rode into town. They were +followed throughout the day by other riders, singly and in small groups. +It became noised about the I.W.W. camp that professional gunmen were +being hired by the authorities; were coming in on horseback and on the +trains. That night the roadbed of the railroad was dynamited on both +sides of town. "The Hundred" immediately dispatched automobiles with +armed guards to meet the trains. + +Later, strangers were seen in town; quiet men who carried themselves +coolly, said nothing, and paid no attention to catcalls and insults. It +was rumored that troops had been sent for. Meanwhile, the town seethed +with anarchy and drunkenness. But, as must ever be the case, anarchy was +slowly weaving a rope with which to hang itself. + +Up in the second story of the court-house a broad-shouldered, +heavy-jawed man sat at a flat-topped desk with a clerk beside him. The +clerk wrote names in a book. In front of the clerk was a cigar-box +filled with numbered brass checks. The rows of chairs from the desk to +the front windows were pretty well filled with men, lean, hard-muscled +men of the ranges in the majority. The room was quiet save for an +occasional word from the big man at the desk. The clerk drew a check +from the cigar-box. A man stepped up to the desk, gave his name, age, +occupation, and address, received the numbered check, and went to his +seat. The clerk drew another check. + +A fat, broad-shouldered man waddled up, smiling. + +"Why, hello, Bud!" said the heavy-jawed man, rising and shaking hands. +"I didn't expect to see you. Wired you thinking you might send one or +two men from your county." + +"I got 'em with me," said Bud. + +"Number thirty-seven," said the clerk. + +Bud stuffed the check in his vest pocket. He would receive ten dollars a +day while in the employ of "The Hundred." He would be known and +addressed while on duty as number thirty-seven. "The Hundred" were not +advertising the names of their supporters for future use by the I.W.W. + +Bud's name and address were entered in a notebook. He waddled back to +his seat. + +"Cow-punch," said someone behind him. + +Bud turned and grinned. "You seen my laigs," he retorted. + +"Number thirty-eight." + +Lorry came forward and received his check. + +"You're pretty young," said the man at the desk. Lorry flushed, but made +no answer. + +"Number thirty-nine." + +The giant sheepman of the high country strode up, nodded, and took his +check. + +"Stacey County is well represented," said the man at the desk. + +When the clerk had finished entering the names, there were forty-eight +numbers in his book. The man at the desk rose. + +"Men," he said grimly, "you know what you are here for. If you haven't +got guns, you will be outfitted downstairs. Some folks think that this +trouble is only local. It isn't. It is national. Providence seems to +have passed the buck to us to stop it. We are here to prove that we can. +Last night our flag--our country's flag--was torn from the halyards +above this building and trampled in the dust of the street. Sit still +and don't make a noise. We're not doing business that way. If there are +any married men here, they had better take their horses and ride home. +This community does not assume responsibility for any man's life. You +are volunteers. There are four ex-Rangers among you. They will tell you +what to do. But I'm going to tell you one thing first; don't shoot high +or low when you have to shoot. Draw plumb center, and don't quit as long +as you can feel to pull a trigger. For any man that isn't outfitted +there's a rifle and fifty rounds of soft-nosed ammunition downstairs." + +The heavy-shouldered man sat down and pulled the notebook toward him. +The men rose and filed quietly downstairs. + +As they gathered in the street and gazed up at the naked halyards, a +shot dropped one of them in his tracks. An eagle-faced cowman whipped +out his gun. With the report came the tinkle of breaking glass from a +window diagonally opposite. Feet clattered down the stairs of the +building, and a woman ran into the street, screaming and calling out +that a man had been murdered. + +"Reckon I got him," said the cowman. "Boys, I guess she's started." + +The men ran for their horses. As they mounted and assembled, the +heavy-shouldered man appeared astride a big bay horse. + +"We're going to clean house," he stated. "And we start right here." + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + + +_A Squared Account_ + +The housecleaning began at the building diagonally opposite the +assembled posse. In a squalid room upstairs they found the man who had +fired upon them. He was dead. Papers found upon him disclosed his +identity as an I.W.W. leader. He had evidently rented the room across +from the court-house that he might watch the movements of "The Hundred." +A cheap, inaccurate revolver was found beside him. Possibly he had +fired, thinking to momentarily disorganize the posse; that they would +not know from where the shot had come until he had had time to make his +escape and warn his fellows. + +The posse moved from building to building. Each tenement, private +rooming-house, and shack was entered and searched. Union men who chanced +to be at home were warned that any man seen on the street that day was +in danger of being killed. Several members of the I.W.W. were routed out +in different parts of the town and taken to the jail. + +Saloons were ordered to close. Saloon-keepers who argued their right to +keep open were promptly arrested. An I.W.W. agitator, defying the posse, +was handcuffed, loaded into a machine, and taken out of town. Groups of +strikers gathered at the street corners and jeered the armed posse. One +group, cornered in a side street, showed fight. + +"We'll burn your dam' town!" cried a voice. + +The sheriff swung from his horse and shouldered through the crowd. As he +did so, a light-haired, weasel-faced youth, with a cigarette dangling +from the corner of his loose mouth, backed away. The sheriff followed +and pressed him against a building. + +"I know you!" said the sheriff. "You never made or spent an honest +dollar in this town. Boys," he continued, turning to the strikers, "are +you proud of this skunk who wants to burn your town?" + +A workman laughed. + +"You said it!" asserted the sheriff. "When somebody tells you what he +is, you laugh. Why don't you laugh at him when he's telling you of the +buildings he has dynamited and how many deaths he is responsible for? +Did he ever sweat alongside of any of you doing a day's work? Do you +know him? Does he know anything about your work or conditions? Not a +damned thing! Just think it over. And, boys, remember he is paid easy +money to get you into trouble. Who pays him? Is there any decent +American paying him to do that sort of thing? Stop and think about it." + +The weasel-faced youth raised his arm and pointed at the sheriff. "Who +pays you to shoot down women and kids?" he snarled. + +"I'm taking orders from the Governor of this State." + +"To hell with the Governor! And there's where he'll wake up one of these +fine days." + +"Because he's enforcing the law and trying to keep the flag from being +insulted by whelps like you, eh?" + +"We'll show you what's law! And we'll show you the right kind of a +flag--" + +"Boys, are you going to stand for this kind of talk?" And the sheriff's +heavy face quivered with anger. "I'd admire to kill you!" he said, +turning on the youth. "But that wouldn't do any good." + +The agitator was taken to the jail. Later it was rumored that a machine +had left the jail that night with three men in it. Two of them were +armed guards. The third was a weasel-faced youth. He was never heard of +again. + +As the cavalcade moved on down the street, workmen gathered on street +corners and in upper rooms and discussed the situation. The strike had +got beyond their control. Many of them were for sending a delegation to +the I.W.W. camp demanding that they disband and leave. Others were +silent, and still others voted loudly to "fight to a finish." + +Out beyond the edge of town lay the I.W.W. camp, a conglomeration of +board shacks hastily erected, brush-covered hovels, and tents. Not +counting the scattered members in town, there were at least two hundred +of the malcontents loafing in camp. When the sheriff's posse appeared it +was met by a deputation. But there was no parley. + +"We'll give you till sundown to clear out," said the sheriff and, +turning, he and his men rode back to the court-house. + +That evening sentinels were posted at the street corners within hail of +each other. In a vacant lot back of the court-house the horses of the +posse were corralled under guard. The town was quiet. Occasionally a +figure crossed the street; some shawl-hooded striker's wife or some +workman heedless of the sheriff's warning. + +Lorry happened to be posted on a corner of the court-house square. +Across the street another sentinel paced back and forth, occasionally +pausing to talk with Lorry. + +This sentinel was halfway up the block when a figure appeared from the +shadow between two buildings. The sentinel challenged. + +"A friend," said the figure. "I was lookin' for young Adams." + +"What do you want with him?" + +"It's private. Know where I can find him?" + +"He's across the street there. Who are you, anyway?" + +"That's my business. He knows me." + +"This guy wants to talk to you," called the sentinel. + +Lorry stepped across the street. He stopped suddenly as he discovered +the man to be Waco, the tramp. + +"Is it all right?" asked the sentinel, addressing Lorry. + +"I guess so. What do you want?" + +"It's about Jim Waring," said Waco. "I seen you when the sheriff rode up +to our camp. I seen by the papers that Jim Waring was your father. I +wanted to tell you that it was High-Chin Bob what killed Pat. I was in +the buckboard with Pat when he done it. The horses went crazy at the +shootin' and ditched me. When I come to I was in Grant." + +"Why didn't you stay and tell what you knew? Nobody would 'a' hurt you." + +"I was takin' no chance of the third, and twenty years." + +"What you doin' in this town?" + +"Cookin' for the camp. But I can't hold that job long. My whole left +side is goin' flooey. The boss give me hallelujah to-day for bein' slow. +I'm sick of the job." + +"Well, you ought to be. Suppose you come over to the sheriff and tell +him what you know about the killin' of Pat." + +"Nope; I was scared you would say that. I'm tellin' _you_ because you +done me a good turn onct. I guess that lets me out." + +"Not if I make you sit in." + +"You can make me sit in all right. But you can't make me talk. Show me +a cop and I freeze. I ain't takin' no chances." + +"You're takin' bigger chances right now." + +"Bigger'n you know, kid. Listen! You and Jim Waring and Pat used me +white. I'm sore at that I.W.W. bunch, but I dassent make a break. They'd +get me. But listen! If the boys knowed I was tellin' you this they'd cut +me in two. Two trucks just came into camp from up north. Them trucks was +loaded to the guards. Every man in camp's got a automatic and fifty +rounds. And they was settin' up a machine gun when I slipped through and +beat it, lookin' for you. You better fan it out of this while you got +the chanct." + +"Did they send you over to push that bluff--or are you talkin' +straight?" + +"S' help me! It's the bleedin' truth!" + +"Well, I'm thankin' you. But get goin' afore I change my mind." + +"Would you shake with a bum?" queried Waco. + +"Why--all right. You're tryin' to play square, I reckon. Wait a minute! +Are you willin' to put in writin' that you seen High-Chin Bob kill Pat? +I got a pencil and a envelope on me. Will you put it down right here, +and me to call my friend and witness your name?" + +"You tryin' to pinch me?" + +"That ain't my style." + +"All right. I'll put it down." + +And in the flickering rays of the arc light Waco scribbled on the back +of the envelope and signed his name. Lorry's companion read the scrawl +and handed it back to Lorry. Waco humped his shoulders and shuffled +away. + +"Why didn't you nail him?" queried the other. + +"I don't know. Mebby because he was trustin' me." + +Shortly afterward Lorry and his companion were relieved from duty. Lorry +immediately reported to the sheriff, who heard him without interrupting, +dismissed him, and turned to the committee, who held night session +discussing the situation. + +"They've called our bluff," he said, twisting his cigar round in his +lips. + +A ballot was taken. The vote was eleven to one for immediate action. The +ballot was secret, but the member who had voted against action rose and +tendered his resignation. + +"It would be plain murder if we were to shoot up their camp. It would +place us on their level." + +Just before daybreak a guard stationed two blocks west of the +court-house noticed a flare of light in the windows of a building +opposite. He glanced toward the east. The dim, ruddy glow in the windows +was not that of dawn. He ran to the building and tried to open the door +to the stairway. As he wrenched at the door a subdued soft roar swelled +and grew louder. Turning, he ran to the next corner, calling to the +guard. The alarm of fire was relayed to the court-house. + +Meanwhile the two cowboys ran back to the building and hammered on the +door. Some one in an upstairs room screamed. Suddenly the door gave +inward. A woman carrying a cheap gilt clock pushed past them and sank in +a heap on the sidewalk. The guards heard some one running down the +street. One of them tied a handkerchief over his face and groped his way +up the narrow stairs. The hall above was thick with smoke. A door sprang +open, and a man carrying a baby and dragging a woman by the hand bumped +into the guard, cursed, and stumbled toward the stairway. + +The cowboy ran from door to door down the long, narrow hall, calling to +the inmates. In one room he found a lamp burning on a dresser and two +children asleep. He dragged them from bed and carried them to the +stairway. From below came the surge and snap of flames. He held his +breath and descended the stairs. A crowd of half-clothed workmen had +gathered. Among them he saw several of the guards. + +"Who belongs to these kids?" he cried. + +A woman ran up. "She's here," she said, pointing to the woman with the +gilt clock, who still lay on the sidewalk. A man was trying to revive +her. The cowboy noticed that the unconscious woman still gripped the +gilt clock. + +He called to a guard. Together they dashed up the stairs and ran from +room to room. Toward the back of the building they found a woman +insanely gathering together a few cheap trinkets and stuffing them into +a pillow-case. She was trying to work a gilt-framed lithograph into the +pillow-case when they seized her and led her toward the stairway. She +fought and cursed and begged them to let her go back and get her things. +A burst of flame swept up the stairway. The cowboys turned and ran back +along the hall. One of them kicked a window out. The other tied a sheet +under the woman's arms and together they lowered her to the ground. + +Suddenly the floor midway down the hall sank softly in a fountain of +flame and sparks. + +"Reckon we jump," said one of the cowboys. + +Lowering himself from the rear window, he dropped. His companion +followed. They limped to the front of the building. A crowd massed in +the street, heedless of the danger that threatened as a section of roof +curled like a piece of paper, writhed, and dropped to the sidewalk. + +A group of guards appeared with a hose-reel. They coupled to a hydrant. +A thin stream gurgled from the hose and subsided. The sheriff ran to the +steps of a building and called to the crowd. + +"Your friends," he cried, "have cut the water-main. There is no water." + +The mass groaned and swayed back and forth. + +From up the street came a cry--the call of a range rider. A score of +cowboys tried to force the crowd back from the burning building. + +"Look out for the front!" cried the guards. "She's coming!" + +The crowd surged back. The front of that flaming shell quivered, curved, +and crashed to the street. + +The sheriff called to his men. An old Texas Ranger touched his arm. +"There's somethin' doin' up yonder, Cap." + +"Keep the boys together," ordered the sheriff; "This fire was started to +draw us out. Tell the boys to get their horses." + +Dawn was breaking when the cowboys gathered in the vacant lot and +mounted their horses. In the clear light they could see a mob in the +distance; a mob that moved from the east toward the court-house. The +sheriff dispatched a man to wire for troops, divided his force in +halves, and, leading one contingent, he rode toward the oncoming mob. +The other half of the posse, led by an old Ranger, swung round to a back +street and halted. + +The shadows of the buildings grew shorter. A cowboy on a restive pony +asked what they were waiting for. Some one laughed. + +The old Ranger turned in his saddle. "It's a right lovely mornin'," he +remarked impersonally, tugging at his silver-gray mustache. + +Suddenly the waiting riders stiffened in their saddles. A ripple of +shots sounded, followed by the shrill cowboy yell. Still the old Ranger +sat his horse, coolly surveying his men. + +"Don't we get a look-in?" queried a cowboy. + +"Poco tiempo," said the Ranger softly. + +The sheriff bunched his men as he approached the invaders. Within fifty +yards of their front he halted and held up his hand. Massed in a solid +wall from curb to curb, the I.W.W. jeered and shouted as he tried to +speak. A parley was impossible. The vagrants were most of them drunk. + +The sheriff turned to the man nearest him. + +"Tell the boys that we'll go through, turn, and ride back. Tell them not +to fire a shot until we turn." + +As he gathered his horse under him, the sheriff's arm dropped. The +shrill "Yip! Yip!" of the range rose above the thunder of hoofs as +twenty ponies jumped to a run. The living thunder-bolt tore through the +mass. The staccato crack of guns sounded sharply above the deeper roar +of the mob. The ragged pathway closed again as the riders swung round, +bunched, and launched at the mass from the rear. Those who had turned to +face the second charge were crowded back as the cowboys, with guns +going, ate into the yelling crowd. The mob turned, and like a great, +black wave swept down the street and into the court-house square. + +The cowboys raced past, and reined in a block below the court-house. As +they paused to reload, a riderless horse, badly wounded, plunged among +them. A cowboy caught the horse and shot it. Another rider, gripping his +shirt above his abdomen, writhed and groaned, begging piteously for some +one to kill him. Before they could get him off his horse he spurred out, +and, pulling his carbine from the scabbard, charged into the mob, in the +square. With the lever going like lightning, he bored into the mob, +fired his last shot in the face of a man that had caught his horse's +bridle, and sank to the ground. Shattered and torn he lay, a red pulp +that the mob trampled into the dust. + +The upper windows of the court-house filled with figures. An irregular +fire drove the cowboys to the shelter of a side street. In the wide +doorway of the court-house several men crouched behind a blue-steel +tripod. Those still in the square crowded past and into the building. +Behind the stone pillars of the entrance, guarded by a machine gun, the +crazy mob cheered drunkenly and defied the guards to dislodge them. + +From a building opposite came a single shot, and the group round the +machine gun lifted one of their fellows and carried him back into the +building. Again came the peremptory snarl of a carbine, and another +figure sank in the doorway. The machine gun was dragged back. Its muzzle +still commanded the square, but its operators were now shielded by an +angle of the entrance. + +Back on the side street, the old ex-Ranger had difficulty in +restraining his men. They knew by the number of shots fired that some of +their companions had gone down. + +The sheriff was about to call for volunteers to capture the machine gun +when a white handkerchief fluttered from an upper window of the +court-house. Almost immediately a man appeared on the court-house steps, +alone and indicating by his gestures that he wished to parley with the +guard. The sheriff dismounted and stepped forward. + +One of his men checked him. "That's a trap, John. They want to get you, +special. Don't you try it." + +"It's up to me," said the sheriff, and shaking off the other's hand he +strode across the square. + +At the foot of the steps he met the man. The guard saw them converse for +a brief minute; saw the sheriff shake his fist in the other's face and +turn to walk back. As he turned, a shot from an upper window dropped him +in his stride. + +The cowboys yelled and charged across the square. The machine gun +stuttered and sprayed a fury of slugs that cut down horses and riders. A +cowboy, his horse shot from under him, sprang up the steps and dragged +the machine gun into the open. A rain of slugs from the upper windows +struck him down. His companions carried him back to cover. The machine +gun stood in the square, no longer a menace, yet no one dared approach +it from either side. + +When the old Ranger, who had orders to hold his men in reserve, heard +that the sheriff had been shot down under a flag of truce, he shook his +head. + +"Three men could 'a' stopped that gun as easy as twenty, and saved more +hosses. Who wants to take a little pasear after that gun?" + +Several of his men volunteered. + +"I only need two," he said, smiling. "I call by guess. Number +twenty-six, number thirty-eight, and number three." + +The last was his own number. + +In the wide hallway and massed on the court-house stairs the mob was +calling out to recover the gun. Beyond control of their leaders, crazed +with drink and killing, they surged forward, quarreling, and shoved from +behind by those above. + +"We're ridin'," said the old Ranger. + +With a man on each side of him he charged across the square. + +Waco, peering from behind a stone column in the entrance, saw that Lorry +was one of the riders. Lorry's lips were drawn tight. His face was pale, +but his gun arm swung up and down with the regularity of a machine as he +threw shot after shot into the black tide that welled from the +court-house doorway. A man near Waco pulled an automatic and leveled it. +Waco swung his arm and brained the man with an empty whiskey bottle. He +threw the bottle at another of his fellows, and, stumbling down the +steps, called to Lorry. The three riders paused for an instant as Waco +ran forward. The riders had won almost to the gun when Waco stooped and +jerked it round and poured a withering volley into the close-packed +doorway. + +Back in the side street the leader of the cowboys addressed his men. + +"We'll leave the horses here," he said. "Tex went after that gun, and I +reckon he's got it. We'll clean up afoot." + +But the I.W.W. had had enough. Their leaders had told them that with the +machine gun they could clean up the town, capture the court-house, and +make their own terms. They had captured the court-house, but they were +themselves trapped. One of their own number had planned that treachery. +And they knew that those lean, bronzed men out there would shoot them +down from room to room as mercilessly as they would kill coyotes. + +They surrendered, shuffling out and down the slippery stone steps. Each +man dropped his gun in the little pile that grew and grew until the old +Ranger shook his head, pondering. That men of this kind should have +access to arms and ammunition of the latest military type--and a machine +gun. What was behind it all? He tried to reason it out in his +old-fashioned way even as the trembling horde filed past, cordoned by +grim, silent cowboys. + +The vagrants were escorted out of town in a body. Fearful of the hate +of the guard, of treachery among themselves and of the townsfolk in +other places, they tramped across the hills, followed closely by the +stern-visaged riders. Several miles north of Sterling they disbanded. + +When a company of infantrymen arrived in Sterling they found several +cowboys sluicing down the court-house steps with water hauled +laboriously from the river. + +The captain stated that he would take charge of things, and suggested +that the cowboys take a rest. + +"That's all right, Cap," said a puncher, pointing toward the naked +flagstaff. "But we-all would admire to see the Stars and Stripes +floatin' up there afore we drift." + +"I'll have the flag run up," said the captain. + +"That's all right, Cap. But you don't sabe the idee. These here steps +got to be _clean_ afore that flag goes up." + + * * * * * + +"And they's some good in bein' fat," said Bud Shoop as he met Lorry next +morning. "The army doc just put a plaster on my arm where one of them +automatic pills nicked me. Now, if I'd been lean like you--" + +"Did you see Waco?" queried Lorry. + +"Waco? What's ailin' you, son?" + +"Nothin'. It was Waco went down, workin' that machine gun against his +own crowd. I didn't sabe that at first." + +"Him? Didn't know he was in town." + +"I didn't, either, till last night. He sneaked in to tell me about the +killin' of Pat. Next I seen him was when he brained a fella that was +shootin' at me. Then somehow he got to the gun--and you know the rest." + +"Looks like he was crazy," suggested Shoop. + +"I don' know about that. I got to him before he cashed in. He pawed +around like he couldn't see. I asked what I could do. He kind of braced +up then. 'That you, kid?' he says. 'They didn't get you?' I told him no. +'Then I reckon we're square,' he says. I thought he was gone, but he +reached out his hand. Seems he couldn't see. 'Would you mind shakin' +hands with a bum?' he says. I did. And then he let go my hand. He was +done." + +"H'm! And him! But you can't always tell. Sometimes it takes a bullet +placed just right, and sometimes religion, and sometimes a woman to make +a man show what's in him. I reckon Waco done you a good turn that +journey. But ain't it hard luck when a fella waits till he's got to +cross over afore he shows white?" + +"He must 'a' had a hunch he was goin' to get his," said Lorry. "Or he +wouldn't chanced sneakin' into town last night. When do we go north?" + +"To-morrow. The doc says the sheriff will pull through. He sure ought to +get the benefit of the big doubt. There's a man that God A'mighty took +some trouble in makin'." + +"Well, I'm mighty glad it's over. I don't want any more like this. I +come through all right, but this ain't fightin'; it's plumb killin' and +murder." + +"And both sides thinks so," said Bud. "And lemme tell you; you can read +your eyes out about peace and equality and fraternity, but they's goin' +to be killin' in this here world just as long as they's fools willin' to +listen to other fools talk. And they's always goin' to be some fools." + +"You ain't strong on socialism, eh, Bud?" + +"Socialism? You mean when all men is born fools and equal? Not this +mawnin', son. I got all I can do figurin' out my own trail." + + + + +Chapter XXIX + + +_Bud's Conscience_ + +Those riders who had come from the northern part of the State to +Sterling were given transportation for themselves and their horses to +The Junction. From there they rode to their respective homes. Among them +were Bud Shoop, the giant sheepman, and Lorry, who seemed more anxious +than did Shoop to stop at Stacey on their way to the reserve. + +"Your maw don't know you been to Sterling," Shoop said as they rode +toward Stacey. + +"But she won't care, now we're back again. She'll find out some time." + +"I'm willin' to wait," said Bud. "I got you into that hocus. But I had +no more idee than a cat that we'd bump into what we did. They was a time +when a outfit like ours could 'a' kep' peace in a town by just bein' +there. Things are changin'--fast. If the Gov'ment don't do somethin' +about allowin' the scum of this country to get hold of guns and +ca'tridges wholesale, they's goin' to be a whole lot of extra +book-keepin' for the recordin' angel. I tell you what, son, allowin' +that I seen enough killin' in my time so as just seein' it don't set too +hard on my chest, that mess down to Sterling made me plumb sick to my +stummick. I'm wonderin' what would 'a' happened if Sterling hadn't made +that fight and the I.W.W. had run loose. It ain't what we did. That had +to be did. But it's the idee that decent folks, livin' under the +American flag, has got to shoot their way back to the law, like we +done." + +"Mebby the law ain't right," suggested Lorry. + +"Don't you get that idee, son. The law is all right. Mebby it ain't +handled right sometimes." + +"But what can anybody do about it?" + +"Trouble is that folks who want to do the right thing ain't always got +the say. Or mebby if they have got the say they leave it to the other +fella. + +"What did the folks in Arizona do long back in eighty, when the sheep +disease got bad. First off they doctored up the sick sheep, tryin' to +save 'em. That didn't work, so they took to killin' 'em to save the good +sheep. But the disease had got into the blood of some of the good sheep. +Then some of the big sheepmen got busy. Arizona made a law that no stock +was to be shipped into any of her territory without bein' inspected. +That helped some. But inspectors is human, and some sick sheep got by. + +"Then one day a fella that had some brains got up in the State House and +spoke for the shuttin' out of all stock until the disease was stomped +out. You see, that disease didn't start in this here country. But who +downed that fella? Why, the sheepmen themselves. It would hurt their +business. And the funny part of it is them sheepmen was willin' enough +to ship sick sheep anywhere they could sell 'em. But some States was +wise. California, she put a inspection tax of twenty-five dollars on +every carload of stock enterin' her State--or on one animal; didn't make +no difference. That inspection tax had to be paid by the shipper of the +stock, as I said, whether he shipped one head or a hundred. And the +stock had to be inspected before loadin'." + +"You mean immigrants?" queried Lorry. + +"The same. The gate is open too wide. If I had the handlin' of them +gates I would shut 'em for ten years and kind of let what we got settle +down and get acquainted. But the man hirin' cheap labor wouldn't. He'll +take anything that will work cheap, and the country pays the difference, +like we done down to Sterling." + +"You mean there can't be cheap labor?" + +"The same. Somebody's got to pay." + +"Well, Sterling paid," said Lorry, "if a man's life is worth anything." + +"Yes, she paid. And the worst part of the whole business is that the men +what paid didn't owe anything to the smelter or to them others. They +just made a present of their lives to this here country. And the country +ain't goin' to even say 'thanks.'" + +"You're pretty sore about it, aren't you, Bud?" + +"I be. And if you had my years you'd be likewise. But what's worryin' me +right now is I'm wonderin' what your maw'll say to me when she finds +out." + +"You can say we been south on business." + +"Yes," grunted Bud, "and I got the receipt right here on my left wing." + +"Hurtin' you much?" + +"Just enough to let me know I'm livin' and ain't ridin' through hell +shootin' down a lot of pore, drunk fools that's tryin' to run the oven. +And them kind would kick if they was ridin' in hell on a free pass and +their hotel bills paid. But over there is the hills, and we can thank +God A'mighty for the high trails and the open country. I ain't got the +smell of that town out of my nose yet." + + * * * * * + +When they arrived at Stacey, Lorry learned that his father had recently +gone to the ranch. After supper that evening, Mrs. Adams mentioned the +strike. The papers printed columns of the awful details; outrages and +killings beyond the thought of possibility. And Mrs. Adams spoke of the +curious circumstance that the men who put down the lawlessness were +unnamed; that all that could be learned of them was that there were +ranchers and cowmen who were known by number alone. + +"And I'm glad that you didn't go riding off down there," she said to +Lorry. "The paper says men from all over the State volunteered." + +"So am I," said Shoop promptly. "I was readin' about that strike when +we was over to The Junction. Lorry and me been over that way on +business. I seen that that young fella, number thirty-eight, was one of +the men who went after that machine gun." + +"How do you know that he was a young man?" queried Mrs. Adams. + +"Why--er--only a young fella would act that foolish, I reckon. You say +Jim is feelin' spry ag'in?" + +"Oh, much better! He's lame yet. But he can ride." + +"That's good." + +"And did you see that the paper says men are volunteering to go to +France? I wonder what will happen next?" + +"I dunno," said Shoop gravely. "I been thinkin' about that." + +"Well, I hope Lorry won't think that he has to go. Some of the boys in +town are talking about it." + +"It's in the air," said Shoop. + +"And his father will need him now. Could you spare him, if Jim finds he +can't get along alone?" + +"I don't know," laughed Bud. "I reckon I need somebody to look after +them campers up to my old place." + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you; the folks that were here last summer stopped +by on their way to Jason. Mrs. Weston and her girl. They said they were +going to visit Mr. Bronson." + +"H'm! Then I reckon I got to keep Lorry. Don't know what three females +would do with just Bronson for comp'ny. He's a-tickin' at that writin' +machine of his most all day, and sometimes nights. It must be like +livin' in a cave." + +"But Dorothy hasn't," said Lorry. + +"That's right! My, but that little gal has built up wonderful since +she's been up there! Did you see my watch?" + +"Why, no!" + +"Some style to that!" And Shoop displayed the new watch with pride. "And +here's the name of the lady what give it to me." + +Lorry's mother examined the watch, and handed it to Lorry, to whom the +news of the gift was a surprise. + +"But she didn't give him a watch," said Shoop, chuckling. + + * * * * * + +Up in their room that night, Lorry helped Bud out of his coat. Shoop's +arm was stiff and sore. + +"And your mother would think it was a mighty queer business, if she +knowed this," said Bud, "or who that number thirty-eight was down +there." + +"You sure made a good bluff, Bud." + +"Mebby. But I was scared to death. When I was talkin' about Sterling so +free and easy, and your maw mighty near ketched me that time, my arm was +itchin' like hell-fire, and I dassen scratch it. I never knowed a +fella's conscience could get to workin' around his system like that. +Now, if it was my laig, I could 'a' scratched it with my other foot +under the table. Say, but you sure showed red in your face when your maw +said them Weston folks was up to the camp." + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, I do. Here, hook onto your Uncle Bud's boot. I'm set: go ahead +and pull. You can't do nothin' but shake the buildin'. Say, what does +Bronson call his gal 'Peter Pan' for?" + +"Why, it's a kind of foreign name," flashed Lorry. "And it sounds all +right when you say it right. You said it like the 'pan' was settin' a +mile off." + +"Well, you needn't to get mad." + + + + +Chapter XXX + + +_In the Hills_ + +Lorry's return to the mountains was somewhat of a disappointment to his +expectations. Dorothy had greeted him quite casually and naturally +enough, in that she knew nothing of his recent venture. He was again +introduced to Mrs. Weston and her daughter. For the first time Dorothy +heard of the automobile accident and Lorry's share in the subsequent +proceedings. She asked Lorry why he had not told her that he knew the +Westons. He had no reply save "Oh, I don't know," which rather piqued +Dorothy. He was usually definite and frank. + +The Westons occupied Bronson's cabin with Dorothy. Bronson pitched a +tent, moved his belongings into it, and declared himself, jokingly, free +from Dorothy's immediate tyranny. + +Dorothy, busy in the kitchen, asked her father to invite Lorry to dinner +that evening. Through a sort of youthful perverseness not unmixed with +bucolic pride, Lorry declined the invitation. He would be busy making +ready for another trip in the hills. He had already planned his own +evening meal. He appreciated the invitation, but they could get along +without him. These excuses satisfied Bronson. Lorry's real reason for +declining was that Dorothy had not invited him in person. He knew it, +and felt ashamed of himself. What reason had he to expect her to invite +him personally, except that she had almost invariably done so +heretofore? And back of this was the subtle jealousy of caste. The +Westons were "her kind of folks." He was not really one of them. +Boyishly he fancied that he would do as a companion when there was no +one else available. He was very much in love with Dorothy and did not +realize it. + +And Dorothy was disappointed in him. She had wanted the Westons to know +what a really fine fellow he was. + +Alice Weston at once recalled Lorry's attitude toward her on a former +occasion when he had been tacitly invited to go with them to the +Horseshoe Hills and he had stayed at the hotel. She told Dorothy that +Mr. Adams was not to be taken too seriously. After all, he was nothing +more than a boy, and perhaps he would feel better, having declined to +risk possible embarrassment at their table. + +Dorothy was inwardly furious on the instant, but she checked herself. +What did Alice Weston know about Lorry? Well, Alice knew that he was a +good-looking young savage who seemed quite satisfied with himself. She +thought that possibly she could tame him if she cared to try. Dorothy, +with feminine graciousness, dared Alice to invite Lorry to the dinner. +Alice was to know nothing of his having declined an earlier invitation. +Greatly to Dorothy's surprise, Alice Weston accepted the challenge. + +She waited until just before the dinner hour. Lorry was mending a +pack-saddle when she came to his cabin. He dropped his work and stood +up. + +"I have been thinking about that tramp you arrested," she began. "And I +think you were right in what you did." + +"Yes, ma'am," stammered Lorry. + +Her manner had been especially gracious. + +"And I didn't have a chance to say good-bye--that time"--and she +smiled--"when you rode off waving your scarf--" + +"It was a leg of lamb," corrected Lorry. + +"Well, you waved it very gracefully. What big, strong arms! They don't +look so big when your sleeves are down." + +Lorry promptly rolled down his sleeves. He felt that he had to do +something. + +"And there is so much to talk about I hardly know where to begin. Oh, +yes! Thank you so much for repairing our car." + +"That was nothin'." + +"It meant a great deal to us. Is that your horse--the one standing alone +over there?" + +"Yes, ma'am. That's Gray Leg." + +"I remember him. I couldn't ever forget that morning--but I don't want +to hinder your work. I see you are mending something." + +"Just fittin' a new pad to this pack-saddle. I was figurin' to light +out to-morrow." + +"So soon? That's too bad. But, then, we can visit at dinner this +evening. Dorothy said she expected you. I believe it is almost ready." + +"I don't know, Miss Weston. It's like this--" + +"And I know Mr. Bronson meant to ask you. He has been quite busy. +Perhaps he forgot." + +"He--" + +"So I am here as ambassador. Will I do?" + +"Why, sure! But--" + +"And mother would be so disappointed if you didn't come. So should I, +especially as you are leaving to-morrow. What is it they say in Mexico, +'Adios'? I must run back." + +She proffered her hand gracefully. Lorry shook hands with her. She gave +his fingers a little, lingering squeeze that set his pulses racing. She +was a mighty pretty girl. + +"We shall expect you," she called, halfway to the cabin. + +And she sure could change a fellow's mind for him without half trying. +She hadn't given him a chance to refuse her invitation. She just knew +that he was coming to supper. And so did he. + +Alice Weston held Lorry's attention from the beginning, as she had +intended. She was gowned in some pale-green material touched here and +there with a film of lace. Lorry was fascinated by her full, rounded +arms, her beautifully strong wrists, and by the way in which she had +arranged her heavy, dark hair. In the daylight that afternoon he had +noticed that her eyes were blue. He had thought them brown. But they +were the color of wood violets untouched by the sun. While she lacked +the positive outdoor coloring of Dorothy, her complexion was radiant +with youth and health. Lorry felt subdued, disinclined to talk despite +Dorothy's obvious attempts to be entertaining. He realized that Dorothy +was being exceedingly nice to him, although he knew that she was a +little high-strung and nervous that evening. + +After dinner Bronson and Lorry smoked out on the veranda. When the +others came out, Bronson suggested that they have some music. Lorry +promptly invited them to his cabin. + +"Alice plays wonderfully," said Dorothy. + +Bronson, talking with Mrs. Weston, enjoyed himself. He had been isolated +so long that news from the "outside" interested him. + +Lorry, gravely attentive to the playing, happened to glance up. Dorothy +was gazing at him with a most peculiar expression. He flushed. He had +not realized that he had been staring at Alice Weston; at her round, +white throat and graceful arms. But just then she ceased playing. + +"Have you any music that you would like?" she asked Lorry. + +"There's some here. I don't know what it's like. Some songs and dances +the boys fetched up for Bud." + +"What fun!" said Alice. "And what an assortment! Shall we try this?" + +And she began to play a flimsy tune printed on a flimsy sheet that +doubled and slid to the keys. Lorry jumped up, spread it out, and stood +holding a corner of it while she played. Close to her, he was sensible +of a desire to caress her hair, to kiss her vivid lips as she glanced up +at him and smiled. He had no idea then that she was deliberately +enthralling him with every grace she possessed. + +The fact that she rather liked him made her subtleties all the more +potent. It flattered her to see the frank admiration in his gray eyes. +She knew he was anything but "soft," which made the game all the more +alluring. He was to leave soon--to-morrow. Meanwhile, she determined +that he should remember her. + +Late that evening Bronson and the others said good-night. Alice, not +Dorothy, asked Lorry when he was to leave. His "some time to-morrow" +sounded unnaturally indefinite. + +He was standing in the doorway of his camp as the others entered +Bronson's cabin. Alice Weston was the last to enter. For an instant she +stood in the lamplight that floated through the doorway, looking back +toward him. Impulsively he waved good-night. Her attitude had seemed to +call for it. He saw her fingers flash to her lips. She tilted her chin +and threw him a kiss. + +"Dog-gone the luck!" he growled as he entered his cabin. And with the +brief expletive he condemned his disloyalty to the sprightly, slender +Dorothy; the Peter Pan of the Blue Mesa; the dream girl of that idle +noon at the Big Spring. The other girl--well, she was just playing with +him. + + * * * * * + +In view of Lorry's training and natural carefulness it was especially +significant that he decided next day that he had forgotten to lay in +enough supplies for his journey south. He would ride to Jason and pack +in what he needed. He had a fair excuse. Bronson had recently borrowed +some of his canned provisions. He was well on his way to Jason that +morning before the others had arisen. + +He was back at the camp shortly after nine that night. As he passed +Bronson's cabin he saw a light in the window. Mrs. Weston was talking +with Dorothy. Lorry had hoped to catch a glimpse of Alice Weston. He had +been hoping all that day that he would see her again before he left. +Perhaps she was asleep. + +As he passed the corral a greeting came from the darkness:-- + +"Good-evening! I thought you had gone." + +"I--I didn't see you," he stammered. + +Alice Weston laughed softly. "Oh, I was just out here looking at the +stars. It's cooler out here. Then you changed your mind about going?" + +"Nope. I had to go to Jason for grub. I'm going to-morrow." + +"Oh, I see! We thought you had gone." + +"Got a headache?" queried Lorry. + +Her voice had been so unnaturally low, almost sad. + +"No. I just wanted to be alone." + +Lorry fumbled in his pockets. "I got the mail," he stated. + +"I'll give it to Mr. Bronson." + +Lorry leaned down and gave her the packet of letters and papers. + +"Good-bye. I won't see you in the mornin'" + +"We'll miss you." + +"Honest?" + +"Of course!" And she gave him her hand. + +He drew his foot from the stirrup. "Put your foot in there," he said, +still holding her hand. + +"But why?" + +"'Cause I'm goin' to ride off with you, like in books." He laughed, but +his laughter was tense and unnatural. + +It was dark. The stars shone faintly. The air was soft with a subtle +fragrance; the fragrance of sun-warmed pine that the night had stolen +from the slumbering woodlands. She slipped her foot in the wide stirrup. +Half laughing, she allowed him to draw her up. She felt the hard +strength of his arm, and was thrilled. She had not meant to do anything +like this. + +"You been playin' with me," he told her, whispering, "and I take my +pay." + +She turned her face away, but he found her lips and crushed her to him. + +"Oh!" she whispered as he kissed her again and again. + +Slowly his arm relaxed. White-faced and trembling, she slid to the +ground and stood looking up at him. + +"I hate you!" she said. + +"No, you don't," said Lorry quite cheerfully. + +And he reached out his hand as though to take her hand again. + +She stood still, making no effort to avoid him. Then--"No, please!" she +begged. + +Lorry sat for a moment looking down at her. There had been no +make-believe on her part when he held her in his arms. He knew that. And +now? She had said that she hated him. Perhaps she did for having made +her do that which she had never dreamed of doing. But he told himself +that he could stand a whole lot of that kind of hate. And did he really +care for her? Could a girl give what she had given and forget on the +morrow? He would never forget. + +She had told herself that he should have reason to remember her. + +After he had gone she stood gazing across the starlit mesa. She heard +Lorry whistling cheerily as he unsaddled his pony. A falling star flamed +and faded across the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +_In the Pines_ + +Alice Weston pleaded headache next morning. She did not get up until +noon. Meanwhile Dorothy came, bringing hot coffee and toast. + +"Does it really hurt?" queried Dorothy. "Or is it one of those headaches +that is always going to hurt, but never does?" + +Alice smiled and sipped her coffee. "Oh, it's not bad. I want to rest. +Perhaps it's the altitude." + +"Perhaps," said Dorothy. "I'm sorry, Alice." + +They chatted awhile. Suddenly Alice thought of the letters Lorry had +given her. She had carried them to her room, and had forgotten them. + +"Mr. Adams left some mail with me last night. I happened to be outside +when he rode past." + +"Why, I thought he had gone!" + +"He said he had to go to Jason for something or other. He left early +this morning, I think." + +Dorothy glanced at the mail. "All for daddy--except this circular. H'm! +'Intelligent clothing for Intelligent People.' Isn't that awful? How in +the world do such firms get one's address when one lives 'way up here +in the sky. Do you ever get advertisements like this?" + +"Oh, yes; heaps of them." + +"Well, _your_ gowns are beautiful," sighed Dorothy. + +"You are a darling," said Alice, caressing Dorothy's cheek. + +"So are you, dear." And Dorothy kissed her. "And you coaxed Lorry to +come to dinner, after all! I don't know what made him so grumpy, though. +I would have been sorry if he hadn't come to dinner, even if he was +grumpy." + +"Do you like him?" queried Alice. + +"Of course; he has been so nice to us. Don't you?" + +Alice's lips trembled. Suddenly she hid her face in her hands and burst +into tears. + +"Why, Alice, what _is_ the matter?" + +"Nothing," she sobbed. "I'm just tired--of everything." + +"It must be the altitude," said Dorothy gravely. "Father says it does +make some persons nervous. Just rest, Allie, and I'll come in again." + +Without telling her father anything further than that she was going for +a ride, Dorothy saddled Chinook. + +Dorothy was exceedingly trustful, but she was not at all stupid. She +thought she understood Alice's headache. And while Dorothy did not dream +that her friend cared anything for Lorry, she was not so sure that +Lorry did not care for Alice. Perhaps he had said something to her. +Perhaps they had become rather well acquainted in Stacey last summer. + +Dorothy rode toward the Big Spring. She had no definite object in view +other than to be alone. She was hurt by Lorry's incomprehensible manner +of leaving. What had she done to cause him to act so strangely? And why +had he refused her invitation and accepted it again through Alice? "But +I'll never, never let him know that I care about that," she thought. +"And when he comes back everything will be all right again." + +Just before she reached the Big Spring her pony nickered. She imagined +she could see a horse standing back of the trees round the spring. Some +ranger returning to Jason or some cattle outfit from the south was +camped at the spring. But when Chinook nickered again and the other pony +answered, she knew at once that Lorry was there. Why had he stopped at +the spring? He had started early enough to have made a camp farther on. + +Lorry saw her coming, and busied himself adjusting one of the packs. As +she rode up he turned and took off his hat. His face was flushed. His +eyes did not meet hers as she greeted him. + +"I didn't look for you to ride up here," he said lamely. + +"And I didn't expect to find you here," she said as she dismounted. She +walked straight to him. "Lorry, what is the matter? You're not like my +ranger man at all! Are you in trouble?" + +Her question, so frank and sincere, and the deep solicitude in her +troubled eyes hurt him, and yet he was glad to feel that hot pain in his +throat. He knew now that he cared for her more than for any living +being; beyond all thought of passion or of selfishness. She looked and +seemed like a beautiful boy, with all the frankness of true comradeship +in her attitude and manner. And she was troubled because of him--and not +for herself. Lorry thought of the other girl. He had taken his pay. His +lips burned dry as he recalled that moment when he had held her in his +arms. + +Dorothy saw the dull pain in his eyes, a sort of dumb pleading for +forgiveness for something he had done; she could not imagine what. He +dropped to his knee, and taking her slender hand in his kissed her +fingers. + +"Don't be silly," she said, yet her free hand caressed his hair. "What +is it, ranger man?" + +"I been a regular dam' fool, Dorothy." + +"But, Lorry! You know--if there is anything, anything in the world that +I can do--Please, _please_ don't cry. If you were to do that I think I +should die. I couldn't stand it. You make me afraid. What is it? Surely +it is not--Alice?" + +He crushed her fingers. Suddenly he stood up and stepped back. The +sunlight shone on his bared head. He looked very boyish as he shrugged +his shoulders as though to free himself from an invisible hand that +oppressed and irritated him. His sense of fair play in so far as Alice +Weston was concerned would not allow him to actually regret that affair. +To him that had been a sort of conquest. But shame and repentance for +having been disloyal to Dorothy were stamped so clearly upon his +features that she understood. She knew what he was about to say, and +checked him. + +"Don't tell me," she said gently. "You have told me. I know Alice is +attractive; she can't help that. If you care for her--" + +"Care for her! She was playin' with me. When I found out that--" + +Dorothy caught her breath. Her eyes grew big. She had not thought that +Alice Weston--But then that did not matter now. Lorry was so abjectly +sorry about something or other. He felt her hand on his sleeve. She was +smiling. "You're just a great big, silly boy, ranger man. I'm really +years older than you. Please don't tell me anything. I don't want to +know. I just want you to be happy." + +"Happy? And you say that!" + +"Of course!" + +"Well, mebby I could be happy if you was to set to and walk all over +me." + +"Oh, but that wouldn't do any good. Tell me why you stopped here at the +spring. You didn't expect to meet any one, did you?" + +"I--stopped here--because we camped here that time." + +"Well, Lorry, it's really foolish of you to feel so badly when there's +nothing the matter. If you wanted to kiss Alice and she let you--why, +that isn't wrong. A boy kissed me once when I was going to school in the +East. I just boxed his ears and laughed at him. It is only when you act +grumpy or feel badly that I worry about you. I just want to be your +little mother then--and try to help you." + +"You make me feel like I wasn't fit to ever touch your hand again," he +told her. + +"But you mustn't feel that way," she said cheerily. "I want you to be +brave and strong and happy; just as you were that day we camped here. +And you will, won't you?" + +"Yes, ma'am. I'm takin' orders from you." + +"But you mustn't wait for me to tell you. Just be yourself, and then I +know you will never be ashamed of anything you do. I must go now. +Good-bye, Lorry." + +She gave her hand, and he drew her to him. But she turned her face away +as he bent his head above her. + +"No; not now, Lorry. I--can't. Please don't." + +"I--guess you're right. I reckon you showed me just where I stand. Yes, +you're plumb right about it, Dorothy. But I'm comin' back--" + +"I'll wait for you," she said softly. + +He turned briskly to the ponies. The pack-horses plodded up the trail as +he mounted Gray Leg and rode over to her. + +She reached up and patted Gray Leg's nose. "Good-bye, everybody!" she +chirruped. And she kissed Gray Leg's nose. + +Back in the ranges, far from the Big Spring, Lorry made his camp that +night. As he hobbled the horses he talked to them affectionately after +his manner when alone with them. + +"And you, you old trail-hitter," he said to Gray Leg, "I reckon you +think you're some ladies' man, don't you? Well, you got a right to be +proud. Step along there, and 'tend to your grazin' and don't go to +rubbin' noses with the other horses. You're a fool if you do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +_Politics_ + +The week following Lorry's departure the Westons left for the East. As +for Dorothy, she confessed to herself that she was not sorry. While +Alice had been unusually nice to every one, Dorothy felt that Alice was +forcing herself to appear natural and happy. Mrs. Weston knew this, and +wondered what the cause could be. Mrs. Weston had found Dorothy +delightful and Bronson interesting, but she had been so long in the West +that its novelty had worn thin. She did not regret it when they shipped +their machine from Stacey and took the Overland for New York. + +A few days after they had gone, Bud Shoop rode up to the Blue Mesa. It +was evident that he wanted to talk with Bronson, so Dorothy coaxed +Bondsman to her favorite tree, and sat stroking his shaggy head as she +read from a new book that Shoop had brought with the mail. + +The genial Bud was in a fix. Perhaps Bronson, who had been a newspaper +man and knew something about politics, could help him out. Bronson +disclaimed any special keenness of political intelligence, but said he +would be glad to do anything he could for Shoop. + +"It's like this," Bud began, seating himself on the edge of the +veranda; "John Torrance, who was supervisor before you came in, got me +this job and put it up to me to stick. Now, I like John, and I figure +John ain't scared of me. But here's where I lose the trail. A ole +friend, the biggest shipper of sheep in this State, goes and gets it +into his head that they's a State Senator over there drawin' down pay +that ought to come to me. Recollec', I said he was a sheepman--and I +been for the longhorns all my days. And he's got the nerve to tell me +that all the sheepmen in this here county are strong for me if I run for +the job. If I didn't know him like I know this here right hand, I would +say he was gettin' hardenin' of the brain in his ole aige. But he's a +long ways from havin' his head examined yet. + +"Then along comes a representative of the Cattlemen's Association and +says they want me to run for State Senator. Then along comes a committee +of hay-tossers from up around St. Johns and says, polite, that they are +waitin' my pleasure in the matter of framin' up their ticket for +senatorial candidate from this mesa country. They say that the present +encumbrance in the senatorial chair is such a dog-gone thief that he +steals from hisself just to keep in practice. I don't say so. 'Course, +if I can get to a chair that looks big and easy, without stompin' on +anybody--why, I'm like to set down. But if I can't, I figure to set +where I be. + +"Now, this here war talk is gettin' folks excited. And ridin' +excitement down the trail of politics is like tryin' to ride white +lightnin' bareback. It's like to leave you so your friends can't tell +what you looked like. And somebody that ain't got brains enough to plug +the hole in a watch-key has been talkin' around that Bud Shoop is a +fighter, with a record for gettin' what he goes after. And that this +same Bud Shoop is as honest as the day is long. Now, I've seen some +mighty short days when I was tradin' hosses. And then this here stingin' +lizard goes to work and digs up my deputy number over to Sterling and +sets the papers to printin' as how it was me, with the help of a few +parties whose names are of no special int'rest, settled that strike." + +"So you were at Sterling?" + +"Uh-uh. Between you and me, I was. And it wa'n't what you'd call a +girl's school for boys, neither. But that's done. What I'm gettin' at +is: If I resign here, after givin' my word to Torrance to stick, it +looks like I been playin' with one hand under the table. The papers will +lie like hell boostin' me, and if I don't lie like hell, boostin' +myself, folks'll think I'm a liar, anyhow. Now, takin' such folks one at +a time, out back of the store, mebby, where they ain't no wimmin-folks, +I reckon I could make 'em think different. But I can't lick the county. +I ain't no angel. I never found that tellin' the truth kep' me awake +nights. And I sleep pretty good. Now, I writ to Torrance, tellin' him +just how things was headed. What do you think he writ back?" + +"Why, he told you to go ahead and win, didn't he?" + +"Yep. And he said that it was apparent that the State needed my services +more than the Service did. That's somethin' like a train with a engine +on each end. You don't know which way it's headed." + +"I'd take it as a sincere compliment." + +"Well, I did swell up some. Then I says to myself: 'Bud, you ain't no +fancy office man, and even if you are doin' good work here, you can't +put it in writin' for them big bugs at Washington.' Mebby John is so +dog-gone busy--like the fella with both bands full and his suspenders +broke--- that he'd be glad to get behind 'most anything to get shut of +me." + +"I think you're mistaken. You know you can't keep a born politician out +of politics." + +"Meanin' me?" + +"You're the type." + +"By gravy, Bronson! I never seen you hidin' your watch when I come up to +visit you before." + +"See here, Shoop. Why don't you write to Torrance and ask him +point-blank if he has had a hand in getting you nominated for Senator? +Torrance is a big man in his line, and he probably knows what he is +doing." + +Shoop grinned. "You win the pot!" he exclaimed. "That's just what I been +thinkin' right along. I kind of wanted somebody who wasn't interested in +this deal to say it. Well, I reckon I bothered you long enough. You got +your alfalfa to--I--you got your writin' to do. But they's one thing. If +I get roped in and got to run, and some new supervisor comes botherin' +around up here, puttin' some ranger in my camp that ain't like Lorry, +all you got to do is to move over into my cabin and tell 'em to keep off +the grass. That there four hundred and eighty is mine. I homesteaded it, +and I got the papers. It ain't on the reserve." + +"I thought it was." + +"So do some yet. Nope. I'm just east of the reservation line; outside +the reserve. I aimed to know what I was doin' when I homesteaded that +piece of sky farm." + +"And yet you took exception to my calling you a born politician." + +Shoop chuckled. "Speakin' personal, I been thinkin' about that job of +State Senator for quite a spell. Now, I reckon you got sense enough not +to get mad when I tell you that I just been tryin' out a little speech I +framed up for my constituents. Just a kind of little alfalfa-seed talk. +Outside of ijuts and Mexicans, it's about what I aim to hand to the +voters of this here district, puttin' it up to them that I was roped +into this hocus and been settin' back on the rope right along. And +that's a fact. But you got to rub some folks' noses in a fact afore they +can even smell it." + +"And you have the nerve to tell me that you framed up all that stuff to +get my sympathy? Shoop, you are wasting time in Arizona. Go East. And +forgive me for falling for your most natural appeal." + +The genial Bud chuckled and wiped his eyes. "But it's true from the +start to the wire." + +"I must congratulate you." And, "Dorothy!" called Bronson. "Come and +shake hands with our next Senator from the mesa country." + +"Really?" exclaimed Dorothy. "But we will lose our supervisor. Still, I +think Mr. Shoop will make a lovely Senator. You are just the right +size--and--everything." + +"I reckon you're right, missy. Half of the game is lookin' the part +afore election. The other half is not sayin' too much after election. If +any man gets a promise out of me afore election, it'll have to be did +with a stump-puller." + +"But we won't see you any more," said Dorothy. "You will be so busy and +so important. Senator Shoop will speak here. And Senator Shoop will +speak there. And--let me see! Oh, yes! The Senate adjourned after a +stormy session in which the Senator from Mesa County, supported by an +intelligent majority, passed his bill for the appropriation of twenty +thousand dollars to build a road from Jason to the Blue Mesa. What fun!" + +Bud polished his bald head. "Now, I reckon that ain't such a joke. We'll +build a road plumb through to the old Apache Trail and ketch them +tourists goin' into Phoenix." + +"You see," said Dorothy, turning to her father, "I know something about +politics. I read the local papers. Mr. Shoop's name is in every one of +them. I read that article about the Sterling strike. I have been +wondering--" + +Shoop immediately called attention to Bondsman, who was gently tugging +at the supervisor's pants leg. + +"Now, look at that! Do you know what he's tellin' me? He's tellin' me I +got a piano in that there cabin and we ain't had a duet for quite a +spell. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Bondsman slipped from beneath Dorothy's hand as she stooped to pat him. +He trotted to Shoop's cabin, and stood looking up at the door. + +"Would you be playin' 'Annie Laurie' for us?" queried Shoop. + +Dorothy played for them, unaccompanied by Bondsman. Shoop shook his +head. Either the tune had lost its charm for the Airedale or else +Dorothy's interpretation differed from Bud's own. + +"Thanks, missy," said Shoop when she had finished playing. "Guess I'll +be movin' along." + +"Oh, no! You'll stay to-night. I'll play for you. Make him stay, +father." + +"I wish you would, Shoop. I'd like to talk with you about the election." + +"Well, now, that's right neighborly of you folks. I was aimin' to ride +back this evening. But I reckon we'll stay. Bondsman and me ain't so +spry as we was." + +After supper Dorothy played for them again, with no light except the +dancing red shadows from the pine logs that flamed in the fireplace. + +Shoop thanked her. "I'll be livin' in town,"--and he sighed +heavily,--"where my kind of piano-playin' would bring the law on me, +most-like. Now, that ole piano is hacked up some outside, but she's got +all her innards yet and her heart's right. If you would be takin' it as +a kind of birthday present, it's yours." + +"You don't mean _me_?" + +"I sure do." + +"But I couldn't accept such a big present. And then, when we go away +this winter--" + +"Listen to your Uncle Bud, missy. A little lady give me a watch onct. 'T +wa'n't a big watch, but it was a big thing. 'Cause why? 'Cause that +little lady was the first lady to give me a present in my life. I was +raised up by men-folks. My mammy she wa'n't there long after I come. +Reckon that's why I never was much of a hand with wimmin-folks. I wa'n't +used to 'em. And I don't care how old and ornery a man is; the first +time he gets a present from a gal, it kind of hits him where he +breathes. And if it don't make him feel warm inside and mighty proud of +bein' who he is, why, it's because he's so dog-gone old he can't think. +I ain't tellin' no secret when I say that the little lady put her name +in that watch alongside of mine. And her name bein' there is what makes +that present a big thing--bigger than any piano that was ever built. + +"Why, just a spell ago I was settin' in my office, madder'n a cat what +had tore his Sunday pants, 'cause at twelve o'clock I was goin' over to +the saloon to fire that young ranger, Lusk, for gettin' drunk. I pulled +out this here watch, and I says to myself: 'Bud, it was clost around +twelve o'clock by a young fella's watch onct when he was filled up on +liquor and rampin' round town when he ought to been to work. And it was +the ole foreman's gal that begged that boy's job back for him, askin' +her daddy to give him another chanct.' And the boy he come through all +right. I know--for I owned the watch. And so I give Lusk another +chanct." + +Dorothy stepped to Shoop's chair, and, stooping quickly, kissed his +cheek. Bondsman, not to be outdone, leaped jealously into Bud's lap and +licked the supervisor's face. Shoop spluttered, and thrust Bondsman +down. + +"Things is comin' too fast!" he cried, wiping his face. "I was just +goin' to say something when that dog just up and took the words right +out of my mouth. Oh, yes! I was just wishin' I owned a piano factory." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +_The Fires of Home_ + + +Bud Shoop read the newspaper notice twice before he realized fully its +import. The Adams House at Stacey was for sale. "Then Jim and Annie's +patched it up," he soliloquized. And the genial Bud did not refer to the +Adams House. + +Because his master seemed pleased, Bondsman waited to hear the rest of +it with head cocked sideways and tail at a stiff angle. + +"That's all they is to it," said Shoop. + +Bondsman lay down and yawned. He was growing old. It was only Bud's +voice that could key the big Airedale up to his earlier alertness. The +office was quiet. The clerk had gone out for his noon meal. The fall +sunshine slanted lazily through the front-office windows. The room was +warm, but there was a tang of autumn in the air. Shoop glanced at the +paper again. He became absorbed in an article proposing conscription. He +shook his head and muttered to himself. He turned the page, and glanced +at the livestock reports, the copper market, railroad stocks, and passed +on to an article having to do with local politics. + +Bondsman, who constituted himself the guard of Shoop's leisure, rapped +the floor with his tail. Shoop glanced over the top of his paper as +light footsteps sounded in the outer office. Dorothy tapped on the +lintel and stepped in. Shoop crumpled the paper and rose. Bondsman was +at her side as she shook hands with the supervisor. + +"My new saddle came," she said, patting Bondsman. "And father's latest +book. Why don't you cheer?" + +"Goodness, missy! I started cheerin' inside the minute I seen you. Now, +I reckon you just had to have that new saddle." + +"It's at the store. Father is over there talking politics and war with +Mr. Handley." + +"Then you just set down and tell your Uncle Bud the news while you're +waitin'." + +"But I am not _waiting_. I am visiting _you_. And I told you the news." + +"And to think a new saddle could make your eyes shine like that! Ain't +you 'shamed to fool your Uncle Bud?" + +"I haven't--if you say you know I have." + +"'Course. Most any little gal can get the best of me." + +"Well, because you are so curious--Lorry is back." + +"I reckoned that was it." + +"He rode part-way down with us. He has gone to see his father." + +"And forgot to repo't here first." + +"No. He gave me the reports to give to you. Here they are. One of Mr. +Waring's men, that young Mexican, rode up to the mesa last week and left +word that Lorry's father wanted to see him." + +"I aim to know about that," chuckled Shoop. And he smoothed out the +paper and pointed to the Adams House sale notice. + +"The Adams House for sale? Why--" + +"Jim and Annie--that's Jim Waring and Mrs. Waring now--are goin' to run +the ranch. I'm mighty glad." + +"Oh, I see! And Lorry is really Laurence Waring?" + +"You bet! And I reckon Lorry'll be fo'man of that ranch one of these +days. Cattle is sky-high and goin' up. I don't blame him." + +"He didn't say a word about that to me." + +"'Course not. He's not one to say anything till he's plumb sure." + +"He might have said _something_" asserted Dorothy. + +"Didn't he?" chuckled Shoop. + +Dorothy's face grew rosy. "Your master is very inquisitive," she told +Bondsman. + +"And your little missy is right beautiful this mawnin'," said Shoop. +"Now, if I was a bow-legged young cow-puncher with curly hair, and +looked fierce and noble and could make a gal's eyes shine like stars in +the evenin', I reckon I wouldn't be sittin' here signin' letters." + +"He _isn't_ bow-legged!" flashed Dorothy. She was very definite about +that. "And he's not a cowboy. He is a ranger." + +"My goodness! I done put my foot in a gopher hole that shake. I sure am +standin' on my head, waitin' for somebody to set me up straight ag'in. +You ain't mad at your Uncle Bud, be you?" + +Dorothy tossed her head, but her eyes twinkled, and suddenly she +laughed. "You know I like you--heaps! You're just jealous." + +"Reckon you said it! But I only got one ear laid back yet. Wait till I +see that boy." + +"Oh, pshaw! You can't help being nice to him." + +"And I got comp'ny." + +"But really I want to talk seriously, if you will let me. Lorry has been +talking about enlisting. He didn't say that he was going to enlist, but +he has been talking about it so much. Do you think he will?" + +"Well, now, missy that's a right peart question. I know if I was his age +I'd go. Most any fella that can read would. I been readin' the papers +for two years, and b'ilin' inside. I reckon Lorry's just woke up to +what's goin' on. We been kind of slow wakin' up out here. Folks livin' +off in this neck of the woods gets to thinkin' that the sun rises on +their east-line fence and sets on their west line. It takes somethin' +strong to make 'em recollec' the sun's got a bigger job'n that. But I +admire to say that when them kind of folks gets started onct they's +nothin' ever built that'll stop 'em. If I get elected I aim to tell some +folks over to the State House about this here war. And I'm goin' to +start by talkin' about what we got to set straight right here to home +first. They can _feel_ what's goin' on to home. It ain't all print. And +they got to feel what's goin' on over there afore they do anything." + +"It's all too terrible to talk about," said Dorothy. "But we must do our +share, if only to keep our self-respect, mustn't we?" + +"You said it--providin' we got any self-respect to keep." + +"But why don't our young men volunteer. They are not cowards." + +"It ain't that. Suppose you ask Lorry why." + +"I shouldn't want to know him if he didn't go," said Dorothy. + +"Missy, I'm lovin' you for sayin' that! If all the mothers and sisters +and sweethearts was like that, they wouldn't be no conscription. But +they ain't. I'm no hand at understandin' wimmin-folks, but I know the +mother of a strappin' young fella in this town that says she would +sooner see her boy dead in her front yard than for him to go off and +fight for foreigners. She don't know what this country's got to fight +for pretty quick or she wouldn't talk like that. And she ain't the only +one. Now, when wimmin talks that way, what do you expect of men? I +reckon the big trouble is that most folks got to see somethin' to fight +afore they get goin'. Fightin' for a principle looks just like poundin' +air to some folks. I don't believe in shootin' in the dark. How come, +I've plugged a rattlesnake by just shootin' at the sound when he was +coiled down where I couldn't see him. But this ain't no kind of talk for +you to listen to, missy." + +"I--you won't say that I spoke of Lorry?" + +"Bless your heart, no! And he'll figure it out hisself. But don't you +get disap'inted if he don't go right away. It's mighty easy to set back +and say 'Go!' to the other fella; and listen to the band and cheer the +flag. It makes a fella feel so durned patriotic he is like to forget he +ain't doin' nothin' hisself. + +"Now, missy, suppose you was a sprightin' kind of a boy 'bout nineteen +or twenty, and mebby some gal thought you was good-lookin' enough to +talk to after church on a Sunday; and suppose you had rustled like a +little nigger when you was a kid, helpin' your ma wash dishes in a hotel +and chop wood and sweep out and pack heavy valises for tourists and fill +the lamps and run to the store for groceries and milk a cow every night +and mornin'. + +"And say you growed up without breakin' your laig and went to punchin' +cattle and earnin' your own money, and then mebby you got a job in the +Ranger Service, ridin' the high trails and livin' free and independent; +and suppose a mighty pretty gal was to come along and kind of let you +take a shine to her, and you was doin' your plumb durndest to put by a +little money, aimin' to trot in double harness some day; and then +suppose your daddy was to offer you a half-interest in a growin' cattle +business, where you could be your own boss and put by a couple of +thousand a year. And you only nineteen or twenty. + +"Suppose you had been doin' all that when along comes word from 'way off +somewhere that folks was killin' each other and it was up to you to stop +'em. Wouldn't you do some hard thinkin' afore you jumped into your +fightin' clothes?" + +"But this war means more than that." + +"It sure does. But some of us ain't got the idee yet. 'Course all you +got to do to some folks is to say 'Fight' and they come a-runnin'. And +some of that kind make mighty good soldier boys. But the fella I'm +leavin' alone is the one what cinches up slow afore he climbs into the +saddle. When he goes into a fight it's like his day's work, and he don't +waste no talk or elbow action when he's workin'." + +"I wish I were a man!" + +"Well, some of us is right glad you ain't. A good woman can do just as +much for this country right now as any man. And I don't mean by dressin' +up in fancy clothes and givin' dances and shellin' out mebby four per +cent of the gate receipts to buy a ambulance with her name on it. + +"And I don't mean by payin' ten dollars for a outfit of gold-plated +knittin'-needles to make two-bit socks for the boys. What I mean is that +a good woman does her best work to home; mebby just by sayin' the right +word, or mebby by keepin' still or by smilin' cheerful when her heart is +breakin' account of her man goin' to war. + +"You can say all you like about patriotism, but patriotism ain't just +marchin' off to fight for your country. It's usin' your neighbors and +your country right every day in the week, includin' Sunday. Some folks +think patriotism is buildin' a big bonfire once a year and lettin' her +blaze up. But the real thing is keepin' your own little fire a-goin' +steady, right here where you live. And it's thinkin' of that little fire +to home that makes the best soldier. + +"He's got a big job to do. He's goin' to get it done so he can go back +to that there home and find the little fire a-burning bright. What do +some of our boys do fightin' alongside of them Frenchmen and under the +French flag, when they get wounded and get a furlough? Set around and +wait to go back to fightin'? I reckon not. Some of 'em pack up and come +four, five thousand miles just to see their folks for mebby two, three +days. And when they see them little fires to home a-burnin' bright, why, +they say: 'This here is what we're fighting for.' And they go back, +askin' God A'mighty to keep 'em facin' straight to the front till the +job is done." + +Dorothy, her chin in her hand, gazed at Bud. She had never known him to +be so intense, so earnest. + +"Oh, I know it is so!" she cried. "But what can I do? I have only a +little money in the bank, and father makes just enough to keep us +comfortable. You see, we spent such lots of money for those horrid old +doctors in the East, who didn't do me a bit of good." + +"You been doin' your share just gettin' well and strong, which is savin' +money. But seein' you asked me, you can do a whole lot if Lorry was to +say anything to you about goin'. And you know how better'n I can tell +you or your daddy or anybody." + +"But Lorry must do as he thinks best. We--we are not engaged." + +"'Course. And it ain't no time for a young fella to get engaged to a gal +and tie up her feelin's and march off with her heart in his pocket. +Mebby some day she's goin' to want it back ag'in, when he ain't livin' +to fetch it back to her. I see, by the Eastern papers Torrance has been +sendin' me, that some young fellas is marryin' just afore they go to +jine the Frenchmen on the front. Now, what are some of them gals goin' +to do if their boys don't come back? Or mebby come back crippled for +life? Some of them gals is goin' to pay a mighty high price for just a +few days of bein' married. It riles me to think of it." + +"I hadn't thought of it--as you do," said Dorothy. + +"Well, I hope you'll forgive your Uncle Bud for ragin' and rampin' +around like this. I can't talk what's in my heart to folks around here. +They're mostly narrow-gauge. I reckon I said enough. Let's go look at +that new saddle." + +"Isn't it strange," said Dorothy, "that I couldn't talk with father like +this? He'd be nice, of course, but he would be thinking of just me." + +"I reckon he would. And mebby some of Lorry." + +"If Lorry should ask me about his going--" + +"Just you tell him that you think one volunteer is worth four conscripts +any time and any place. And if that ain't a hint to him they's somethin' +wrong with his ears." + +Shoop rose and plodded out after Dorothy. Bondsman trailed lazily +behind. Because Shoop had not picked up his hat the big dog knew that +his master's errand, whatever it was, would be brief. Yet Bondsman +followed, stopping to yawn and stretch the stiffness of age from his +shaggy legs. There was really no sense in trotting across the street +with his master just to trot back again in a few minutes. But Bondsman's +unwavering loyalty to his master's every mood and every movement had +become such a matter of course that the fine example was lost in the +monotony of repetition. + +A dog's loyalty is so often taken for granted that it ceases to be +noticeable until in an unlooked-for hazard it shines forth in some act +of quick heroism or tireless faithfulness worthy of a greater tribute +than has yet been written. + +Bondsman was a good soldier. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +_Young Life_ + + +Ramon was busy that afternoon transferring mattresses and blankets from +the ranch-house to the new, low-roofed bunk-house that Waring had built. +Ramon fitted up three beds--one for the cook, one for an old range-rider +that Waring had hired when his men had left to enlist, and one for +himself. + +The partitions of the ranch-house had been taken down, the interior +rearranged, and the large living-room furnished in a plain, comfortable +way. + +As Ramon worked he sang softly. He was happy. The señora was coming to +live with them, and perhaps Señor Jim's son. Señor Jim had been more +active of late. His lameness was not so bad as it had been. It was true +the Señor Jim did not often smile, but his eyes were kindly. + +Ramon worked rapidly. There was much to do in the other house. The bale +of Navajo blankets was still unopened. Perhaps the Señor Jim would help +to arrange them in the big room with the stone fireplace. The señora +would not arrive until to-morrow, but then the home must be made ready, +that she would find it beautiful. And Ramon, accustomed to the meagerly +furnished adobes of old Mexico, thought that the ranch-house was +beautiful indeed. + +Waring ate with the men in the new bunk-house that evening. After supper +he went over to the larger building and sat alone in the living-room, +gazing out of the western window. His wounds ached, and in the memory of +almost forgotten trails he grew young again. Again in Old Mexico, the +land he loved, he saw the blue crest of the Sierras rise as in a dream, +and below the ranges a tiny Mexican village of adobe huts gold in the +setting sun. Between him and the village lay the outlands, ever +mysterious, ever calling to him. Across the desert ran a thin trail to +the village. And down the trail the light feet of Romance ran swiftly as +he followed. He could even recall the positions of the different adobes; +the strings of chiles dark red in the twilight; the old black-shawled +señora who had spoken a guttural word of greeting as he had ridden up. + +Back in Sonora men had said, "Waring has made his last ride." They had +told each other that a white man was a fool to go alone into that +country. Perhaps he had been a fool. But the thrill of those early days, +when he rode alone and free and men sang of him from Sonora to the +Sweetgrass Hills! And on that occasion he had found the fugitive he +sought, yet he had ridden back to Sonora alone. He had never forgotten +the face of the young Mexican woman who had pleaded with him to let her +lover go. Her eyes were big and velvet black. Her mouth was the mouth +of a Madonna. + +Waring had told her that it was useless to plead. He remembered how her +eyes had grown dull and sullen at his word. He told her that he was +simply doing his duty. She had turned on him like a panther, her little +knife glittering in the dusk as she drove it at his breast. The Mexican +lover had jerked free and was running toward the foothills. Waring +recalled his first surprise at the wiry strength of her wrist as he had +twisted the knife from her. If the Mexican lover had not turned and shot +at him--The black figure of the Mexican had dropped just where the road +entered the foothills. The light had almost gone. The vague bulk of the +Sierras wavered. Outlines vanished, leaving a sense of something +gigantic, invisible, that slumbered in the night. The stars were big and +softly brilliant as he had ridden north. + +The old wound in his shoulder ached. The Mexican had made a good +shot--for a Mexican. + +Out on the Arizona mesa, against the half disk of gold, was the black +silhouette of a horseman. Waring stepped to the doorway. Ramon was +seated just outside the door, smoking a cigarette. The southern stars +were almost visible. Each star seemed to have found its place, and yet +no star could be seen. + +"It is Lorry," said Ramon. "He has ridden far." + +Waring smiled. Fifty miles had not been considered a big day's ride in +his time. _In his time!_ But his day was past. The goddess he had +followed had left him older than his years, crippled, unable to ride +more than a few hours at a time; had left him fettered to the monotony +of the far mesa levels and the changeless hills. Was this his +punishment, or simply a black trick of fate, that the tang of life had +evaporated, leaving a stagnant pool wherein he gazed to meet the blurred +reflection of a face weary with waiting for--what end? + +Unused to physical inactivity, Waring had grown somber of mind these +latter days. Despite the promise of more comfortable years, he had never +felt more lonely. With the coming of Lorry the old order would change. +Young blood, new life would have its way. + +The sound of pattering hoofs grew louder. Waring heard the old familiar, +"Hi! Yippy! Yip!" of the range rider. Young blood? New life? It was his +own blood, his own life reincarnate in the cheery rider that swung down +and grasped his hand. Nothing had changed. Life was going on as it +always had. + +"Hello, dad! How's the leg?" + +Waring smiled in the dusk. "Pretty fair, Lorry. You didn't waste any +time getting here." + +"Well, not much. I rode down with Bronson and Dorothy." + +"Do you call her 'Dorothy'?" + +"Ever since she calls me 'Lorry.'" + +"Had anything to eat?" + +"Nope. I cut across. How's mother?" + +"She will be here to-morrow. We have been getting things ready. Let +Ramon take your horse--" + +"Thanks. I'll fix him in two shakes." + +And in two shakes bridle and saddle were off, and Gray Leg was rolling +in the corral. + +While Lorry ate, Ramon laid a fire in the big stone fireplace. Alter +supper Lorry and his father sat gazing at the flames. Lorry knew why he +had been sent for, but waited for his father to speak. + +Presently Waring turned to him. "I sent for you because I need some one +to help. And your mother wants you here. I won't urge you, but I can +offer you Pat's share in the ranch. I bought his share last week. You'll +have a working interest besides that. You know something about cattle. +Think it over." + +"That's a dandy offer," said Lorry. "I'm right obliged, dad. But there's +something else. You put your proposition straight, and I'm going to put +mine straight. Now, if you was in my boots, and she liked you enough, +would you marry her?" + +"You haven't told me who she is." + +"Why--Dorothy Bronson. I thought you knew." + +Waring smiled. "You're pretty young, Lorry." + +"But you married young, dad." + +"Yes. And I married the best woman in the world. But I can't say that I +made your mother happy." + +"I guess ma never cared for anybody but you," said Lorry. + +"It isn't just the caring for a person, Lorry." + +"Well, I thought it was. But I reckon you know. And Dorothy is the +prettiest and lovin'est kind of a girl _you_ ever seen. I was wishin' +you was acquainted." + +"I should like to meet her. Are you sure she is your kind of girl, +Lorry? Now, wait a minute; I know how you feel. A girl can be +good-looking and mighty nice and think a lot of a man, and yet not be +the right girl for him." + +"But how is he goin' to find that out?" + +"If he must find out--by marrying her." + +"Then I aim to find out, if she is willin'. But I wanted to tell +you--because you made me that offer. I was askin' your advice because +you been through a lot." + +"I wish I could advise you. But you're a man grown, so far as taking +care of yourself is concerned. And when a man thinks of getting married +he isn't looking for advice against it. Why don't you wait a year or +two?" + +"Well, mebbe I got to. Because--well, I didn't ask Dorothy yet. Then +there's somethin' else. A lot of the fellas up in the high country have +enlisted in the regulars, and some have gone over to Canada to join the +Foreign Legion. Now, I don't want to be the last hombre on this mesa to +go." + +"There has been no call for men by the Nation." + +"But it's comin', dad. Any fella can see that. I kind of hate to wait +till Uncle Sam says I got to go. I don't like going that way." + +"What do you think your mother will say?" + +"Gosh! I know! That's why I wanted to talk to you first. If I'm goin', I +want to know it so I can say to her that I _am_ goin' and not that I aim +to go." + +"Well, you will have to decide that." + +"Well, I'm goin' to--before ma comes. Dog-gone it! You know how it is +tryin' to explain things to a woman. Wimmin don't understand them kind +of things." + +"I don't know about that, Lorry." + +Lorry nodded. "I tell you, dad--you kind of set a pace for me. And I +figure I don't want folks to say: 'There goes Jim Waring's boy.' If +they're goin' to say anything, I want it to be: 'There goes Lorry +Waring.'" + +Waring knew that kind of pride if he knew anything. He was proud of his +son. And Waring's most difficult task was to keep from influencing him +in any way. He wanted the boy to feel free to do as he thought best. + +"You were in that fight at Sterling," said Waring, gesturing toward the +south. + +"But that was different," said Lorry. "Them coyotes was pluggin' at us, +and we just nacherally had to let 'em have it. And besides we was +workin' for the law." + +"I understand there wasn't any law in Sterling About that time." + +"Well, we made some," asserted Lorry. + +"And that's just what this war means. It's being fought to make law." + +"Then I'm for the law every time, big or little. I seen enough of that +other thing." + +"Think it over, Lorry. Remember, you're free to do as you want to. I +have made my offer. Then there is your mother--and the girl. It looks as +though you had your hands full." + +"You bet! Business and war and--and Dorothy is a right big order. I'm +gettin' a headache thinkin' of it!" + +Waring rose. "I'm going to turn in. I have to live pretty close to the +clock these days." + +"See you in the mornin'," said Lorry, giving his hand. "Good-night, +dad." + +"Good-night, boy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +_The High Trail_ + + +Black-edged against the silvery light of early dawn the rim of the world +lay dotted with far buttes and faint ranges fading into the spaces of +the north and south. The light deepened and spread to a great crimson +pool, tideless round the bases of magic citadels and mighty towers. +Golden minarets thrust their slender, fiery shafts athwart the wide +pathway of the ascending sun. The ruddy glow palpitated like a live +ember naked to the wind. The nearer buttes grew boldly beautiful. Slowly +their molten outlines hardened to rigid bronze. Like ancient castles of +some forgotten land, isolated in the vast mesa, empty of life, they +seemed to await the coming of a host that would reshape their fallen +arches and their wind-worn towers to old-time splendor, and perfect +their imageries. + +But the marching sun knew no such sentiment. Pitilessly he pierced their +enchanted walls, discovering their pretense, burning away their shadowy +glory, baring them for what they were--masses of jumbled rock and +splintered spires; rain-gutted wraiths of clay, volcanic rock, the +tumbled malpais and the tufa of the land. + +Black shadows shifted. That which had been the high-arched entrance to +a mighty fortress was now a shallow hollow in a hill. Here and there on +the western slope of the mounds cattle grazed in the chill morning air. +Enchantments of the dawn reshaped themselves to local landmarks. + +From his window Lorry could discern the distant peak of Mount Baldy +glimmering above the purple sea of forest. Not far below the peak lay +the viewless level of the Blue Mesa. The trail ran just below that patch +of quaking asp. + +The hills had never seemed so beautiful, nor had the still mesas, +carpeted with the brown stubble of the close-cropped bunch-grass. + +Arizona was his country--his home. And yet he had heard folk say that +Arizona was a desert, But then such folk had been interested chiefly in +guide-posts of the highways or the Overland dining-car menu. + +And he had been offered a fair holding in this land--twenty thousand +acres under fence on a long-term lease; a half-interest in the cattle +and their increase. He would be his own man, with a voice in the +management and sale of the stock. A year or two and he could afford to +marry--if Dorothy would have him. He thought she would. And to keep in +good health she must always live in the West. What better land than +Arizona, on the high mesa where the air was clean and clear; where the +keen August rains refreshed the sunburned grasses; where the light +snows of winter fell but to vanish in the retrieving sun? If Dorothy +loved this land, why should she leave it? Surely health meant more to +her than the streets and homes of the East? + +And Lorry had asked nothing of fortune save a chance to make good. And +fortune had been more than kind to him. He realized that it was through +no deliberate effort of his own that he had acquired the opportunity +which offered. Why not take advantage of it? It would give him prestige +with Bronson. A good living, a good home for her. Such luck didn't come +to a man's door every day. + +He had slept soundly that night, despite his intent to reason with +himself. It was morning, and he had made no decision--or so he thought. +There was the question of enlisting. Many of his friends had already +gone. Older men were now riding the ranges. Even the clerk in the +general store at Stacey's had volunteered. And Lorry had considered him +anything but physically competent to "make a fight." But it wasn't all +in making a fight. It was setting an example of loyalty and +unselfishness to those fellows who needed such an impulse to stir them +to action. Lorry thought clearly. And because he thought clearly and for +himself, he realized that he, as an individual soldier in the Great War, +would amount to little; but he knew that his going would affect others; +that the mere news of his having gone would react as a sort of endless +chain reaching to no one knew what sequestered home. + +And this, he argued, was his real value: the spirit ever more potent +than the flesh. Why, he had heard men joke about this war! It was a long +way from home. What difference did it make to them if those people over +there were being starved, outraged, murdered? That was their own +lookout. Friends of his had said that they were willing to fight to a +finish if America were threatened with invasion, but that could never +happen. America was the biggest and richest country in the world. She +attended to her own business and asked nothing but that the other +nations do likewise. + +And those countries over there were attending to their own business. If +our ships were blown up, it was our own fault. We had been warned. +Anyway, the men who owned those ships were out to make money and willing +to take a chance. It wasn't our business to mix in. We had troubles +enough at home. As Lorry pondered the shallow truths a great light came +to him. "_Troubles enough at home_," that was it! America had already +been invaded, yet men slumbered in fancied security. He had been at +Sterling-- + +Lorry could hear Ramon stirring about in the kitchen. The rhythmically +muffled sound suggested the mixing of flapjacks. Lorry could smell the +thin, appetizing fragrance of coffee. + +With characteristic abruptness, he made his decision, but with no +spoken word, no gesture, no emotion. He saw a long day's work before +him. He would tackle it like a workman. + +And immediately he felt buoyantly himself again. The matter was settled. + +He washed vigorously. The cold water brought a ruddy glow to his face. +He whistled as he strode to the kitchen. He slapped the gentle-eyed +Ramon on the shoulder. Pancake batter hissed as it slopped over on the +stove. + +"Cheer up, amigo!" he cried! "Had a good look at the sun this mornin'?" + +"No, señor. I have made the breakfast, si." + +"Well, she's out there, shinin' right down on Arizona." + +"The señora?" queried Ramon, puzzled. + +"No; the sun. Don't a mornin' like this make you feel like jumpin' clean +out of your boots and over the fence?" + +"Not until I have made the flapcake, Señor Lorry." + +"Well, go the limit. Guess I'll roust out dad." + + * * * * * + +Bud Shoop scowled, perspired, and swore. Bondsman, close to Shoop's +chair, blinked and lay very still. His master was evidently beyond any +proffer of sympathy or advice. Yet he had had no argument with any one +lately. And he had eaten a good breakfast. Bondsman knew that. Whatever +the trouble might be, his master had not consulted him about it. It was +evidently a matter that dogs could not understand, and hence, very +grave. Bondsman licked his chops nervously. He wanted to go out and lie +in the sunshine, but he could not do that while his master suffered such +tribulation of soul. His place was close to his master now, if ever. + +Around Shoop were scattered pieces of paper; bits of letters written and +torn up. + +"It's a dam' sight worse resignin' than makin' out my application--and +that was bad enough," growled Shoop. "But I got to do this personal. +This here pen is like a rabbit gone loco. Now, here I set like a bag of +beans, tryin' to tell John Torrance why I'm quittin' this here job +without makin' him think I'm glad to quit--which I am, and I ain't. It's +like tryin' to split a flea's ear with a axe; it can't be did without +mashin' the flea. Now, if John was here I could tell him in three jumps. +The man that invented writin' must 'a' been tongue-tied or had sore +throat some time when he wanted to talk awful bad. My langwidge ain't +broke to pull no city rig--or no hearse. She's got to have the road and +plenty room to sidestep. + +"Now, how would I say it if John were here? Would I start off with 'Dear +John' or 'Dear Old Friend'? I reckon not. I'd just say: 'John, I'm goin' +to quit. I tried to do by you what I said I would. I got a chanct to +bust into the State House, and I got a good reason for bustin' in. I +been nominated for Senator, and I got to live up to the name. I'm +a-goin' to run for Senator--and mebby I'll keep on when I get started, +and end up somewhere in Mexico. I can't jine the reg'lars account of my +physical expansibility and my aige, so I got to do my fightin' to home. +I'm willin' to stick by this job if you say the word. Mebby some folks +would be dissap'inted, but I can stand that if they can. What do you +reckon I better do?' + +"Now, that's what I'd say if John was here. Why in tarnation can't I say +it on paper? Lemme see." + +Bud filled a sheet with his large, outdoor script. When he had finished, +he tucked the letter in an envelope hurriedly. He might reconsider his +attempt if he re-read the letter. + +He was carefully directing the envelope when Lorry strode in. + +'"Bout time you showed up," said Shoop. + +Lorry dropped his hat on the floor and pulled up a chair. He was a bit +nervous. Preamble would make him more so. He spoke up quickly. + +"Bud, I want to resign." + +"Uh-uh. You tired of this job?" + +"Nope; I like it." + +"Want more pay?" + +"No; I get all I'm worth." + +"Ain't you feelin' well?" + +"Bully! I'm going to enlist." + +"Might 'a' knowed it," said Bud, leaning back and gazing at the newly +addressed envelope on his desk. "Got your reports all in?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, seem' you're quittin' for the best reason I know, I'm right glad. +You done your work like I expected. Your mother knows you're goin' to +jine the army?" + +"I told her yesterday. I've been at the ranch." + +"Uh-uh. How's your dad?" + +"He ain't so spry. But he is better." + +"Uh-uh. That young Mexican stayin' at the ranch with him?" + +"You couldn't chase Ramon away with a gun." + +"Uh-uh. Well, Lorry, I just been sweatin' out a letter tellin' John +Torrance that I've quit. I'm goin' to run for State Senator." + +"I knew they would land you. Everybody knew it." + +"So we're both leavin' the Service. And we're leavin' a mighty good job; +mebby not such big pay, but a man's job, that has been the makin' of +some no-account boys. For no fella can work for the Service without +settin' up and ridin' straight. Now, when I was a young buster chasin' +cow-tails over the country I kind of thought the Forestry Service was a +joke. It ain't. It's a mighty big thing. You're leaving it with a clean +record. Mebby some day you'll want to get back in it. Were you goin' on +up?" + +"I figured to straighten up things at the cabin." + +"All right. When you come down you can get your check. Give my regards +to Bronson and the little missy." + +"You bet I will!" + +Bud rose and proffered his hand. Lorry, rather embarrassed, shook hands +and turned to go. "See you later," he said. + +"I was going over to Stacey," said Shoop. "Mebby I'll be out when you +get back. But your check'll be here all right. You sure look like you +was walkin' on sunshine this mawnin'. Gosh, what a whoopin' fine place +this here world is when you are young--and--kind of slim! Now, Bondsman +and me--we was young onct. When it comes to bein' young or State +Senator--you can have the politics and give me back my ridin' legs. +You're ridin' the High Trail these days. + +"If I could just set a hoss onct, with twenty years under my hide, and +look down on this here country, and the sage a-smellin' like it used to +and the sunshine a-creepin' across my back easy and warm, with a sniff +of the timber comin' down the mawnin' breeze; and 'way off the cattle +a-lookin' no bigger'n flies on a office map--why, I wouldn't trade that +there seat in the saddle for a million in gold. But I reckon I would 'a' +done it, them days. Sometimes I set back and say 'Arizona' just to +myself. I'm a-lovin' that name. Accordin' to law, I'm livin' single, and +if I ain't married to Arizona, she's my best gal, speakin' general. +'Course, a little lady give me a watch onct. And say, boy, if she sets a +lot of store by you--why, you--why, git out of this here office afore I +make a dam' fool of myself!" + +And the genial Bud waved his arm, blustering and swearing heartily. + +Bondsman leaped up. A ridge of hair rose along his neck. For some +unknown reason his master had ordered Lorry to leave the office--and at +once. But Lorry was gone, and Bud was patting the big Airedale. It was +all right. Nothing was going to happen. And wasn't it about time for the +stage to arrive? + +Bondsman trotted to the doorway, gazed up and down the street, and came +back to Shoop. The stage had arrived, and Bondsman was telling Shoop so +by the manner in which he waited for his master to follow him into the +sunlight. Bud grinned. + +"You're tellin' me the stage is in--and I got a letter to send." + +Bud picked up his hat. Bondsman had already preceded him to the doorway, +and stood waiting. His attitude expressed the extreme patience of age, +but that the matter should be attended to without unreasonable delay. +Shoop sighed heavily. + +"That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Halfway across the Blue Mesa, Dorothy met her ranger man. She had been +watching the trail. Lorry dismounted and walked with her to the cabin. +Bronson was glad to see him. They chatted for a while. Lorry would have +spoken of his father's offer--of his plans, of many things he wished +Bronson to know, yet he could not speak of these things until he had +talked with Dorothy. He would see Bronson again. Meanwhile-- + +A little later Lorry went to his cabin to take stock of the implements +and make his final report. He swept the cabin, picked up the loose odds +and ends, closed the battered piano gently, and sat down to think. + +He had made his decision, and yet--he had seen Dorothy again; touched +her hand, talked with her, and watched her brown eyes while he talked. +The Great War seemed very far away. And here he was at home. This was +his country. But he had set his face toward the High Trail. He could not +turn back. + +Dorothy stood in the doorway, her finger at her lips. Bronson was busy +writing. Lorry rose and stepped out. He stooped and lifted her to Gray +Leg. She sat sideways in the saddle as he led the pony across the mesa +to the veritable rim of the world. + +Far below lay the open country, veiled by the soft haze of distance. He +gave her his hand, and she slipped to the ground and stood beside him. +For the first time the tremendous sweep of space appalled her. She drew +close to him and touched his arm. + +"What is it, Lorry?" + +"You said--once--that you would wait for me." + +"Yes. And now you are here, I'll never be lonesome again." + +"Were you lonesome?" + +"A little. I had never really waited--like that--before." + +He frowned and gazed into the distances. It had been easy to +decide--when alone. Then he faced her, his gray eyes clear and +untroubled. + +"I'm going to enlist," he said simply. + +She had hoped that he would. She wanted to think that of him. And yet, +now that he had spoken, now that he was actually going--Her eyes grew +big. She wanted to say that she was glad. Her lips trembled. + +He held out his arms. She felt their warm strength round her. On the +instant she thought of begging him not to go. But his eyes were shining +with a high purpose, that shamed her momentary indecision. She pressed +her cheek to his. + +"I will wait for you," she whispered, and her face was wet with tears of +happiness. + +She was no longer the little mother and he her boy, for in that moment +he became to her the man strength of the race, his arms her refuge and +his eyes her courage for the coming years. + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, by Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12189 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbd3cba --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12189 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12189) diff --git a/old/12189-8.txt b/old/12189-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a33c327 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12189-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11709 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, by Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Jim Waring of Sonora-Town + Tang of Life + +Author: Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +Release Date: April 28, 2004 [EBook #12189] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JIM WARING OF SONORA-TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Gene Smethers and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +JIM WARING + +OF SONORA-TOWN + +OR, TANG OF LIFE + +BY + +HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + +AUTHOR OF OVERLAND RED, ETC. + + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +E. BOYD SMITH + + +August 1918 + + +To + +Robert Frothingham + + + +[Illustration: Waring of Sonora-Town] + + + +Waring of Sonora-Town + +_The heat acrost the desert was a-swimmin' in the sun, + When Waring of Sonora-Town, + Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, +From Salvador come ridin' down, a-rollin' of his gun. + +He was singin' low and easy to his pony's steady feet, + But his eye was live and driftin' + Round the scenery and siftin' +All the crawlin' shadows shiftin' in the tremblin' gray mesquite. + +Eyes was watchin' from a hollow where a outlaw Chola lay; + Two black, snaky eyes a-yearnin' + For Jim's hoss to make the turnin', +Then to send a bullet burnin' through his back--the Chola way. + +And Jim Waring's gaze, a-rovin' round the desert as he rode, + Settled quick--without him seemin' + To get wise and quit his dreamin'-- +On a shiny ring a-gleamin' where no ring had ever growed. + +The lightnin' don't give warnin'; just a lick and she is through; + Waring set his gun to smokin' + Playful like, like he was jokin', +And--a Chola lay a-chokin' ... and a buzzard cut the blue._ + +Contents + + I. The Cañon + + II. José Vaca + + III. Donovan's Hand + + IV. The Silver Crucifix + + V. The Tang of Life + + VI. Arizona + + VII. The Return of Waring + + VIII. Lorry + + IX. High-Chin Bob + + X. East and West + + XI. Spring Lamb + + XII. Bud Shoop and Bondsman + + XIII. The Horse Trade + + XIV. Bondsman's Decision + + XV. John and Demijohn + + XVI. Play + + XVII. Down the Wind + + XVIII. A Piece of Paper + + XIX. The Fight in the Open + + XX. City Folks + + XXI. A Slim Whip of a Girl + + XXII. A Tune for Uncle Bud + + XXIII. Like One Who Sleeps + + XXIV. The Genial Bud + + XXV. The Little Fires + + XXVI. Idle Noon + + XXVII. Waco + +XXVIII. A Squared Account + + XXIX. Bud's Conscience + + XXX. In the Hills + + XXXI. In the Pines + + XXXII. Politics + +XXXIII. The Fires of Home + + XXXIV. Young Life + + XXXV. The High Trail + + + +Illustrations + + +Waring of Sonora-Town + +A huddled shape near a boulder + +"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun" + +They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had prepared + + +_From drawings by E. Boyd Smith_ + + + +TANG OF LIFE + + + + +Chapter I + + +_The Cañon_ + +Waring picketed his horse in a dim angle of the Agua Fria Cañon, spread +his saddle-blanket to dry in the afternoon sun, and, climbing to a +narrow ledge, surveyed the cañon from end to end with a pair of +high-power glasses. He knew the men he sought would ride south. He was +reasonably certain that they would not ride through the cañon in +daylight. The natural trail through the Agua Fria was along the western +wall; a trail that he had avoided, working his toilsome way down the +eastern side through a labyrinth of brush and rock that had concealed +him from view. A few hundred yards below his hasty camp a sandy arroyo +crossed the cañon's mouth. + +He had planned to intercept the men where the trail crossed this arroyo, +or, should the trail show pony tracks, to follow them into the desert +beyond, where, sooner or later, he would overtake them. They had a start +of twelve hours, but Waring reasoned that they would not do much riding +in daylight. The trail at the northern end of the cañon had shown no +fresh tracks that morning. His problem was simple. The answer would be +definite. He returned to the shelter of the brush, dropped the glasses +into a saddle-pocket, and stretched himself wearily. + +A few yards below him, on a brush-dotted level, his horse, Dexter, +slowly circled his picket and nibbled at the scant bunch-grass. The +western sun trailed long shadows across the cañon; shadows that drifted +imperceptibly farther and farther, spreading, commingling, softening the +broken outlines of ledge and brush until the walled solitude was brimmed +with dusk, save where a red shaft cleft the fast-fading twilight, +burning like a great spotlight on a picketed horse and a man asleep, his +head pillowed on a saddle. + +As the dusk drew down, the horse ceased grazing, sniffed the coming +night, and nickered softly. Waring rose and led the horse to water, and, +returning, emptied half the grain in the morral on a blanket. Dex +munched contentedly. When the horse had finished eating the grain, +Waring picketed him in a fresh spot and climbed back to the ledge, where +he sat watching the western wall of the cañon, occasionally glancing up +as some dim star burned through the deepening dusk and bloomed to a +silvery maturity. + +Presently a faint pallor overspread the cañon till it lay like a ghostly +sea dotted with strange islands of brush and rock; islands that seemed +to waver and shift in a sort of vague restlessness, as though trying to +evade the ever-brightening tide of moonlight that burned away their +shrouds of dusk and fixed them in still, tangible shapes upon the cañon +floor. + +Across the cañon the farther trail ran past a broad, blank wall of rock. +No horseman could cross that open space unseen. Waring, seated upon the +ledge, leaned back against the wall, watching the angling shadows +shorten as the moon drew overhead. Toward morning he became drowsy. As +the white radiance paled to gray, he rose and paced back and forth upon +the narrow ledge to keep himself awake. In a few minutes the moon would +disappear behind the farther rim of the world; the cañon would sink back +into its own night, all its moonlit imageries melting, vanishing. In the +hour before dawn Waring would be unable to see anything of the farther +wall save a wavering blur. + +Just below him he could discern the outline of his horse, with head +lowered, evidently dozing. Having in mind the keenness of desert-bred +stock, he watched the horse. The minutes drifted by. The horse seemed +more distinct. Waring thought he could discern the picket rope. He +endeavored to trace it from horse to picket. Foot by foot his eyes +followed its slack outline across the ground. The head of the metal +picket glimmered faintly. Waring closed his eyes, nodded, and caught +himself. This time he traced the rope from picket to horse. It seemed a +childish thing to do, yet it kept him awake. Did he imagine it, or had +the rope moved? + +Dex had lifted his head. He was sniffing the cool morning air. Slowly +the tawny-golden shape of the big buckskin turned, head up and nostrils +rounded in tense rings. Waring glanced across the cañon. The farther +wall was still dim in the half-light. In a few minutes the trail would +become distinct. Dropping from the ledge, he stepped to his saddle. Dex +evidently heard him, for he twitched back one ear, but maintained his +attitude of keen interest in an invisible something--a something that +had drawn him from drowsy inanition to a quietly tense statue of +alertness. The ash gray of the farther wall, now visible, slowly changed +to a faint rose tint that deepened and spread. + +Waring stooped and straightened up, with his glasses held on the far +trail. A tiny rider appeared in the clear blue circle of the binoculars, +and another, who led two horses without saddles or packs. The men were +headed south. Presently they disappeared behind a wall of brush. Waring +saddled Dex, and, keeping close to the eastern wall, rode toward the +arroyo. + +The morning sun traced clean, black shadows of the chaparral on the +sand. The bloom of cacti burned in red and yellow blotches of flame +against its own dull background of grayish-green. At the mouth of the +arroyo, Waring dismounted and dropped the reins. Dex nosed him +inquiringly. He patted the horse, and, turning, strode swiftly down the +dry river-bed. He walked upright, knowing that he could not be seen from +the trail. He could even have ridden down the arroyo unseen, and perhaps +it was a senseless risk to hunt men afoot in this land. The men he +hunted were Mexicans of Sonora; fugitives. They would fight blindly, +spurred by fear. Waring's very name terrorized them. And were they to +come upon the gringo mounted, Waring knew that there was more than a +chance his horse would be shot. He had a peculiar aversion to running +such a risk when there was half a chance of doing his work on foot. + +Moreover, certain Americans in Sonora who disliked Waring had said +recently that no man was quick enough to get an even break with the +gunman, which tentatively placed him as a "killer," whereas he had never +given a thought to the hazard when going into a fight. He had always +played the game to win, odds either way. The men he sought would be +mounted. He would be on foot. This time the fugitives would have more +than a fair chance. They would blunder down the pitch into the arroyo, +perhaps glancing back, fearful of pursuit, but apprehending no +ambushment. + +Waring knew they would kill him if they could. He knew that not even a +fighting chance would have been his were they in his place and he in +theirs. He was deputized and paid to do just what he was doing. The men +were bandits who had robbed the paymaster of the Ortez Mines. To Waring +there was nothing complicated about the matter. It was his day's work. +The morning sun would be in their faces, but that was not his fault. + +As Waring waited in the arroyo the faint clatter of shod hoofs came from +above. He drew close to a cutbank, leaning his shoulder against it +easily. With a slither of sand, the first horse took the pitch, legs +angled awkwardly as he worked down. The second rider followed, the led +horses pulling back. + +At the bottom of the arroyo, the Mexicans reined up. The elder, squat, +broad of back, a black handkerchief tied round his thick neck, reached +into his pocket and drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. The other, +hardly more than a boy, urged that they hasten. Fear vibrated in his +voice. The squat Mexican laughed and began to roll a cigarette. + +None had overtaken them, he said. And were they not now in the Land +Where No Man Lived? + +"Si!" said Waring softly. + +The half-rolled cigarette fluttered to the ground. The Mexican's heavy +lip sagged, showing broken teeth. His companion dropped the lead-rope +and turned to gaze at Waring with eyes wide, wondering, curious. The led +horses plunged up the back trail. Waring made no movement toward his +gun, but he eyed the elder Mexican sharply, paying little attention to +the youth. The horse of the squat Mexican grew restless, sidling toward +the other. + +Waring's lips tightened. The bandit was spurring his horse on the off +side to get behind his companion. Evidently the numbness of surprise had +given way to fear, and fear meant action. Waring knew that the elder +Mexican would sacrifice his companion for the sake of a chance of +killing the gringo. + +Waring held out his left hand. "Give me your gun," he said to the youth. +"And hand it down butt first." + +The youth, as though hypnotized, pulled out his gun and handed it to +Waring. Waring knew that if the other Mexican meant to fight it would be +at that instant. Even as the butt of the gun touched Waring's hand it +jumped. Two shattering reports blended and died echoless in the +close-walled arroyo. + +The Mexican's gun slipped slowly from his fingers. He rocked in the +saddle, grasped the horn, and slid to the ground. Waring saw him reach +for the gun where it lay on the sand. He kicked it aside. The Mexican +youth leaped from the saddle and stood between Waring and the fallen +man. Waring stepped back. For an instant his eyes drew fine. He was +tempted to make an end of it right there. The youth dropped to his +knees. A drift of wind fluttered the bandanna at his throat. Waring saw +a little silver crucifix gleaming against the smooth brown of his chest. + +"If it is that I am to die, I am not afraid," said the youth. "I have +this!" And his fingers touched the crucifix. "But you will not kill my +uncle!" + +Waring hesitated. He seemed to be listening. And as though in a dream, +yet distinct--clear as though he had spoken himself came the words: "It +is enough!" + +"Not this journey," said Waring. + +The Mexican youth gazed at him wonderingly. Was the gringo mad? + +Waring holstered his gun with a jerk. "Get up on your hind legs and quit +that glory stuff! We ride north," he growled. + + + + +Chapter II + + +_José Vaca_ + +The young Mexican's face was beaded with sweat as he rose and stared +down at the wounded man. Clumsily he attempted to help Waring, who +washed and bandaged the shattered shoulder. Waring had shot to kill, but +the gun was not his own, and he had fired almost as it had touched his +hand. + +"Get your uncle on his horse," he told the youth. "Don't make a break. +We're due at Juan Armigo's ranchito about sundown." + +So far as he was concerned, that was all there was to it for the time +being. He had wounded and captured José Vaca, notorious in Sonora as +leader in outlawry. That there were no others of Vaca's kind with him +puzzled Waring. The young Ramon, Vaca's nephew, did not count. + +Ramon helped his uncle to mount. They glanced at each other, Vaca's eyes +blinking. The gringo was afoot. They were mounted. Waring, observing +their attitude, smiled, and, crooking his finger, whistled shrilly. The +young Ramon trembled. Other gringos were hidden in the arroyo; perhaps +the very man that his uncle had robbed! Even now he could hear the click +of hoofs on the gravel. The gunman had been merciful for the moment, +only to turn his captives over to the merciless men of the mines; men +who held a Mexican's life worth no more than a dog's. The wounded man, +stiff in the saddle, turned his head. Round a bend in the dry river-bed, +his neck held sideways that the reins might drag free, came Waring's big +buckskin horse, Dexter. The horse stopped as he saw the group. Waring +spoke to him. The big buckskin stepped forward and nosed Waring, who +swung to the saddle and gestured toward the back trail. + +They rode in silence, the Mexicans with bowed heads, dull-eyed, +listless, resigned to their certain fate. For some strange reason the +gringo had not killed them in the arroyo. He had had excuse enough. + +Would he take them to Sonora--to the prison? Or would he wait until they +were in some hidden fastness of the Agua Fria, and there kill them and +leave them to the coyotes? The youth Ramon knew that the two little +canvas sacks of gold were cleverly tied in the huge tapaderas of his +uncle's saddle. Who would think to look for them there? + +The gringo had said that they would ride to the ranchito of Juan Armigo. +How easily the gringo had tricked them at the very moment when they +thought they were safe! Yet he had not asked about the stolen money. The +ways of this gringo were past comprehension. + +Waring paid scant attention to the Mexicans, but he glanced continuously +from side to side of the cañon, alert for a surprise. The wounded man, +Vaca, was known to him. He was but one of the bandits. Ramon, Vaca's +nephew, was not of their kind, but had been led into this journey by +Vaca that the bandit might ride wide when approaching the ranchos and +send his nephew in for supplies. + +The pack on Ramon's saddle rode too lightly to contain anything heavier +than food. There was nothing tied to Vaca's saddle but a frayed and +faded blanket. Yet Waring was certain that they had not cached the gold; +that they carried it with them. + +At noon they watered the horses midway up the cañon. As they rode on +again, Waring noticed that Vaca did not thrust his foot clear home in +the stirrup, but he attributed this to the other's condition. The +Mexican was a sick man. His swarthy face had gone yellow, and he leaned +forward, clutching the horn. The heat was stagnant, unwavering. The pace +was desperately slow. + +Despite his vigilance, Waring's mind grew heavy with the monotony. He +rolled a cigarette. The smoke tasted bitter. He flung the cigarette +away. The hunting of men had lost its old-time thrill. A clean break and +a hard fight; that was well enough. But the bowed figures riding ahead +of him: ignorant, superstitious, brutal; numb to any sense of honor. Was +the game worth while? Yet they were men--human in that they feared, +hoped, felt hunger, thirst, pain, and even dreamed of vague successes to +be attained how or when the Fates would decide. And was this squalid +victory a recompense for the risks he ran and the hardships he endured? + +Again Waring heard the Voice, as though from a distance, and yet the +voice was his own: "You will turn back from the hunting of men." + +"Like hell I will!" muttered Waring. + +Ramon, who rode immediately ahead of him, turned in the saddle. Waring +gestured to him to ride on. + +The heat grew less intense as an occasional, vagrant breeze stirred in +the brush and fluttered the handkerchief round Waring's throat. Ahead, +the cañon broadened to the mesa lands, where the distant green of a line +of trees marked the boundary of the Armigo rancho. + +Presently Vaca began to sing; softly at first, then with insane +vehemence as the fever mounted to his brain. Waring smiled with dry +lips. The Mexican had stood the journey well. A white man in Vaca's +condition would have gone to pieces hours ago. He called to Ramon, who +gave Vaca water. The Mexican drank greedily, and threw the empty canteen +into the bushes. + +Waring listened for some hint, some crazy boast as to the whereabouts of +the stolen money. But Vaca rode on, occasionally breaking into a wild +song, half Yaqui, half Mexican. The youth Ramon trembled, fearing that +the gringo would lose patience. + +Across the northern end of the cañon the winnowing heat waves died to +the level of the ground. Brown shadows shot from the western wall and +spread across the widening outlet. The horses stepped briskly, knowing +that they were near water. + +Waring became more alert as they approached the adobe buildings of the +rancho. Vaca had drifted into a dull silence. Gray with suffering and +grim with hate for the gringo, he rode stolidly, praying incoherently +that the gunman might be stricken dead as he rode. + +The raw edge of the disappearing sun leveled a long flame of crimson +across the mesa. The crimson melted to gold. The gold paled to a brief +twilight. A faint star twinkled in the north. + +Dogs crowded forward in the dusk, challenging the strange riders. A +figure filled the lighted doorway of the Armigo ranch-house. The dogs +drew back. + +Ramon dismounted and helped his uncle down. Waring sat his horse until +Juan Armigo stepped from the doorway and asked who came. Waring answered +with his name. + +"Si! Si!" exclaimed Armigo. "The señor is welcome." + +Waring dismounted. "Juan, I have two of your friends here; José Vaca and +Ramon Ortego." + +Armigo seemed surprised. "José Vaca is wounded?" he queried +hesitatingly. + +Waring nodded. + +"And the horses; they shall have feed, water, everything--I myself--" + +"Thanks. But I'll look after the horses, Juan. I'm taking Vaca and Ramon +to Sonora. See what you can do for Vaca. He's pretty sick." + +"It shall be as the señor says. And the señor has made a fight?" + +"With those hombres? Not this journey! José Vaca made a mistake; that's +all." + +Armigo, perturbed, shuffled to the house. Waring unsaddled the horses +and turned them into the corral. As he lifted the saddle from Vaca's +horse, he hesitated. It was a big stock saddle and heavy; yet it seemed +too heavy. On his knees he turned it over, examining it. He smiled +grimly as he untied the little canvas sacks and drew them from the +tapaderas. + +"Thought he showed too much boot for a hard-riding chola," muttered +Waring. + +He rose and threw some hay to the horses. He could hear Ramon and Armigo +talking in the ranch-house. Taking his empty canteen from his own +saddle, he untied the sacks and slipped the gold-pieces, one by one, +into the canteen. He scooped up sand and filled the canteen half full. +The gold no longer jingled as he shook it. + +While Waring had no fear that either of the men would attempt to escape, +he knew Mexicans too well to trust Armigo explicitly. A thousand +dollars was a great temptation to a poor rancher. And while Armigo had +always professed to be Waring's friend, sympathy of blood and the appeal +of money easily come by might change the placid face of things +considerably. + +Waring strode to the house, washed and ate with Juan in the kitchen; +then he invited the Mexican out to the corral. + +"José and Ramon are your countrymen, Juan." + +"Si, señor. I am sorry for Ramon. This thing was not of his doing. He is +but a boy--" + +Waring touched the other's arm. "There will be no trouble, Juan. Only +keep better track of your horses while I ride this part of the country." + +"But--señor--" + +"I've had business with you before. Two of your cayuses are astray down +the Agua Fria. One of them is dragging a maguey lead-rope." + +"Señor, it is impossible!" + +"No, it isn't! I know your brand. See here, Juan. You knew that Vaca was +trying to get away. You knew I'd be sent to get him. Why did you let him +take two spare horses?" + +"But, señor, I swear I did not!" + +"All right. Then when Ramon rode in here two days ago and asked you for +two horses, why didn't you refuse him? Why did you tell him you would +sell them, but that you would not lend them to him?" + +"If Ramon says that, he lies. I told Ramon--" + +"Thanks. That's all I want to know. I don't care what you told Ramon. +You let him take the horses. Now, I'm going to tell you something that +will be worth more to you than gold. Don't try to rope any stock grazing +round here to-night. I might wake up quick and make a mistake. Men look +alike in the moonlight--and we'll have a moon." + +"It shall be as the señor says. It is fate." + +"All right, amigo. But it isn't fate. It's making fool mistakes when you +or your countrymen tackle a job like Vaca tackled. Just get me a couple +of blankets. I'll sleep out here to-night." + +Juan Armigo plodded to the adobe. The lamplight showed his face beaded +with sweat. He shuffled to an inner room, and came out with blankets on +his arm. Vaca lay on a bed-roll in the corner of the larger room, and +near him stood Ramon. + +"The señor sleeps with the horses," said Armigo significantly. + +Ramon bent his head and muttered a prayer. + +"And if you pray," said Armigo, shifting the blankets from one arm to +the other, "pray then that the two horses that you borrowed may return. +As for your Uncle José, he will not die." + +"And we shall be taken to the prison," said Ramon." + +"You should have killed the gringo." And Armigo's tone was +matter-of-fact. "Or perhaps told him where you had hidden the gold. He +might have let you go, then." + +Ramon shook his head. Armigo's suggestion was too obviously a question +as to the whereabouts of the stolen money. + +The wounded man opened his eyes. "I have heard," he said faintly. "Tell +the gringo that I will say where the money is hidden if he will let me +go." + +"It shall be as you wish," said Armigo, curious to learn more of the +matter. + +At the corral he delivered Vaca's message to Waring, who feigned delight +at the other's information. + +"If that is so, Tio Juan," he laughed, "you shall have your share--a +hundred pesos. Leave the blankets there by my saddle. We will go to the +house." + +From the coolness of night, with its dim radiance of stars, to the +accumulated heat of the interior of the adobe was an unpleasant change. +The walls were whitewashed and clean enough, but the place smelled +strongly of cooking. A lamp burned on the oilcloth-covered table. Ramon, +wide-eyed with trepidation, stood by his uncle, who had braced himself +on his elbow as Waring approached. Waring nodded pleasantly and rolled a +cigarette. José Vaca glared up at him hungrily. The lower lip, +pendulous, showed his broken teeth. Waring thought of a trapped wolf. +Juan glanced from one to the other. + +But the gringo seemed incurious, merely gazing at the pictures on the +walls; a flaming print of the Madonna, one of the Christ, a cheap +photograph of Juan and his señora taken on their wedding day, an abalone +shell on which was painted something resembling a horse and rider-- + +"The gold is hidden in the house of Pedro Salazar, of Sonora. It is +buried in the earth beneath his bed." + +José Vaca had spoken, but Waring was watching Ramon's eyes. + +"All right, hombre. Muchas gracias." + +"And now you will let me go?" queried Vaca. + +"I haven't said so." Waring's tone was pleasant, almost indifferent. + +Ramon's face was troubled. Of what use was it to try and deceive the +gringo? But Waring was smiling. Did he, then, believe such an obvious +lie? + +"Bueno!" Waring exclaimed. "That lets _you_ out. Now, what about you, +Ramon?" + +"My uncle has spoken," said Ramon. "I have nothing to say." + +"Then you will ride with me to Sonora." + +"As you say, señor." + +"All right. Don't sit up all night praying. That won't do any good. Get +some sleep. And you, too, Juan." And Waring turned quickly to Armigo. +"Sleep all you can. You'll feel better in the morning." + +Waring turned and strode out. In the corral he spread his blankets. With +his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars. + +The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one +corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground +was new to them. + +For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged +as he rested. Just before Waring slept he felt a gentle nosing of his +blankets. The big horse sniffed curiously. + +"Strange blankets, eh?" queried Waring drowsily. "But it's the same old +partner, Dex." + +The horse walked slowly away, nosing along the fence. Waring knew that +he was well sentineled. The big buckskin would resent the approach of a +stranger by snorting. Waring turned on his side and slept. His day's +work was done. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +_Donovan's Hand_ + +Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to the +horses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over the +kitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. The +Mexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifix +on the wall, where he had knelt in prayer most of the night. + +Waring drew back quietly. + +"Let them sleep," he told Juan in the kitchen. + +After frijoles and coffee, the gunman rose and gestured to Juan to +follow him. + +Out near the corral, Waring turned suddenly. "You say that young Ramon +is straight?" + +"Si, señor. He is a good boy." + +"Well, he's in dam' bad company. How about Vaca?" + +Juan Armigo shrugged his shoulders. + +"Are you afraid of him, Juan?" + +"No. But if he were to ask me for anything, it would be well to let him +have it." + +"I see. So he sent young Ramon in here for two extra horses, and you +were afraid to refuse. I had thought you were an honest man. After I +have gone, go hunt up those horses in the cañon. And if any one from +Sonora rides in here and asks about Ramon or Vaca or me, you don't know +anything about us. Sabe? If your horses are found before you get to +them, some one stole them. Do these things. I don't want to come back to +see if you have done them." + +Juan Armigo nodded, gazing at Waring with crafty eyes. So the gringo was +tempted by the gold. He would ride back to Sonora, find the stolen money +in the house of Pedro Salazar, and keep it. It would be a very simple +thing to do. Young Ramon would be afraid to speak and José Vaca would +have disappeared. The gringo could swear that he had not found the +bandits or the gold. So reasoned Juan, his erstwhile respect for the +gunman wavering as the idea became fixed. He grinned at Waring. It would +be a good trick; to steal the gold from the stealers. Of a certainty the +gringo was becoming almost as subtle as a Mexican. + +Waring was not pleased as he read the other's eyes, but he said nothing. +Turning abruptly, he entered the corral and saddled Ramon's horse and +his own. + +"Get José Vaca out of here as soon as he can travel," he told Armigo. +"You may have to explain if he is found here." And Waring strode to the +adobe. + +Ramon was awake and talking with his uncle. Waring told him to get +something to eat. Then he turned to Vaca. + +"José," he began pleasantly, "you tried to get me yesterday, but you +only spoiled a good Stetson. See? You shot high. When you go for a man +again, start in at his belt-buckle and get him low. We'll let that go +this time. When you can ride, take your cayuse and fan it anywhere--_but +don't ride back to Sonora_. I'll be there. I'm going to herd young Ramon +back home. He is isn't your kind. You are free. Don't jabber. Just tell +all that to your saints. And if you get caught, don't say that you saw +me. Sabe?" + +The wounded man raised himself on his elbow, glaring up at Waring with +feverish eyes. "You give me my life. I shall not speak." + +"Bueno! And you said in the house of Pedro Salazar?" + +"Si! Near the acequia." + +"The Placeta Burro. I know the place. You'll find your horse and a +saddle when you are able to ride." + +The bandit's eyes glistened as he watched Waring depart. If the gringo +entered the house of Pedro Salazar, he would not find the gold and he +would not come out alive. The gringo gunman had killed the brother of +Pedro Salazar down in the desert country years ago. And Salazar had had +nothing to do with the Ortez Mine robbery. Vaca thought that the gold +was still safe in his tapaderas. The gringo was a fool. + +Waring led the two saddled horses to the house. Ramon, coming from the +kitchen, blinked in the sunlight. + +"It is my horse, but not my saddle, señor." + +"You are an honest man," laughed Waring. "But we won't change saddles. +Come on!" + +Ramon mounted and rode beside Waring until they were out of sight of the +ranch-house, when Waring reined up. + +"Where is that money?" he asked suddenly. + +"I do not know, señor." + +"Did you know where it was yesterday?" + +Ramon hesitated. Was this a trap? Waring's level gaze held the young +Mexican to a straight answer. + +"Si, señor. I knew--yesterday." + +"You knew; but you didn't talk up when your uncle tried to run me into +Pedro Salazar." + +"I--he is of my family." + +"Well, I don't blame you. I see that you can keep from talking when you +have to. And now is your chance to do a lot of keeping still. I'm going +to ride into Sonora ahead of you. When you get in, go home and forget +that you made this journey. If your folks ask where your uncle is, tell +them that he rode south and that you turned back. Because you did didn't +lie to me, and because you did didn't show yellow, I'm going to give you +a chance to get out of this. I let your uncle go because he would have +given you away to save himself the minute I jailed him in Sonora. It's +up to you to keep out of trouble. You've had a scare that ought to last +you. Take your time and hit Sonora about sundown. Adios." + +"But--señor!" + +Waring whirled his horse. "A good rider shoves his foot clear home," he +called as he loped away. + +Ramon sat his horse, gazing at the little puffs of dust that shot from +the hoofs of the big buckskin. Surely the gringo was mad! Yet he was a +man of big heart. Perplexed, stunned by the realization that he was +alone and free, the young Mexican gazed about him. Waring was a tiny +figure in the distance. Ramon dismounted and examined the empty +tapaderas. + +Heretofore he had considered subtlety, trickery, qualities to be +desired, and not incompatible with honor. In a flash he realized the +difference, the distinction between trickery and keenness of mind. He +had been awed by his uncle's reputation and proud to name him of this +family. Now he saw him for what he was. "My Uncle José is a bad man," he +said to himself. "The other,--the gringo whom men call 'The Killer,'--he +is a hard man, but assuredly he is not bad." + +When Ramon spoke to his horse his voice trembled. His hand drifted up to +the little silver crucifix on his breast. A vague glimmer of +understanding, a sense of the real significance of the emblem heartened +him to face the journey homeward and the questions of his kin. And, +above all, he felt an admiration for the gringo that grew by degrees as +he rode on. He could follow such a man to the end of the world, even +across the border of the Great Unknown, for surely such a leader would +not lose the way. + + * * * * * + +Three men sat in the office of the Ortez Mines, smoking and saying +little. Donovan, the manager; the paymaster, Quigley; and the assistant +manager, a young American fresh from the East. Waring's name was +mentioned. Three days ago he had ridden south after the bandits. He +might return. He might not. + +"I'd like to see him ride in," said Donovan, turning to the paymaster. + +"And you hate him at that," said Quigley. + +"I don't say so. But if he was paymaster here, he'd put the fear of God +into some of those greasers." + +Quigley flushed. "You didn't hire me to chase greasers, Donovan. I'm no +gunman." + +"No," said Donovan slowly. "I had you sized up." + +"Oh, cut out that stuff!" said the assistant manager, smiling. "That +won't balance the pay-roll." + +"No. But I'm going to cut down expenses." And Donovan eyed Quigley. "Jim +Waring is too dam' high and mighty to suit me. Every time he tackles a +job he is the big boss till it's done. If he comes back, all right. If +he don't--we'll charge it up to profit and loss. But his name goes off +the pay-roll to-day." + +Quigley grinned. He knew that Donovan was afraid of Waring. Waring was +the one man in Donovan's employ that he could not bully. Moreover, the +big Irishman hated to pay Waring's price, which was stiff. + +"How about a raise of twenty-five a month, then?" queried Quigley. + +To his surprise, Donovan nodded genially. "You're on, Jack. And that +goes the minute Waring shows up with the money. If he doesn't show +up--why, that raise can wait." + +"Then I'll just date the change to-day," said Quigley. "Take a look down +the street." + +Donovan rose heavily and stepped to the window. "By God, it's Waring, +all right! He's afoot. What's that he's packing?" + +"A canteen," said the assistant manager. "This is a dry country." + +Donovan returned to his desk. "Get busy, at something. We don't want to +sit here like a lot of stuffed buzzards. We're glad to see Waring back, +of course. You two can drift out when I get to talking business with +him." + +Quigley nodded and took up his pen. The assistant manager studied a map. + +Waring strode in briskly. The paymaster glanced up and nodded, expecting +Donovan to speak. But Donovan sat with his back toward Waring, his head +wreathed in tobacco smoke. He was apparently absorbed in a letter. + +The gunman paused halfway across the office. Quigley fidgeted. The +assistant superintendent stole a glance at Donovan's broad back and +smiled. All three seemed waiting for Waring to speak. Quigley rather +enjoyed the situation. The assistant superintendent's scalp prickled +with restrained excitement. + +He rose and stepped to Donovan. "Mr. Donovan, Mr. Waring is here." + +"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant. + +Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you come +in." + +Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze. +Still the gunman did not speak. + +"Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan. + +Waring shook his head. + +"Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?" + +"Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!" + +Quigley laughed. The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate +handkerchief. The room was hot. + +"Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth +a damn." + +Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?" + +Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet. + +"Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's +got something on his mind. I knew it the minute I came in. I want you +fellows to hear it." + +Donovan flung his half-smoked cigar to the floor and lighted a fresh +one. Waring's attitude irritated him. Officially, Donovan was Waring's +superior. Man to man, the Sonora gunman was Donovan's master, and the +Irishman knew and resented it. + +He tried a new tack. "Glad to see you back, Jim." And he rose and stuck +out a sweating hand. + +Waring swung the canteen from his shoulder and carefully hung the strap +over Donovan's wrist. "There's your money, Bill. Count it--and give me a +receipt." + +Donovan, with the dusty canteen dangling from his arm, looked +exceedingly foolish. + +Waring turned to Quigley. "Bill's got a stroke," he said, smiling. +"Quigley, give me a receipt for a thousand dollars." + +"Sure!" said Quigley, relieved. The money had been stolen from him. + +Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigley +unscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map. +The assistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and poured +out a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted them +from the sand and counted them. + +"One thousand even. Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?" + +"Did I?" queried Waring. + +"Well, you got the mazuma," said Quigley. "And that's good enough for +me." + +Donovan stepped to the table. "Williams, I won't need you any more +to-day." + +The assistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair. +"Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waring +returned the money. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular." + +"No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll," said Waring. + +Donovan laughed. "Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you your +own price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I got +a letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdup +will make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on the +pay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. Nobody knows +you recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigley +and you and I will split it--three hundred apiece." + +"Suppose I stay out of the deal," said Waring. + +"Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along." + +Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insult +intended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal from +the service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to the +suggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level. + +Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said, turning +to Quigley. + +Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been +easy enough. + +Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the +paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed the +check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands. + +As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm. +"Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were +unreadable. + +The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it, +he relinquished the sack. + +Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you +before, you can't bluff worth a damn." + +Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest, +the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving in +his hand. + +"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Never +throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill." + +The door clicked shut. + +Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamed +suddenly. "I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzer +like that on me!" + +"I'd go slow," said Quigley. "You don't know what kind of a game Waring +will play." + +Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police. + + + + +Chapter IV + + +_The Silver Crucifix_ + +When in Sonora, Waring frequented the Plaza Hotel. He had arranged with +the management that his room should always be ready for him, day or +night. The location was advantageous. Nearly all the Americans visiting +Sonora and many resident Americans stopped at the Plaza. Waring +frequently picked up valuable bits of news as he lounged in the lobby. +Quietly garbed when in town, he passed for a well-to-do rancher or +mining man. His manner invited no confidences. He was left much to +himself. Men who knew him deemed him unaccountable in that he never +drank with them and seldom spoke unless spoken to. The employees of the +hotel had grown accustomed to his comings and goings, though they seldom +knew where he went or definitely when he would return. His mildness of +manner was a source of comment among those who knew him for what he was. +And his very mildness of manner was one of his greatest assets in +gaining information. Essentially a man of action, silent as to his plans +and surmises, yet he could talk well when occasion demanded. + +It was rumored that he was in the employ of the American Government; +that he had been disappointed in a love affair; that he had a wife and +son living somewhere in the States; that for very good reasons he could +not return to the States; that he was a dangerous man, well paid by the +Mexican Government to handle political matters that would not bear +public inspection. These rumors came to him from time to time, and +because he paid no attention to them they were accepted as facts. + +About an hour after he had left Donovan's office, Waring entered the +Plaza Hotel, nodded to the clerk, and passed on down the hallway. He +knocked at a door, and was answered by the appearance of a stout, +smooth-shaven man in shirt-sleeves. They chatted for a minute or two. +Waring stepped into the room. Presently he reappeared, smiling. + +After dinner he strolled out and down the street. At a corner he edged +through the crowd, and was striding on when some one touched his arm. He +turned to confront the Mexican youth, Ramon. Waring gestured to Ramon to +follow, and they passed on down the street until near the edge of the +town. In the shadow of an adobe, Waring stopped. + +Ramon glanced up and down the street. "The police--they have asked me +where is my Uncle José. I have told them that I do not know. The police +they asked me that." + +"Well?" + +"But it is not that why I come. They told me to go to my home. It was +when I was in the prison that the policia talked in the telephone. He +spoke your name and the name of Señor Bill Donovan of the Ortez Mine. I +heard only your name and his, but I was afraid. You will not tell them +that I was with my Uncle José?" + +"No. And thanks, Ramon. I think I know what they were talking about. Go +back home, pronto. If you were to be seen with me--" + +"The señor is gracious. He has given me my life. I have nothing to +give--but this." And Ramon drew the little silver crucifix from his +shirt and pressed it in Waring's hand. + +"Oh, here, muchacho--" + +But Ramon was already hastening down a side street. Waring smiled and +shook his head. For a moment he stood looking at the little crucifix +shining on the palm of his hand. He slipped it into his pocket and +strode back up the street. For an hour or more he walked about, +listening casually to this or that bit of conversation. Occasionally he +heard Mexicans discussing the Ortez robbery. Donovan's name, Waring's +own name, Vaca's, and even Ramon's were mentioned. It seemed strange to +him that news should breed so fast. Few knew that he had returned. +Possibly Donovan had spread the report that the bandits had made their +escape with the money. That would mean that Waring had been outwitted. +And Donovan would like nothing better than to injure Waring's +reputation. + +Finding himself opposite the hotel, Waring glanced about and strode in. +As he entered the hallway leading to his room three men rose from the +leather chairs near the lobby window and followed him. Waring's door +closed. He undressed and went to bed. He had been asleep but a few +minutes when some one rapped on the door. He asked who it was. He was +told to open in the name of the city of Sonora. He rose and dressed +quickly. + +When he opened the door two Sonora policemen told him to put up his +hands. Donovan stood back of them, chewing a cigar. One of the policemen +took Waring's gun. The other searched the room. Evidently he did not +find what he sought. + +"When you get through," said Waring, eyeing Donovan grimly, "you might +tell me what you're after." + +"I'm after that thousand," said Donovan. + +"Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? Just call in Stanley, of the bank. His +room is opposite." + +Donovan hesitated. "Stanley's got nothing to do with this." + +"Hasn't he?" queried Waring. "Call him in and see." + +One of the police knocked at Stanley's door. + +The bank cashier appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Hello, Bill! Hello, Jim! +What's the fuss?" + +"Stanley, did I deposit a thousand dollars in gold to the credit of the +Ortez Mine this afternoon?" + +"You did." + +"Just show Donovan here the receipt I asked you to keep for me." + +"All right. I'll get it." + +Donovan glanced at the receipt. "Pretty smooth," he muttered. + +Waring smiled. His silence enraged Donovan, who motioned to the police +to leave the room. + +Waring interrupted. "My gun?" he queried mildly. + +One of the police handed the gun to Waring. + +Their eyes met. "Why, hello, Pedro!" And Waring's voice expressed +innocent surprise. "When did you enroll as a policeman?" + +Donovan was about to interrupt when the policeman spoke: "That is my +business." + +"Which means Bill here has had you sworn in to-day. Knew you would like +to get a crack at me, eh? You ought to know better, Salazar." + +"Come on!" called Donovan. + +The Mexicans followed him down the hallway. + +Waring thanked Stanley. "It was a frame-up to get me, Frank," he +concluded. "Pedro Salazar would like the chance, and as a policeman he +could work it. You know that old game--resisting arrest." + +"Doesn't seem to worry you," said Stanley. + +"No. I'm leaving town. I'm through with this game." + +"Getting too hot?" + +"No. I'm getting cold feet," said Waring, laughing. "And say, Stanley, +I may need a little money to-morrow." + +"Any time, Jim." + +Waring nodded. Back in his room he sat for a while on the edge of the +bed, gazing at the curtained window. Life had gone stale. He was sick of +hunting men and of being hunted. Pedro Salazar was now a member of the +Sonora police through Donovan's efforts. Eventually Salazar would find +an excuse to shoot Waring. And the gunman had made up his mind to do no +more killing. For that reason he had spared Vaca and had befriended +Ramon. He decided to leave Sonora. + +Presently he rose and dressed in his desert clothes. As he went through +his pockets he came upon the little silver crucifix and transferred it, +with some loose change, to his riding-breeches. He turned out the light, +locked the room from the outside, and strode out of the hotel. + +At the livery-stable, he asked for his horse. The man in charge told him +that Dex had been taken by the police. That the Señor Bill Donovan and +Pedro Salazar had come and shown him a paper,--he could not read,--but +he knew the big seal. It was Pedro Salazar who had ridden the horse. + +The streets were still lighted, although the crowd was thinning. Waring +turned a corner and drifted through the shadows toward the edge of town. +As he passed open doorways he was greeted in Mexican, and returned each +greeting pleasantly. The adobe at the end of the side street he was on +was dark. + +Waring paused. Pedro Salazar's house was the only unlighted house in the +district. The circumstance hinted of an ambushment. Waring crossed to +the deeper shadows and whistled. The call was peculiarly low and +cajoling. He was answered by a muffled nickering. His horse Dex was +evidently corralled at the back of the adobe. + +Pedro Salazar knew that Waring would come for the horse sooner or later, +so he waited, crouching behind the adobe wall of the enclosure. + +Waring knocked loudly on Salazar's door and called his name. Then he +turned and ran to the corner, dodged round it, and crept along the +breast-high adobe wall. He whistled again. A rope snapped, and there +came the sound of quick trampling. A rush and the great, tawny shape of +Dexter reared in the moonlight and swept over the wall. With head up, +the horse snorted a challenge. Waring called softly. The horse wheeled +toward him. Waring caught the broken neck-rope and swung up. A flash cut +the darkness behind him. Instinctively he turned and threw two shots. A +figure crumpled to a dim blur in the corral. + +Waring raced down the alley and out into the street. At the +livery-stable he asked for his saddle and bridle. The Mexican, +chattering, brought them. Waring tugged the cinchas tight and mounted. +Far down the street some one called. + +Waring rode to the hotel, dismounted, and strode in casually, pausing at +Stanley's door. The cashier answered his knock. + +"I'm off," said Waring. "And I'll need some money." + +"All right, Jim. What's up? How much?" + +"A couple of hundred. Charge it back to my account. Got it?" + +"No. I'll get it at the desk." + +"All right. Settle my bill for me to-morrow. Don't stop to dress. +Rustle!" + +A belated lounger glanced up in surprise as Waring, booted and spurred, +entered the lobby with a man in pajamas. They talked with the clerk a +moment, shook hands, and Waring strode to the doorway. + +"Any word for the Ortez people?" queried Stanley as Waring mounted. + +"I left a little notice for Donovan--at Pedro Salazar's house," said +Waring. "Donovan will understand." And Waring was gone. + +The lounger accosted Stanley. "What's the row, Stanley?" + +"I don't know. Jim Waring is in a hurry--first time since I've known +him. Figure it out yourself." + +Back in Pedro Salazar's corral a man lay huddled in a dim corner, his +sightless eyes open to the soft radiance of the Sonora moon. A group of +Mexicans stood about, jabbering. Among them was Ramon Ortego. Ramon +listened and said nothing. Pedro Salazar was dead. No one knew who had +killed him. And only that day he had become one of the police! It would +go hard with the man who did this thing. There were many surmises. +Pedro's brother had been killed by the gringo Waring down in the desert. +As for Pedro, his name had been none too good. They shrugged their +shoulders and crossed themselves. + +Ramon slipped from the group and climbed the adobe wall. As he +straightened up on the other side, he saw something gleaming in the +moonlight. He stooped and picked up a little silver crucifix. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +_The Tang of Life_ + +Waring rode until dawn, when he picketed Dex in a clump of chaparral and +lay down to rest. He had purposely passed the water-hole, a half-mile +south, after having watered the horse and refilled his canteen. + +There was a distinction, even in Sonora, between Pedro Salazar, the +citizen, and Pedro Salazar, of the Sonora police. The rurales might get +busy. Nogales and the Arizona line were still a long ride ahead. + +Slowly the desert sun drew overhead and swept the scant shadows from the +brush-walled enclosure. Waring slept. Finally the big buckskin became +restless, circling his picket and lifting his head to peer over the +brush. Long before Waring could have been aware of it, had he been +awake, the horse saw a moving something on the southern horizon. Trained +to the game by years of association with his master, Dex walked to where +Waring lay and nosed his arm. The gunman rolled to his side and peered +through the chaparral. + +Far in the south a moving dot wavered in the sun. Waring swept the +southern arc with his glasses. The moving dot was a Mexican, a horseman +riding alone. He rode fast. Waring could see the rise and fall of a +quirt. "Some one killing a horse to get somewhere," he muttered, and he +saddled Dex and waited. The tiny figure drew nearer. Dex grew restless. +Waring quieted him with a word. + +To the west of the chaparral lay the trail, paralleled at a distance of +a half-mile by the railroad. The glasses discovered the lone horseman to +be Ramon, of Sonora. The boy swayed in the saddle as the horse lunged +on. Waring knew that something of grave import had sent the boy out into +the noon desert. He was at first inclined to let him pass and then ride +east toward the Sierra Madre. If the rurales were following, they would +trail Dex to the water-hole. And if Ramon rode on north, some of them +would trail the Mexican. This would split up the band--decrease the odds +by perhaps one half. + +But the idea faded from Waring's mind as he saw the boy fling past +desperately. Waring swung to the saddle and rode out. Ramon's horse +plunged to a stop, and stood trembling. The boy all but fell as he +dismounted. Stumbling toward Waring, he held out both hands. + +"Señor, the rurales!" he gasped. + +"How far behind?" + +"The railroad! They are ahead! They have shipped their horses to +Magdalena, to Nogales!" + +"How do you know that?" + +"Pedro Salazar is dead. You were gone. They say it was you." + +"So they shipped their horses ahead to cut me off, eh? You're a good +boy, Ramon, but I don't know what in hell to do with you. Your cayuse is +played out. You made a good ride." + +"Si, señor. I have not stopped once." + +"You look it. You can't go back now. They would shoot you." + +"I will ride with the señor." + +Waring shook his head. + +Ramon's eyes grew desperate. "Señor," he pleaded, "take me with you! I +cannot go back. I will be your man--follow you, even into the Great +Beyond. You will not lose the way." + +And as Ramon spoke he touched the little crucifix on his breast. + +"Where did you find _that?_" asked Waring. + +"In the Placeta Burro; near the house of Pedro Salazar." + +Waring nodded. "Has your horse had water?" + +"No, señor. I did not stop." + +"Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up. +You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse." + +When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his +back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his +boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up. + +Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to +the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks. +Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward the +chaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round the +brush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills, +rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jackets +shimmering in the sun. + + * * * * * + +"I will ride back," said Ramon. "My horse is too weak to follow. The +señor rides slowly that I may keep up with him." + +Waring turned in the saddle. Ahead lay the shadowy foothills of the +mother range, vague masses in the starlight. Some thirty miles behind +was the railroad and the trail north. There was no chance of picking up +a fresh horse. The country was uninhabited. Alone, the gunman would have +ridden swiftly to the hill country, where his trail would have been lost +in the rocky ground of the ranges and where he would have had the +advantage of an unobstructed outlook from the high trails. + +Ramon had said the rurales had entrained; were ahead of him to intercept +him. But Waring, wise in his craft, knew that the man-hunters would +search for tracks at every water-hole on the long northern trail. And if +they found his tracks they would follow him to the hills. They were as +keen on the trail as Yaquis and as relentless as wolves. Their horses, +raw-hide tough, could stand a forced ride that would kill an ordinary +horse. And Ramon's wiry little cayuse, though willing to go on until he +dropped, could not last much longer. + +But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring's mind. "We'll keep +on, amigo," he said, "and in a few hours we'll know whether it's to be a +ride or a fight." + +"I shall pray," whispered Ramon. + +"For a fresh horse, then." + +"No, señor. That would be of no use. I shall pray that you may escape. +As for me--" + +"We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off, +it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora." + +Ramon sighed. The señor was a strange man. Even now he hummed a song in +the starlight. Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing in +the very shadow of its wings? + +"You've got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail," said Waring, as +they rode on. + +"It is so, señor." + +"How do you know?" + +"I cannot say. But it is so. They have left the railroad and are +following us." + +Waring smiled in the dark. "Dex, here, has been trying to tell me that +for an hour." + +"And still the señor does not hasten!" + +"I am giving your cayuse a chance to make the grade. We'll ride an hour +longer." + +Ramon bowed his head. The horses plodded on, working up the first +gentle slope of the foothills. The brush loomed heavier. A hill star +faded on the edge of the higher range. Ramon's lips moved and he crossed +himself. + +Waring hummed a song. He was not unhappy. The tang of life was his +again. Again he followed a trail down which the light feet of Romance +ran swiftly. The past, with its red flare of life, its keen memories and +dulled regrets, was swept away by the promise of dawn and the unknown. +"A clean break and a hard fight," he murmured, as he reined up to rest +his horse. Turning, he could distinguish Ramon, who fingered the +crucifix at his throat. Waring's face grew grim. He felt suddenly +accountable for the boy's life. + +The half-moon glowed against the edge of the world. About to ride on +again, Waring saw a tiny group of horsemen silhouetted against the +half-disk of burning silver. He spoke to his horse. Slowly they climbed +the ridge, dropped down the eastern slope, and climbed again. + +In a shallow valley, Waring reined up, unsaddled Dex, and turned him +loose. Ramon questioned this. "Turn your horse loose," said Waring. +"They'll keep together and find water." + +Ramon shook his head, but did as he was told. Wearily he followed Waring +as he climbed back to a rocky depression on the crest. Without a word +Waring stretched behind a rock and was soon asleep. Ramon wondered at +the other's indifference to danger, but fatigue finally overcame him and +he slept. + +Just before dawn Ramon awakened and touched + +Waring. "They are coming!" he whispered. + +Waring shook his head. "You hear our horses. The rurales won't ride into +this pocket before daylight. Stay right here till I come back." + +He rose and worked cautiously down the eastern slope, searching for Dex +in the valley. In the gray gloom he saw the outline of his horse grazing +alone. He stepped down to him. The big horse raised its head. Waring +spoke. Reassured, Dex plodded to his master, who turned and tracked back +to the pocket in the rocks. "I think your cayuse has drifted south," he +told Ramon. + +The young Mexican showed no surprise. He seemed resigned to the +situation. "I knew when the señor said to turn my horse loose that he +would seek the horses of his kind. He has gone back to the horses of +those who follow us." + +"You said it" said Waring. "And that's going to bother them. It tells me +that the rurales are not far behind. They'll figure that I put you out +of business to get rid of you. They'll look for a dead Mexican, and a +live gringo riding north, alone. But they're too wise to ride up here. +They'll trail up afoot and out of sight. That's your one chance." + +"My chance, señor?" + +"Yes. Here's some grub. You've got your gun. Drift down the slope, get +back of the next ridge, and strike south. Locate their horses and wait +till they leave them to come up here. Get a horse. Pick a good one. I'll +keep them busy till you get back." + +Ramon rose and climbed to the edge of the pocket. "I go," he said sadly. +"And I shall never see the señor again." + +"Don't bet all you've got on that," said Waring. + +When Ramon had disappeared, Waring led Dex back from the pocket, and, +saddling him, left him concealed in the brush. Then the gunman crept +back to the rim and lay waiting, a handful of rifle shells loose on a +flat rock in front of him. He munched some dried meat and drank from the +canteen. + +The red dawn faded quickly to a keen white light. Heat waves ran over +the rocks and danced down the hillside. Waring lighted a match and +blackened the front sight of his carbine. The sun rolled up and struck +at him, burning into the pocket of rock where he lay motionless gazing +down the slope. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his nose. +Scattered boulders seemed to move gently. He closed his eyes for an +instant. When he opened them he thought he saw a movement in the brush +below. The heat burned into his back, and he shrugged his shoulders. A +tiny bird flitted past and perched on the dry, dead stalk of a yucca. +Again Waring thought he saw a movement in the brush. + +Then, as if by magic, the figure of a rural stood clear and straight +against the distant background of brownish-green. Waring smiled. He knew +that if he were to fire, the rurales would rush him. They suspected some +kind of a trap. Waring's one chance was to wait until they had given up +every ruse to draw his fire. They were not certain of his whereabouts, +but were suspicious of that natural fortress of rock. There was not a +rural in Old Mexico who did not know him either personally or by +reputation. The fact that one of them had offered himself as a possible +target proved that they knew they had to deal with a man as crafty as +themselves. + +The standing figure, shimmering in the glare, drew back and disappeared. + +Waring eased his tense muscles. "Now they'll go back for their horses," +he said to himself. "They'll ride up to the next ridge, where they can +look down on this pocket, but I won't be here." + +Waring planned every move with that care and instinct which marks a good +chess-player. And because he had to count upon possibilities far ahead +he drew Ramon's saddle to him and cut the stirrup-leathers, cinchas, and +latigos. If Ramon got one of their horses, his own jaded animal would be +left. Eventually the rurales would find the saddle and Ramon's horse. +And every rural out of the riding would be a factor in their escape. + +The sun blazed down until the pocket of rock was a pit of stagnant +heat. The silence seemed like an ocean rolling in soundless waves across +the hills; a silence that became disturbed by a faint sound as of one +approaching cautiously. Waring thought Ramon had shown cleverness in +working up to him so quietly. He raised on his elbow and turned his +head. On the eastern edge of the pocket stood a rural, and the rural +smiled. + + + + +Chapter VI + + +_Arizona_ + +Waring, who had known the man in Sonora, called him by name. The other's +smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. Waring thrust up his hands and +jokingly offered to toss up a coin to decide the issue. He knew his man; +knew that at the first false move the rural would kill him. He rose and +turned sideways that the other might take his gun. "You win the throw," +he said. The Mexican jerked Waring's gun from the holster and cocked it. +Then he whistled. + +From below came the faint clatter of hoofs. The rural seemed puzzled +that his call should have been answered so promptly. He knew that his +companions had gone for their horses, picketed some distance from the +pocket. He had volunteered to surprise the gunman single-handed. + +Waring, gazing beyond the rural, saw the head of a horse top the rise. +In the saddle sat Ramon, hatless, his black hair flung back from his +forehead, a gun in his hand. Waring drew a deep breath. Would Ramon +bungle it by calling out, or would he have nerve enough to make an end +of it on the instant? + +Although Waring was unarmed, the rural dared not turn. The gringo had +been known to slip out of as tight a place despite the threat of a gun +almost against his chest. With a despondent shrug, Waring lowered his +arms. + +"You win the throw," he said hopelessly. + +Still the Mexican dared not take his eyes from Waring. He would wait +until his companions appeared. + +A few yards behind the rural, Ramon reined up. Slowly he lowered the +muzzle of his gun. The rural called the name of one of his fellows. The +answer came in a blunt crash, which rippled its harsh echoes across the +sounding hills. The rural flung up his arms and pitched forward, rolling +to Waring's feet. The gunman leaped up, and, snatching his carbine from +the rock, swung round and took his six-gun from the rural's limp +fingers. Plunging to the brush beyond the pocket, he swung to the saddle +and shot down the slope. Behind him he could hear Ramon's horse +scattering the loose rock of the hillside. A bullet struck ahead of him +and whined across the silence. A shrill call told him that the pursuers +had discovered the body of their fellow. + +Dex, with ears laid back, took the ragged grade in great, uneven leaps +that shortened to a regular stride as they gained the level of the +valley. Glancing back, Waring saw Ramon but a few yards behind. He +signaled to him to ride closer. Together they swung down the valley, +dodging the low brush--and leaping rocks at top speed. + +Finally Waring reined in. "We'll make for that ridge,"--and he +indicated the range west. Under cover of the brush they angled across +the valley and began the ascent of the range which hid the western +desert. + +Halfway up, Waring dismounted. "Lead my horse on up," he told Ramon. +"I'll argue it out with 'em here." + +"Señor, I have killed a man!" gasped Ramon. + +Waring flung the reins to his companion. "All right! This isn't a +fiesta, hombre; this is business." + +Ramon turned and put his horse up the slope, Dex following. Waring +curled behind a rock and swept the valley with his glass. The heads of +several rurales were visible in the brush. They had halted and were +looking for tracks. Finally one of them raised his arm and pointed +toward the hill. They had caught sight of Ramon on the slope above. +Presently three riders appeared at the foot of the grade. It was a long +shot from where Waring lay. He centered on the leading rural, allowed +for a chance of overshooting, and pressed the trigger. The carbine +snarled. An echo ripped the shimmering heat. A horse reared and plunged +up the valley, the saddle empty. + +Waring rose, and plodded up the slope. + +"Three would have trailed us. Two will ride back to the railroad and +report. I wonder how many of them are bushed along the trail between +here and Nogales?" + +In the American custom-house at Nogales sat a lean, lank man gazing out +of a window facing the south. His chair was tilted back, and his large +feet were crossed on the desk in front of him. He was in his +shirt-sleeves, and he puffed indolently at a cigar and blew smoke-rings +toward the ceiling. Incidentally his name was known throughout the +country and beyond its southern borders. But if this distinction +affected him in any way it was not evident. He seemed submerged in a +lassitude which he neither invited nor struggled against. + +A group of riders appeared down the road. The lean man brushed a cloud +of smoke away and gazed at them with indifference. They drew nearer. He +saw that they were Mexicans--rurales. Without turning his head, he +called to an invisible somebody in the next room. + +"Jack, drift over to the cantina and get a drink." + +A chair clumped to the floor, and a stocky, dark-faced man appeared, +rubbing his eyes. "On who?" he queried, grinning. + +"On old man Diaz," replied the lean man. + +"All right, Pat. But mebby his credit ain't good on our side of the +line." + +The lean man said nothing. He continued to gaze out of the window. The +white road ran south and south into the very haze of the beyond. His +assistant picked up a hat and strolled out. A few doors down the street +stood several excellent saddle animals tied to the hitching-rail in +front of the cantina. He didn't need to be told that they were the +picked horses of the rurales, and that for some strange reason his +superior had sent him to find out just why these same rurales were in +town. + +He entered the cantina and called for a drink. The lithe, dark riders of +the south, grouped round a table in one corner of the room, glanced up, +answered his general nod of salutation indifferently, and turned to talk +among themselves. Catering to authority, the Mexican proprietor +proffered a second drink to the Americano. The assistant collector toyed +with his glass, and began a lazy conversation about the weather. The +proprietor, his fat, oily face in his hands and his elbows on the bar, +grunted monosyllables, occasionally nodding as the Americano forced his +acknowledgment of a highly obvious platitude. + +And the assistant collector, listening for a chance word that would +explain the presence of armed Mexico on American soil, knew that the +proprietor was also listening for that same word that might explain +their unprecedented visit. Presently the assistant collector of customs +began a tirade against Nogales, its climate, institutions, and citizens +collectively and singly. The proprietor awoke to argument. Their talk +grew loud. The assistant collector thumped the bar with his fist, and +ceased talking suddenly. A subdued buzz came from the corner where the +rurales sat, and he caught the name "Waring." + +"And the whole town ain't worth the matches to burn it up," he +continued. "If it wasn't for Pat, I'd quit right now." And he emptied +his glass and strode from the room. + +Back in the office, he flung his hat on the table and rumpled his hair. +"Those coyotes," he said casually, "are after some one called Waring. +Pablo's whiskey is rotten." + +The collector's long legs unfolded, and he sat up, yawning. "Jim Waring +isn't in town," he said as though to himself. + +"Pat, you give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. + +"Got one myself," said the collector unsmilingly. "Cucumbers." + +"You're the sweetest liar for a thousand miles either side of the line. +There isn't even the picture of a cucumber in this sun-blasted town." + +"Isn't, eh? Look here!" And the lank man pulled open a drawer in the +desk. The collector fumbled among some papers and drew out a bulky seed +catalogue, illustrated in glowing tints. + +"Oh, I'll buy," laughed the assistant. "I reckon if I asked for a +picture of this man Waring that's wanted by those nickel-plated coyotes, +you'd fish it up and never sweat a hair." + +"I could," said the collector, closing the drawer. + +"Here, smoke one of mine for a change. About that picture. I met Jim +Waring in Las Cruces. He was a kid then, but a comer. Had kind of +light, curly hair. His face was as smooth as a girl's. He wasn't what +you'd call a dude, but his clothes always looked good on him. Wimmin +kind of liked him, but he never paid much attention to them. He worked +for me as deputy a spell, and I never hired a better man. But he +wouldn't stay with one job long. When Las Cruces got quiet he pulled his +freight. Next I heard of him he was married and living in Sonora. It +didn't take Diaz long to find out that he could use him. Waring was a +wizard with a gun--and he had the nerve back of it. But Waring quit +Diaz, for Jim wasn't that kind of a killer. I guess he found plenty of +work down there. He never was one to lay around living on his reputation +and waiting for nothing to happen. He kept his reputation sprouting new +shoots right along--and that ain't all joke, neither." + +"Speakin' in general, could he beat you to it with a gun, Pat?" + +"Speaking in general--I reckon he could." + +"Them rurales are kind of careless--ridin' over the line and not +stoppin' by to make a little explanation." + +The lank man nodded. "There's a time coming when they'll do more than +that. That old man down south is losing his grip. I don't say this for +general information. And if Jim Waring happens to ride into town, just +tell him who you are and pinch him for smuggling; unless I see him +first." + +"What did I ever do to you?" + +Pat laughed silently. "Oh, he ain't a fool. It's only a fool that'll +throw away a chance to play safe." + +"You got me interested in that Waring hombre. I'll sure nail him like +you said; but if he goes for his gun I don't want you plantin' no +cucumber seed on my restin'-place. Guess I'll finish those reports." + +The lank man yawned, and, rising, strode to the window. The assistant +sauntered to the inner office and drew up to his desk. "Pablo's whiskey +is rotten!" he called over his shoulder. The lank collector smiled. + +The talk about Waring and Las Cruces had stirred slumbering memories; +memories of night rides in New Mexico, of the cattle war, of blazing +noons on the high mesas and black nights in huddled adobe towns; Las +Cruces, Albuquerque, Caliente, Santa Fé--and weary ponies at the +hitching-rails. + +Once, on an afternoon like this, he had ridden into town with a prisoner +beside him, a youth whose lightning-swift hand had snuffed out a score +of lives to avenge the killing of a friend. The collector recalled that +on that day he had ridden his favorite horse, a deep-chested buckskin, +slender legged, and swift, with a strain of thoroughbred. + +Beyond the little square of window through which he gazed lay the same +kind of a road--dusty, sun-white, edged with low brush. And down the +road, pace for pace with his thoughts, strode a buckskin horse, ridden +by a man road-weary, gray with dust. Beside him rode a youth, his head +bowed and his hands clasped on the saddle-horn as though manacled. + +"Jack!" + +The assistant shoved back his chair and came to the window. + +"There's the rest of your picture," said the collector. + +As the assistant gazed at the riders, the collector stepped to his desk +and buckled on a gun. + +"Want to meet Waring?" he queried. + +"I'm on for the next dance, Pat." + +The collector stepped out. Waring reined up. A stray breeze fluttered +the flag above the custom-house. Waring gravely lifted his sombrero. + +"You're under arrest," said the collector. + +Waring gestured toward Ramon. + +"You, too," nodded Pat. "Get the kid and his horse out of sight," he +told the assistant. + +Ramon, too weary to expostulate, followed the assistant to a corral back +of the building. + +The collector turned to Waring. "And now, Jim, what's the row?" + +"Down the street--and coming," said Waring, as the rurales boiled from +the cantina. + +"We'll meet 'em halfway," said the collector. + +And midway between the custom-house and the cantina the two cool-eyed, +deliberate men of the North faced the hot-blooded Southern haste that +demanded Waring as prisoner. The collector, addressing the leader of the +rurales, suggested that they talk it over in the cantina. "And don't +forget you're on the wrong side of the line," he added. + +The Captain of rurales and one of his men dismounted and followed the +Americans into the cantina. The leader of the rurales immediately +exhibited a warrant for the arrest of Waring, signed by a high official +and sealed with the great seal of Mexico. The collector returned the +warrant to the captain. + +"That's all right, amigo, but this man is already under arrest." + +"By whose authority?" + +"Mine--representing the United States." + +"The warrant of the Presidente antedates your action," said the captain. + +"Correct, Señor Capitan. But my action, being just about two jumps ahead +of your warrant, wins the race, I reckon." + +"It is a trick!" + +"Si! You must have guessed it." + +"I shall report to my Government. And I also demand that you surrender +to me one Ramon Ortego, of Sonora, who aided this man to escape, and who +is reported to have killed one of my men and stolen one of my horses." + +"He ought to make a darned good rural, if that's so," said the +collector. "But he is under arrest for smuggling. He rode a horse +across the line without declaring valuation." + +"Juan," said the captain, "seize the horse of the Americano." + +"Juan," echoed Waring softly, "I have heard that Pedro Salazar seized +the horse of an Americano--in Sonora." + +The rural stopped short and turned as though awaiting further +instructions from his chief. The collector of customs rose and sauntered +to the doorway. Leaning against the lintel, he lighted a cigar and +smoked, gazing at Waring's horse with an appreciative eye. The captain +of rurales, seated opposite Waring, rolled a cigarette carefully; too +carefully, thought Waring, for a Mexican who had been daring enough to +ride across the line with armed men. Outside in the fading sunlight, the +horses of the rurales stamped and fretted. The cantina was strangely +silent. In the doorway stood the collector, smoking and toying with his +watch-charm. + +Presently the assistant collector appeared, glanced in, and grinned. +"The kid is asleep--in the office," he whispered to the collector. + +Waring knew that the flicker of an eyelid, an intonation, a gesture, +might precipitate trouble. He also knew that diplomacy was out of the +question. He glanced round the room, pushed back his chair, and, rising, +stepped to the bar. With his back against it, he faced the captain. + +"Miguel," he said quietly, "you're too far over the line. Go home!" + +The captain rose. "Your Government shall hear of this!" + +"Yes. Wire 'em to-night. And where do you get off? You'll get turned +back to the ranks." + +"I?" + +"Si, Señor Capitan, and because--_you didn't get your man_." + +The collector of customs stood with his cigar carefully poised in his +left hand. The assistant pushed back his hat and rumpled his black hair. + +All official significance set aside, Waring and the captain of rurales +faced each other with the blunt challenge between them: "You didn't get +your man!" + +The captain glanced at the two quiet figures in the doorway. Beyond them +were his own men, but between him and his command were two of the +fastest guns in the Southwest. He was on alien ground. This gringo had +insulted him. + +Waring waited for the word that burned in the other's eyes. + +The collector of customs drew a big silver watch from his waistband. +"It's about time--to go feed the horses," he said. + +With the sound of his voice the tension relaxed. Waring eyed the captain +as though waiting for him to depart. "You'll find that horse in the +corral--back of the customs office," he said. + +The Mexican swung round and strode out, followed by his man. + +The rurales mounted and rode down the street. The three Americans +followed a few paces behind. Opposite the office, they paused. + +"Go along with 'em and see that they get the right horse," said the +collector. + +The assistant hesitated. + +The collector laughed. "Shake hands with Jim Waring, Jack." + +When the assistant had gone, the collector turned to Waring. "That's +Jack every time. Stubborn as a tight boot, but good leather every time. +Know why he wanted to shake hands? Well, that's his way of tellin' you +he thinks you're some smooth for not pullin' a fight when it looked like +nothing else was on the bill." + +Waring smiled. "I've met you before, haven't I?" + +Pat pretended to ignore the question. "Say, stranger," he began with +slow emphasis, "you're makin' mighty free and familiar for a prisoner +arrested for smuggling. Mebby you're all right personal, but officially +I got a case against you. What do you know about raising cucumbers? I +got a catalogue in the office, and me and Jack has been aiming to raise +cucumbers from it for three months. I like 'em. Jack says you can't do +it down here without water every day. Now--" + +"Where have you planted them, Pat?" + +"Oh, hell! They ain't _planted_ yet. We're just figuring. Now, up Las +Cruces way--" + +"Let's go back to the cantina and talk it out. There goes Mexico leading +a horse with an empty saddle. I guess the boy will be all right in the +office." + +"Was the kid mixed up in your getaway?" + +"Yes. And he's a good boy." + +"Well, he's in dam' bad company. Now, Jack says you got to plant 'em in +hills and irrigate. I aim to just drill 'em in and let the A'mighty do +the rest. What do you think?" + +"I think you're getting worse as you grow older, Pat. Say, did you ever +get track of that roan mare you lost up at Las Cruces?" + +"Yes, I got her back." + +"Speaking of horses, I saw a pinto down in Sonora--" + +Just then the assistant joined them, and they sauntered to the cantina. +Dex, tied at the rail, turned and gazed at them. Waring took the morral +of grain from the saddle, and, slipping Dex's bridle, adjusted it. + +The rugged, lean face of the collector beamed. "I wondered if you +thought as much of 'em as you used to. I aimed to see if I could make +you forget to feed that cayuse." + +"How about those goats in your own corral?" laughed Waring. + +"Kind of a complimentary cuss, ain't he?" queried Pat, turning to his +assistant. "And he don't know a dam' thing about cucumbers." + +"You old-timers give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. + +"That's right! Because you can't set down to a meal without both your +hands and feet agoing and one ear laid back, you call us old because we +chew slow. But you're right. Jim and I are getting kind of gray around +the ears." + +"Well, you fellas can fight it out. I came over to say that them rurales +got their hoss. But one of 'em let it slip, in Mexican, that they +weren't through yet." + +"So?" said Pat. "Well, you go ahead and feed the stock. We'll be over to +the house poco tiempo." + +Waring and the collector entered the cantina. For a long time they sat +in silence, gazing at the peculiar half-lights as the sun drew down. +Finally the collector turned to Waring. + +"Has the game gone stale, Jim?" + +Waring nodded. "I'm through. I am going to settle down. I've had my +share of trouble." + +"Here, too," said the collector. "I've put by enough to get a little +place up north--cattle--and take it easy. That's why I stuck it out down +here. Had any word from your folks recent?" + +"Not for ten years." + +"And that boy trailing with you?" + +"Oh, he's just a kid I picked up in Sonora. No, my own boy is straight +American, if he's living now." + +"You might stop by at Stacey, on the Santa Fé," said the collector +casually. "There's some folks running a hotel up there that you used to +know." + +Waring thanked him with a glance. "We don't need a drink and the sun is +down. Where do you eat?" + +"We'll get Jack to rustle some grub. You and the boy can bunk in the +office. I'll take care of your horse." + +"Thanks, Pat. But you spoke of going north. I wouldn't if I were you. +They'll get you." + +"I had thought of that. But I'm going to take that same chance. I'm +plumb sick of the border." + +"If they do--" And Waring rose. + +The collector's hard-lined face softened for an instant. He thrust out +his bony hand. "I'll leave that to you, Jim." + +And that night, because each was a gunman unsurpassed in his grim +profession, they laughed and talked about things trivial, leaving the +deeper currents undisturbed. And the assistant collector, eating with +them in the adobe back of the office, wondered that two such men found +nothing more serious to talk about than the breeding of horses and the +growing of garden truck. + +Late that night the assistant awoke to find that the collector was not +in bed. He rose and stalked to the window. Across from the adobe he saw +the grim face of the collector framed in the office window. He was +smoking a cigar and gazing toward the south, his long arm resting on the +sill and his chin in his hand. + +"Ole fool!" muttered the assistant affectionately. "That there Jim +Waring must sure be some hombre to make Pat lose any sleep." + + + + +Chapter VII + + +_The Return of Waring_ + +The interior of the little desert hotel at Stacey, Arizona, atoned for +its bleached and weather-worn exterior by a refreshing neatness that was +almost startling in contrast to the warped board front with its painted +sign scaled by the sun. + +The proprietress, Mrs. Adams, a rosy, dark-haired woman, had heard the +Overland arrive and depart. Through habit she listened until the distant +rumble of the train diminished to a faint purr. No guests had arrived on +the Overland. Stacey was not much of a town, and tourists seldom stopped +there. Mrs. Adams stepped from the small office to the dining-room and +arranged some flowers in the center of the long table. She happened to +be the only woman in the desert town who grew flowers. + +The Overland had come and gone. Another day! Mrs. Adams sighed, patted +her smooth black hair, and glanced down at her simple and neat attire. + +She rearranged the flowers, and was stepping back to view the effect +when something caused her to turn and glance toward the office. There +had been no sound, yet in the doorway stood a man--evidently a rider. He +was looking at the calendar on the office wall. Mrs. Adams stepped +toward him. The man turned and smiled. She gazed with awakening +astonishment at the dusty, khaki-clad figure, the cool gray eyes beneath +the high-crowned sombrero, and last at the extended hand. Without +meeting the man's eyes, she shook hands. + +"Jim! How did you know?" she queried, her voice trembling. + +"I heard of you at Nogales. I wasn't looking for you--then. You have a +right pleasant place here. Yours?" + +She nodded. + +"I came to see the boy," he said. "I'm not here for long." + +"Oh, Jim! Lorry is so big and strong--and--and he's working for the +Starr outfit over west of here." + +"Cattle, eh? Is he a good boy?" + +"A nice question for you to ask! Lorry rides a straighter trail than his +father did." + +The man laughed and patted her shoulder affectionately. "You needn't +have said that, Annie. You knew what I was when I married you. And no +man ever said I wasn't straight. Just what made you leave Sonora without +saying a word? Didn't I always treat you well?" + +"I must say that you did, Jim. You never spoke a rough word to me in +your life. I wish you had. You'd be away for weeks, and then come back +and tell me it was all right, which meant that you'd 'got your man,' as +they say down there. At first I was too happy to care. And when the baby +came and I tried to get you to give up hiring out to men who wanted +killing done,--for that's what it was,--you kept telling me that some +day you would quit. Maybe they did pay big, but you could have been +anything else you wanted to. You came of good folks and had education. +But you couldn't live happy without that excitement. And you thought I +was happy because you were. Why, even up here in Arizona they sing +'Waring of Sonora-Town.' Our boy sings it, and I have to listen, knowing +that it is you he sings about. I was afraid of you, Jim, and afraid our +boy would grow up to be like you." + +Waring nodded. "I'm not blaming you, Annie. I asked why you left +me--without a word or an address. Do you think that was square?" + +Mrs. Adams, flushed, and the tears came to her eyes. "I didn't dare +think about that part of it. I was afraid of you. I got so I couldn't +sleep, worrying about what might happen to you when you were away. And +you always came back, but you never said where you'd been or what you'd +done. I couldn't stand it. If you had only told me--even about the +men--that you were paid to kill, I might have stood it. But you never +said a word. The wives of the American folks down there wouldn't speak +to me. And the Mexican women hated me. I was the wife of Jim Waring, +'the killer.' I think I went crazy." + +"Well, I never did believe in talking shop, Annie." + +"That's just it. You were always polite--and calling what you did, +'shop'! I don't believe you ever cared for a single person on this +earth!" + +"You ought to know, Annie. But we won't argue that. Don't act as though +you had to defend yourself. I am not blaming you--now. You have +explained. I did miss the boy, though. Are you doing well here?" + +"It was hard work at first. But I never did write to father to help me." + +"You might have written to me. When did the boy go to work? He's +eighteen, isn't he?" + +Mrs. Adams smiled despite herself. "Yes, this fall. He started in with +the Starr people at the spring round-up." + +"Couldn't he help you here?" + +"He did. But he's not the kind to hang round a hotel. He's all man--if I +do say it." And Mrs. Adams glanced at her husband. In his lithe, +well-set-up figure she saw what her son would be at forty. "Yes, Jim, +he's man size--and I've raised him to go straight." + +Waring laughed. "Of course you have! What name will I sign, Annie?" + +"Folks here call me Mrs. Adams." + +"So you're Annie Adams again! Well, here's your husband's name, if you +don't mind." And he signed the register, "James Waring, Sonora, Mexico." + +"Isn't that risky?" she queried. + +"No one knows me up here. And I don't intend to stay long. I'd like to +see the boy." + +"Jim, you won't take him away!" + +"You know me better than that. You quit me down there, and I won't say +that I liked it. I wondered how you'd get along. You left no word. When +I realized that you must have wanted to leave me, that settled it. +Following you would have done no good, even if I had known where you had +gone. I was free. And a gunman has no business with a family." + +"You might have thought about that before you came courting me." + +"I did. Didn't you?" + +"You're hard, Jim. I was just a girl. Any woman would have been glad to +marry you then. But when I got sense enough to see how you earned your +money--I just had to leave. I was afraid to tell you--" + +"There, now, Annie; we'll let that go. I won't say that I don't care, +but I've been mighty busy since you left. I didn't know where you were +until I hit Nogales. I wanted to see you and the boy. And I'm as hungry +as a grizzly." + +"Anita is getting supper. Some of the folks in town board here. They'll +be coming in soon." + +"All right. I'm a stranger. I rode over. I'd like to wash up." + +"You _rode_ over?" + +"Yes. Why not? I know the country." + +Mrs. Adams turned and gestured toward the stairway. She followed him and +showed him to a room. So he hadn't come in on the Overland, but had +ridden up from Sonora. Why had he undertaken such a long, weary ride? +Surely he could have taken the train! She had never known him to be +without money. But he had always been unaccountable, coming and going +when he pleased, saying little, always serene. And now he had not said +why he had ridden up from Sonora. "Why not?" was all that he had said in +explanation. + +He swung out of his coat and washed vigorously, thrusting his fingers +through his short, curly hair and shaking his head in boyish enjoyment +that was refreshing to watch. She noticed that he had not aged much. He +seemed too cool, too self-possessed always, to show even the ordinary +trace of years. She could not understand him; yet she was surprised by a +glow of affection for him now that he had returned. As he dried his head +she saw that his hair was tinged with gray, although his face was lined +but little and his gray eyes were as keen and quick as ever. If he had +only shared even that part of his life with her--down there! + +"Jim!" she whispered. + +He turned as he took up his coat. "Yes, Annie?" + +"If you would only promise--" + +He shook his head. "I won't do that. I didn't come to ask anything of +you except to see the boy But if you need money--" + +"No. Not that kind of money." + +"All right, girl." And his voice was cheery. "I didn't come here to make +you feel bad. And I won't be here long. Can't we be friends while I'm +here? Of course the boy will know. But no one else need know. And--you +better see to the folks downstairs. Some one just came in." + +She turned and walked down the hall, wondering if he had ever cared for +her, and wondering if her boy, Lorry, would ever come to possess that +almost unhuman quality of intense alertness, that incomprehensible +coolness that never allowed him to forget what he was for an instant. + +When Waring came down she did not introduce him to the boarders, a fact +that sheriff Buck Hardy, who dined at the hotel, noted with some +interest. The men ate hastily, rose, and departed, leaving Hardy and +Waring, who called for a second cup of coffee and rolled a cigarette +while waiting. + +Hardy had seen the stranger ride into town on the big buckskin. The +horse bore a Mexican brand. The hotel register told Hardy who the +stranger was. And the sheriff of Stacey County was curious to know just +what the Sonora gunman was doing in town. + +Waring sat with his unlighted cigarette between his fingers. The sheriff +proffered a match. Their eyes met. Waring nodded his thanks and blew a +smoke-ring. + +"How are things down in Sonora?" queried Hardy. + +"Quiet." + +Mrs. Adams questioned Waring with her eyes. He nodded. "This is Mr. +Waring," she said, rising. "This is Mr. Hardy, our sheriff." + +The men shook hands. "Mrs. Adams is a good cook," said Waring. + +A clatter of hoofs and the sound of a cheery voice broke the silence. + +A young cowboy jingled into the room. "Hello, Buck! Hello, mother!" And +Lorry Adams strode up and kissed his mother heartily. "Got a runnin' +chance to come to town and I came--runnin'. How's everything?" + +Mrs. Adams murmured a reply. Buck Hardy was watching Waring as he +glanced up at the boy. The sheriff pulled a cigar from his vest and +lighted it. In the street he paused in his stride, gazing at the end of +his cigar. Lorry Adams looked mighty like Jim Waring, of Sonora. Hardy +had heard that Waring had been killed down in the southern country. Some +one had made a mistake. + +Waring had risen. He stood with one hand touching the table, the tips of +his fingers drumming the rhythm of a song he hummed to himself. The +boy's back was toward him. Waring's gaze traveled from his son's head to +his boot-heel. + +Lorry noticed that his mother seemed perturbed. He turned to Waring +with a questioning challenge in his gray eyes. + +Mrs. Adams touched the boy's arm. "This is your father, Lorry." + +Lorry glanced from one to the other. + +Waring made no movement, offered no greeting, but stood politely +impassive. + +Mrs. Adams spoke gently: "Lorry!" + +"Why, hello, dad!" And the boy shook hands with his father. + +Waring gestured toward a chair. Lorry sat down. His eyes were warm with +mild astonishment. + +"Smoke?" said Waring, proffering tobacco and papers. + +Lorry's gaze never left his father's face as he rolled a cigarette and +lighted it. Mrs. Adams realized that Waring's attitude of cool +indifference appealed to the boy. + +Lorry remembered his father dimly. He was curious to know just what kind +of man he was. He didn't talk much; that was certain. The boy remembered +that his mother had not said much about her husband, answering Lorry's +childish questionings with a promise to tell him some day. He recalled a +long journey on the train, their arrival at Stacey, and the taking over +of the run-down hotel that his mother had refurnished and made a place +of neatness and comfort. And his mother had told him that she would be +known "Mrs. Adams." Lorry had been so filled with the newness of things +that the changing of their name was accepted without question. Slowly +his recollection of Sonora and the details of their life there came back +to him. These things he had all but forgotten, as he had grown to love +Arizona, its men, its horses, its wide ranges and magic hills. + +Mrs. Adams remembered that her husband had once told her he could find +out more about a man by watching his hands than by asking questions. She +noticed that Waring was watching his son's hands with that old, +deliberate coldness of attitude. He was trying to find out just what +sort of a man his boy had grown to be. + +Lorry suddenly straightened in his chair. Mrs. Adams, anticipating his +question, nodded to Waring. + +"Yes," said Waring; "I am the Waring of Sonora that you are thinking +about." + +Lorry flushed. "I--I guess you are," he stammered. "Mother, you never +told me _that_." + +"You were too young to understand, Lorry." + +"And is that why you left him?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, maybe you were right. But dad sure looks like a pretty decent +hombre to me." + +They laughed in a kind of relief. The occasion had seemed rather +strained. + +"Ask your mother, Lorry. I am out of it." And, rising Waring strode to +the doorway. + +Lorry rose. + +"I'll see you again," said Waring. And he stepped to the street, humming +his song of "Sonora and the Silver Strings." + +Mrs. Adams put her arm about her son's shoulders. "Your father is a hard +man," she told him. + +"Was he mean to you, mother?" + +"No--never that." + +"Well, I don't understand it. He looks like a real man to me. Why did he +come back?" + +"He said he came back to see you." + +"Well, he's my father, anyway," said Lorry. + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +_Lorry_ + +In the low hills west of Stacey, Lorry was looking for strays. He worked +alone, whistling as he rode, swinging his glasses on this and that +arroyo and singling out the infrequent clumps of greasewood for a touch +of brighter color in their shadows. He urged his pony from crest to +crest, carelessly easy in the saddle, alive to his work, and quietly +happy in the lone freedom of thought and action. + +He felt a bit proud of himself that morning. Only last night he had +learned that he was the son of Waring of Sonora; a name to live up to, +if Western standards meant anything, and he thought they did. + +The fact that he was the son of James Waring overcame for the time being +the vague disquietude of mind attending his knowledge that his mother +and father had become estranged. He thought he understood now why his +mother had made him promise to go unarmed upon the range. His +companions, to the last man, "packed a gun." + +Heretofore their joshing had not bothered him. In fact, he had rather +enjoyed the distinction of going unarmed, and he had added to this +distinction by acquiring a skill with the rope that occasioned much +natural jealousy among his fellows. To be top-hand with a rope among +such men as Blaze Andrews, Slim Trivet, Red Bender, and High-Chin Bob, +the foreman, was worth all the patient hours he had given to persistent +practice with the reata. + +But to-day he questioned himself. His mother had made him promise to go +unarmed because she feared he would become like his father. Why hadn't +she told him more about it all? He felt that she had taken a kind of +mean advantage of his unwavering affection for her. He was a man, so far +as earning his wage was concerned. And she was the best woman in the +world--but then women didn't understand the unwritten customs of the +range. + +On a sandy ridge he reined up and gazed at the desert below. The bleak +flats wavered in the white light of noon. The farthest hills to the +south seemed but a few miles away. + +For some time he focused his gaze at the Notch, from which the road +sprang and flowed in slow undulations to a vanishing point in the blank +spaces of the west. His pony, Gray Leg, head up and nostrils working, +twitched back one ear as Lorry spoke: "You see it, too?" + +Gray Leg continued to gaze into the distance, occasionally stamping an +impatient forefoot, as though anxious to be off. Lorry lowered his glass +and raised it again. In the circle of the binoculars he saw a tiny, +distant figure dismount from a black horse and walk back and forth +across the road directly below the Notch. Lorry wiped his glasses and +centered them on the Notch again. The horseman had led his horse to a +clump of brush. Presently the twinkling front of an automobile +appeared--a miniature machine that wormed slowly through the Notch and +descended the short pitch beyond. Suddenly the car swerved and stopped. +Lorry saw a flutter of white near the machine. Then the concealed +horseman appeared on foot. Lorry slipped the glass in his shirt. + +"We'll just mosey over and get a closer look," he told his pony. "Things +don't look just right over there." + +Gray Leg, scenting a new interest, tucked himself together. The sand +sprayed to little puffs of dust as he swung to a lope. + +Lorry was curious--and a bit elated at the promise of a break in the +monotony of hunting stray cattle. Probably some Eastern tourist had +taken the grade below the Notch too fast and ditched his machine. Lorry +would ride over and help him to right the car and set the pilgrim on his +way rejoicing. He had helped to right cars before. Last month, for +instance; that big car with the uniformed driver and the wonderfully +gowned women. He recalled the fact that one of them had been absolutely +beautiful, despite her strange mufflings. She had offered to pay him for +his trouble. When he refused she had thanked him eloquently with her +fine eyes and thrown him a kiss as he turned to go. She had thrown that +kiss with two hands! There was nothing stingy about that lady! + +But possibly the machine toward which he rode carried nothing more +interesting than men; fat, well-dressed men who smoked fat cigars and +had much to say about "high" and "low," but didn't seem to know a great +deal about "Jack" and "The Game." If _they_ offered to pay him for +helping them--well, that was a different matter. + +The pony loped toward the Notch, quite as eager as his rider to attend a +performance that promised action. Within a half-mile of the Notch, Lorry +pulled the pony to a walk. Just beyond the car he had seen the head and +ears of a horse. The rider was afoot, talking to the folks in the car. +This didn't look quite right. + +He worked his pony through the shoulder-high brush until within a few +yards of the other man, who was evidently unwelcome. One of the two +women stood in front of the other as though to shield her. + +Lorry took down his rope just as the younger of the two women saw his +head above the brush. The strange horseman, noting her expression, +turned quickly. Lorry's pony jumped at the thrust of the spurs. The rope +circled like a swallow and settled lightly on the man's shoulders. The +pony wheeled. The blunt report of a gun punctured the silence, followed +by the long-drawn ripping of brush and the snorting of the pony. + +The man was dragging and clutching at the brush. He had dropped his gun. +Lorry dug the spurs into Gray Leg. The rope came taut with a jerk. The +man rolled over, his hands snatching at the noose about his neck. Lorry +dismounted and ran to him. He eased the loop, and swiftly slipped it +over the man's feet. + +Gray Leg, who knew how to keep a rope taut better than anything else, +slowly circled the fallen man. Lorry picked up the gun and strode over +to the car. One of the women was crouching on the running-board. In +front of her, pale, straight, stiffly indignant, stood a young woman +whose eyes challenged Lorry's approach. + +"It's all right, miss. He won't bother you now." + +"Is he dead?" queried the girl. + +"I reckon not." + +"I heard a shot. I thought you killed him." + +"No, ma'am. He took a crack at me. I don't pack a gun." + +"You're a cowboy?" And the girl laughed nervously, despite her effort to +hold herself together. + +"I aim to be," said Lorry, a trifle brusquely. + +The elder woman peered through her fingers. "Another one!" she moaned. + +"No, mother. This one is a cowboy. It's all right." + +"It sure is. What was his game?" + +"He told us to give him our money." + +"Uh-uh. This is the second holdup here at the Notch this summer." + +"He's trying to get up!" exclaimed the girl. + +"My hoss'll take care of him." + +"But your horse might drag him to death." + +"Well, it's his own funeral, ain't it?" + +The girl's eyes grew big. She stepped back. If she had only said +something Lorry would have felt better. As it was he felt decidedly +uncomfortable. + +"If you'll say what is right, ma'am, I'll do it. You want me to turn him +loose?" + +"I--No. But can't you do something for him?" + +Lorry laughed. "I reckon you don't sabe them kind, miss. And mebby you +want to get that car on the road again." + +"Yes," said the girl's mother. "I think this young man knows what he is +about." + +Lorry stepped to the car to examine it. + +The girl followed him. "I think there is nothing broken. We just turned +to come down that hill. We were coasting when I saw a rope stretched +across the road. I didn't know what to do. I tried to stop. We slid off +the edge." + +"Uh-uh. He had it all ribbed up to stop you. Now if you had kept on +goin'--" + +"But I didn't know what the rope meant. I was frightened. And before I +knew what had happened he stepped right on the running-board and told +us to give him our money." + +"Yes, ma'am. If you can start her up, I'll get my rope on the axle and +help." + +"But the man might get up!" said the girl. + +Lorry grinned. A minute or two ago she had been afraid that the man +wouldn't get up. Lorry slipped the rope from the man's ankles and tied +it to the front axle. The girl got in the car. The pony buckled to his +work. The machine stuttered and purred. With a lurch it swung back into +the road. The girl's mother rose, brushed her skirt, and stepped to the +car. Lorry unfastened the rope and reined to one side. + +The car steered badly. The girl stopped it and beckoned to Lorry. + +"There's something wrong with the steering-gear. Are the roads good from +here to the next town?" + +"Not too good. There's some heavy sand about a mile west." + +She bit her lip. "Well, I suppose we'll have to turn back." + +"You could get to Stacey, ma'am. You could get your car fixed, and my +mother runs the hotel there. It's a good place to stop." + +"How far?" + +"About eight miles. Three miles back the road forks and the left-hand +road goes to town. The regular automobile road don't go to Stacey." + +"Well, I suppose there is nothing else to do. I'll try and turn +around." And the girl backed the car and swung round in a wavering arc. +When the car faced the east she stopped it. + +Lorry rode alongside. She thanked him for his services. "And please +don't do anything to that man," she pleaded. "He has been punished +enough. You almost killed him. He looked so wretched. Can't you give him +a good talking to and let him go?" + +"I could, ma'am. But it ain't right. He'll try this here stunt again. +There's a reward out for him." + +"But won't you--please!" + +Lorry flushed. "You got a good heart all right, but you ain't been long +in the West. Such as him steals hosses and holds up folks and robs +trains--" + +"But you're not an officer," she said, somewhat unkindly. + +"I reckon any man is an officer when wimmin-folk is gettin' robbed. And +I aim to put him where he belongs." + +"Thank you for helping us," said the girl's mother. + +"You're right welcome, ma'am." And, raising his hat, Lorry turned and +rode to where the man lay. + +The car crept up the slope. Lorry watched it until it had topped the +ridge. Then he dismounted and turned the man over. + +"What you got to say about my turnin' you loose?" he queried as the +other sat up. + +"Nothin'." + +"All right. Get a movin'--and don't try to run. I got my rope handy." + + + + +Chapter IX + + +_High-Chin Bob_ + +The man's rusty black coat was torn and wrinkled. His cheap cotton shirt +was faded and buttonless. His boots were split at the sole, showing part +of a bare foot. He was grimy, unshaven, and puffed unhealthily beneath +the eyes. Lorry knew that he was but an indifferent rider without seeing +him on a horse. He was a typical railroad tramp, turned highwayman. + +"Got another gun on you?" queried Lorry. + +The man shook his head. + +"Where'd you steal that horse?" + +"Who says I stole him?" + +"I do. He's a Starr horse. He was turned out account of goin' lame. Hop +along. I'll take care of him." + +The man plodded across the sand. Lorry followed on Gray Leg, and led the +other horse. Flares of noon heat shot up from the reddish-gray levels. +Lorry whistled, outwardly serene, but inwardly perturbed. That girl had +asked him to let the man go and she had said "please." But, like all +women, she didn't understand such things. + +They approached a low ridge and worked up a winding cattle trail. On the +crest Lorry reined up. The man sat down, breathing heavily. + +"What you callin' yourself?" asked Lorry. + +"A dam' fool." + +"I knew that. Anything else?" + +"Waco--mebby." + +"Waco, eh? Well, that's an insult to Texas. What's your idea in holdin' +up wimmin-folk, anyhow?" + +"Mebby you'd hold up anybody if you hadn't et since yesterday morning." + +"Think I believe that?" + +"Suit yourself. You got me down." + +"Well, you can get up and get movin'." + +The man rose. He shuffled forward, limping heavily. Occasionally he +stopped and turned to meet a level gaze that was impersonal; that +promised nothing. Lorry would have liked to let the other ride. The man +was suffering--and to ride would save time. But the black, a rangy, +quick-stepping animal, was faster than Gray Leg. But what if the man did +escape? No one need know about it. Yet Lorry knew that he was doing +right in arresting him. In fact, he felt a kind of secret pride in +making the capture. It would give him a name among his fellows. But was +there any glory in arresting such a man? + +Lorry recalled the other's wild shot as he was whirled through the +brush. "He sure tried to get me!" Lorry argued. "And any man that'd hold +up wimmin ought to be in the calaboose--" + +The trail meandered down the hillside and out across a barren flat. +Halfway across the flat the trail forked. Lorry had ceased to whistle. +At the fork his pony stopped of its own accord. The man turned +questioningly. Lorry gestured toward the right-hand trail. The man +staggered on. The horses fretted at the slow pace. Keen to anticipate +some trickery, Lorry hardened himself to the other's condition. Perhaps +the man was hungry, sick, suffering. Well, a mile beyond was the +water-hole. The left-hand trail led directly to Stacey, but there was no +water along that trail. + +They moved on across a stretch of higher land that swept in a gentle, +sage-dotted slope to the far hills. Midway across the slope was a bare +spot burning like white fire in the desert sun. It was the water-hole. +The trail became paralleled by other trails, narrow and rutted by +countless hoofs. + +Within a hundred yards of the water-hole the prisoner collapsed. Lorry +dismounted and went for water. + +The man drank, and Lorry helped him up and across the sand to the rim of +the water-hole. The man gazed at the shimmering pool with blurred eyes. + +Lorry rolled a cigarette. "Roll one?" he queried. + +The man Waco took the proffered tobacco and papers. His weariness seemed +to vanish as he smoked. "That pill sure saved my life," he asserted. + +"How much you reckon your life's worth?" + +Waco blew a smoke-ring and nodded toward it as it dissolved. Lorry +pondered. The keen edge of his interest in the capture had worn off, +leaving a blunt purpose--a duty that was part of the day's work. As he +realized how much the other was at his mercy a tinge of sympathy +softened his gray eyes. Justice was undeniably a fine thing. Folks were +entitled to the pursuit of happiness, to life and liberty he had read +somewhere. He glanced up. Waco, seated opposite, had drifted back into a +stupor, head sunk forward and arms relaxed. The stub of his cigarette +lay smouldering between his feet. Lorry thought of the girl's appeal. + +"Just what started you to workin' this holdup game?" he queried. + +Waco's head came up. "You joshin' me?" + +"Nope." + +"You wouldn't believe a hard-luck story, so what's the use?" + +"Ain't any. I was just askin' a question. Roll another?" + +Waco stuck out his grimy paw. His fingers trembled as he fumbled the +tobacco and papers. + +Lorry proffered a match. "It makes me sick to see a husky like you all +shot to pieces," said Lorry. + +"Did you just get wise to that?" + +"Nope. But I just took time to say it." + +Waco breathed deep, inhaling the smoke. "I been crooked all my life," he +asserted. + +"I can believe that. 'Course you know I'm takin' you to Stacey." + +"The left-hand trail was quicker," ventured the tramp. + +"And no water." + +"I could ride," suggested Waco. + +Lorry shook his head. "If you was to make a break I'd just nacherally +plug you. I got your gun. You're safer afoot." + +"I'll promise--" + +"Nope. You're too willin'." + +"I'm all in," said Waco. + +"I got to take you to Stacey just the same." + +"And you're doin' it for the money--the reward." + +"That's my business." + +"Go ahead," said the tramp. "I hope you have a good time blowin' in the +dough. Blood-money changes easy to booze-money when a lot of cow-chasers +get their hooks on it." + +"Don't get gay!" said Lorry. "I aim to use you white as long as you work +gentle. If you don't--" + +"That's the way with you guys that do nothin' but chase a cow's tail +over the country. You handle folks the same as stock--rough stuff and to +hell with their feelin's." + +"You're feelin' better," said Lorry. "Stand up and get to goin'." + +As Waco rose, Lorry's pony nickered. A rider was coming down the +distant northern hillside. In the fluttering silken bandanna and the +twinkle of silver-studded trappings Lorry recognized the foreman of the +Starr Rancho; Bob Brewster, known for his arrogance as "High-Chin Bob." + +"Guess we'll wait a minute," said Lorry. + +Waco saw the rider, and asked who he was. + +"It's High Chin, the foreman. You been ridin' one of his string of +horses--the black there." + +"He's your boss?" + +"Yes. And I'm right sorry he's ridin' into this camp. You was talkin' of +feelin's. Well, he ain't got any." + +Brewster loped up and dismounted. "What's your tally, kid?" + +Lorry shook his head. "Only this," he said jokingly. + +Brewster glanced at Waco. "Maverick, all right. Where'd you rope _him_?" + +"I run onto him holdin' up some tourists down by the Notch. I'm driftin' +him over to Stacey." + +High Chin's eyes narrowed. "Was he ridin' that horse?" And he pointed to +the black. + +Lorry admitted that he had found the horse tied in the brush near the +Notch. + +High Chin swung round. "You fork your bronc and get busy. There's eighty +head and over strayin' in here, and the old man ain't payin' you to +entertain hobos. I'll herd this hombre to camp." + +With his arm outflung the tramp staggered up to the foreman. "I come +back--to tell you--that I'm going to live to get you right. I got a +hunch that all hell can't beat out. I'll get you!" + +"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. + +High Chin whirled his horse round. "What's it to you? Who are you, +buttin' in on this?" + +"My name is Waring. I used to mill around Sonora once." + +High Chin blinked. He knew that name. Slowly he realized that the man on +the big buckskin meant what he said when he asserted that there would be +no trouble. + +"Well, I'm foreman of the Starr, and you're fired!" he told Lorry. + +"That's no news," said Lorry, grinning. + +"And I'm goin' to herd this hoss-thief to camp," he continued, spurring +toward Waco, who had started to walk away. + +"Not this journey," said Waring, pushing his horse between them. "The +boy don't pack a gun. I do." + +"You talk big--knowin' I got no gun," said High Chin. + +Lorry rode over to the foreman. "Here's your gun, High. I ain't no +killer." + +The foreman holstered the gun and reined round toward Waring. "Now do +your talkin'," he challenged. + +Waring made no movement, but sat quietly watching the other's gun hand. +"You have your gun?" he said, as though asking a question. "If you mean +business, go ahead. I'll let you get your gun out--and then I'll get +you--and you know it!" And with insulting ease he flicked his burned-out +cigarette in the foreman's face. + +Without a word High Chin whirled his horse and rode toward the hills. + +Waring sat watching him until Lorry spoke. + +"They say he's put more than one man across the divide," he told his +father. + +"But not on an even break," said Waring. "Get that hombre on his horse. +He's in bad shape." + +Lorry helped Waco to mount. They rode toward Stacey. + +Waring rode with them until the trail forked. "I was on my way to the +Starr Ranch," he told Lorry. "I think I can make it all right with +Starr, if you say the word." + +"Not me," said Lorry. "I stand by what I do." + +Waring tried to conceal the smile that crept to his lips. "All right, +Lorry. But you'll have to explain to your mother. Better turn your man +over to Buck Hardy as soon as you get in town. Where did you pick him +up?" + +"He was holdin' up some tourists over by the Notch. He changed his mind +and came along with me." + +Waring rode down the west fork, and Lorry and the tramp continued their +journey to Stacey. + + + + +Chapter X + + +_East and West_ + +Mrs. Adams, ironing in the kitchen, was startled by a peremptory ringing +of the bell on the office desk. The Overland had arrived and departed +more than an hour ago. She patted her hair, smoothed her apron, and +stepped through the dining-room to the office. A rather tired-looking, +stylishly gowned woman immediately asked if there were comfortable +accommodations for herself and her daughter. Mrs. Adams assured her that +there were. + +"We had an accident," continued the woman. "I am Mrs. Weston. This is my +daughter." + +"You are driving overland?" + +"We were. We have had a terrible time. A man tried to rob us, and we +almost wrecked our car." + +"Goodness! Where did it happen?" + +"At a place called 'The Notch,' I think," said Alice Weston, taking the +pen Mrs. Adams proffered and registering. + +"I can give you a front double room," said Mrs. Adams. "But the single +rooms are cooler." + +"Anything will do so long as it is clean," said Mrs. Weston. + +Mrs. Adams's rosy face grew red. "My rooms are always clean. I attend +to them myself." + +"And a room with a bath would be preferable," said Mrs. Weston. + +Her daughter Alice smiled. Mrs. Adams caught the twinkle in the girl's +eyes and smiled in return. + +"You can have the room next to the bathroom. This is a desert town, Mrs. +Weston. We don't have many tourists." + +"I suppose it will have to do," sighed Mrs. Weston. "Of course we may +have the exclusive use of the bath?" + +"Mother," said Alice Weston, "you must remember that this isn't New +York. I think we are fortunate to get a place as comfortable and neat as +this. We're really in the desert. We will see the rooms, please." + +Mrs. Weston could find no fault with the rooms. They were neat and +clean, even to the window-panes. Alice Weston was delighted. From her +window she could see miles of the western desert, and the far, +mysterious ranges bulked against the blue of the north; ranges that +seemed to whisper of romance, the unexplored, the alluring. + +While Mrs. Adams was arranging things, Alice Weston gazed out of the +window. Below in the street a cowboy passed jauntily. A stray burro +crossed the street and nosed among some weeds. Then a stolid Indian +stalked by. + +"Why, that is a real Indian!" exclaimed the girl. + +"A Navajo," said Mrs. Adams. "They come in quite often." + +"Really? And--oh, I forgot--the young man who rescued us told us that he +was your son." + +"Lorry! Rescued you?" + +"Yes." And the girl told Mrs. Adams about the accident and the tramp. + +"I'm thankful that he didn't get killed," was Mrs. Adams's comment when +the girl had finished. + +Alone in her room, Alice Weston bared her round young arms and enjoyed a +real, old-fashioned wash in a real, old-fashioned washbowl. Who could be +unhappy in this glorious country? But mother seemed so unimpressed! "And +I hope that steering-knuckle doesn't come for a month," the girl told a +framed lithograph of "Custer's Last Fight," which, contrary to all +precedent, was free from fly specks. + +She recalled the scene at the Notch: the sickening sway of the car; the +heavy, brutal features of the bandit, who seemed to have risen from the +ground; the unexpected appearance of the young cowboy, the flash of his +rope, and a struggling form whirling through the brush. + +And she had said "please" when she had asked the young cowboy to let the +man go. He had refused. She thought Western men more gallant. But what +difference did that make? She would never see him again. The young +cowboy had seemed rather nice, until just toward the last. As for the +other man--she shivered as she wondered what would have happened if the +cowboy had not arrived when he did. + +It occurred to her that she had never been refused a request in her life +until that afternoon. And the fact piqued her. The fate of the tramp was +a secondary consideration now. She and her mother were safe. The car +would have to be repaired; but that was unimportant. The fact that they +were stranded in a real desert town, with Indians and cowboys in the +streets, and vistas such as she had dreamed of shimmering in the +afternoon sun, awakened an erstwhile slumbering desire for a draught of +the real Romance of the West, heretofore only enjoyed in unsatisfying +sips as she read of the West and its wonder trails. + +A noise in the street attracted her attention. She stepped to the +window. Just across the street a tall, heavy man was unlocking a door in +a little adobe building. Near him stood the young cowboy whom she had +not expected to see again. And there was the tramp, handcuffed and +strangely white of face. The door swung open, and the tall man stepped +back. The tramp shuffled through the low doorway, and the door was +closed and locked. The cowboy and the tall man talked for a while. She +stepped back as the men separated. + +Presently she heard the cowboy's voice downstairs. She flushed, and +gazed at herself in the glass. + +"I am going to make him sorry he refused to let that man go," she told +the mirror. "Oh, I shall be nice to him! So nice that--" She did not +complete the thought. She was naturally gracious. When she set out to be +exceptionally nice--"Oo, la, la!" she exclaimed. "And he's nothing but a +cowboy!" + +She heard Lorry clump upstairs and enter a room across the hall. She +knew it was he. She could hear the clink of his spurs and the swish of +his chaps. While she realized that he was Mrs. Adams's son and had a +right to be there, she rather resented his proximity, possibly because +she had not expected to see him again. + +She had no idea that he had been discharged by his foreman, nor that he +had earned the disapproval of his mother for having quarreled. Of course +he had ridden to Stacey to bring the prisoner in, but he knew they were +in Stacey, and Alice Weston liked to believe that he would make excuse +to stay in town while they were there. It would be fun--for her. + +After supper that evening Mrs. Weston and Alice were introduced to +Waring, who came in late. Waring chatted with Mrs. Weston out on the +veranda in the cool of the evening. Alice was surprised that her mother +seemed interested in Waring. But after a while, as the girl listened, +she admitted that the man was interesting. + +The conversation drifted to mines and mining. Mrs. Weston declared that +she had never seen a gold mine, but that her husband owned some stock +in one of the richest mines in Old Mexico. Waring grew enthusiastic as +he described mine operating in detail, touching the subject with the +ease of experience, yet lightly enough to avoid wearisome +technicalities. The girl listened, occasionally stealing a glance at the +man's profile in the dusk. She thought the boy Lorry looked exceedingly +like Mr. Waring. + +And the person who looked exceedingly like Mr. Waring sat at the far end +of the veranda, talking to Buck Hardy, the sheriff. And Lorry was not +altogether happy. His interest in the capture and reward had waned. He +had never dreamed that a girl could be so captivating as Alice Weston. +At supper she had talked with him about the range, asking many +questions; but she had not referred to that morning. Lorry had hoped +that he might talk with her after supper. But somehow or other she had +managed to evade his efforts. Just now she seemed to be mightily +interested in his father. + +Presently Lorry rose and strode across the street to the station. He +talked with the agent, who showed him a telegraph duplicate for an order +on Albuquerque covering a steering-knuckle for an automobile. When Lorry +reappeared he was whistling. It would take some time for that +steering-knuckle to arrive. Meanwhile, he was out of work, and the +Westons would be at the hotel for several days at least. + +There was some mighty fine scenery back in the Horseshoe Range, west. +Perhaps the girl liked Western scenery. He wondered if she knew how to +ride. He was rather inclined to think that her mother did not. He would +suggest a trip to the Horseshoe Mountains, as it would be pretty dull at +the hotel. Nothing but cowboys and Indians riding in and out of town. +But there were some Hopi ruins over in the Horseshoe. Most Easterners +were interested in ruins. He wished that the Hopis had left a ruin +somewhat nearer town. + +Yet withal, Lorry was proud to think that his father could be so +interesting to real Easterners. If they only knew who his father was! +Lorry's train of thought was making pretty good time when he checked it +suddenly. Folks in town didn't know that Waring was his father. And "The +whole dog-gone day had just been one gosh-awful mess!" + +"Weston, you said?" Waring queried. + +"Yes--John Archibald Weston, of New York." And Mrs. Weston nodded. + +Waring smiled. J.A. Weston was one of the stockholders in the Ortez +Mine, near Sonora. + +"The principal stockholder," said Mrs. Weston. + +"I met him down there," said Waring. + +"Indeed! How interesting! You were connected with the mining industry, +Mr. Waring?" + +"In a way. I lived in Sonora several years." + +"That accounts for your wonderful descriptions of the country. I never +imagined it could be so charming." + +"We have some hill country west of here worth looking at. If you intend +to stay any length of time, I might arrange a trip." + +"That's nice of you. But I don't ride. Perhaps Alice would like to go." + +"Yes, indeed! But--" + +"We might get Mrs. Adams to come. She used to ride." + +"I'll ask her," said Alice Weston. + +"But, Alice--" And Mrs. Weston smiled. Alice had already gone to look +for Mrs. Adams. + +Lorry, who had heard, scowled at a veranda post. He had thought of that +trip to the Horseshoe Range long before it had been mentioned by his +father. Wimmin made him tired, he told the unoffending post. + +Shortly afterward Alice appeared. She had cajoled Mrs. Adams into +promising that she would ride to the Hopi ruins with them, as the +journey there and back could be made in a day. Alice Weston was aglow +with excitement. Of course the young cowboy would be included in the +invitation, and Alice premeditated a flirtation, either with that +good-looking Mr. Waring or Mrs. Adams's son. It didn't matter much which +one; it would be fun. + +The Westons finally went to their rooms. Lorry, out of sorts with +himself and the immediate world, was left alone on the veranda. + +"She just acted so darned nice to me I forgot to eat," he told the post +confidentially. "And then she forgot I was livin' in the same +county--after supper. And she did it a-purpose. I reckon she's tryin' to +even up with me for jailin' that hobo after she said 'please.' Well, two +can play at that even-up game." + +He rose and walked upstairs quietly. As he entered his room he heard the +Westons talking. He had noticed that the door of one of their rooms was +open. + +"No, I think he went away with that tall man," he heard the girl say. +"Cowboys don't go to bed early when in town." + +"Weren't you a little too nice to him at dinner?" Mrs. Weston said. + +Lorry heard the girl laugh. "Oh, but he's only a boy, mother! And it's +such fun to watch his eyes when he smiles. He is really good-looking and +interesting, because he hasn't been tamed. I don't think he has any real +feeling, though, or he wouldn't have brought that poor creature to +Stacey and put him in jail. But Mr. Waring is different. He seems so +quiet and kind--and rather distinguished." + +Lorry closed his door. He had heard enough for one evening. + +He did not want to go to bed. He felt anything but sleepy, so he tiptoed +downstairs again and out into the night. He found Buck Hardy in a saloon +up the street. Men in the saloon joked with Lorry about his capture. He +seldom drank, but to-night he did not refuse Hardy's invitation to +"have something." While they were chatting a rider from the Starr Rancho +came in. Edging up to Lorry, he touched his arm. "Come on out a minute," +he whispered. + +Outside, he told Lorry that High Chin, with several of the men, was +coming to town that night and "put one over" on the sheriff by stealing +the prisoner. + +"And you know what that means," said the Starr cowboy. "High Chin'll get +tanked, and the hobo'll be lucky if the boys don't string him up. High +Chin's awful sore about something." + +Lorry's first idea was to report all this to Buck Hardy. But he feared +ridicule. What if the Starr cowboys didn't come? + +"Why don't you tell Buck yourself?" he queried. + +His companion insisted that he dare not tell the sheriff. If High Chin +heard that he had done so, he would be out of a job. And there was the +reward. If the prisoner's identity was proven, Lorry would get the +reward. The cowboy didn't want to see Lorry lose such easy money. + +The subject seemed to require some liquidation, and Lorry finally +decided that he himself was the only and legal custodian of the +prisoner. As for the reward--shucks! He didn't want blood-money. But +High Chin would never lay a hand on the hobo if he could help it. + + * * * * * + +Alice Weston, anticipating a real ride into the desert country and the +hills, was too excited to sleep. She drew a chair to the window, and sat +back where she could view the vague outline of the hills and a world +filled with glowing stars. The town was silent, save for the occasional +opening or closing of a door and the infrequent sound of feet on the +sidewalk. She forgot the hazards of the day in dreaming of the West; no +longer a picture out of books, but a reality. She scarcely noticed the +quiet figure that came round the opposite corner and passed into the +shadows of the jail across the street. She heard the clink of a chain +and a sharp, tearing sound as of wood being rent asunder. She peered +from her window, trying to see what was going on in the shadows. + +Presently a figure appeared. The hat, the attitude, and manner seemed +familiar. Then came another figure; that of the tramp. She grew tense +with excitement. She heard Lorry's voice distinctly:-- + +"The best thing for you is to fan it. Don't try the train. They'll get +you sure if you do. No, I don't explain anything. Just ramble--and keep +a-ramblin'." + +She saw one of the figures creep along the opposite wall and shuffle +across the street. She felt like calling out. Instead she rose and +opened her door. She would tell her mother. But what good would that do? +She returned to the window. Lorry, standing on the street corner, seemed +to be watching an invisible something far down the street. Alice Weston +heard the sound of running horses. A group of cowboys galloped up. She +heard the horses stop. Lorry had disappeared. + +She went to bed. It seemed an age before she heard him come in. + +Lorry undressed in the dark. As he went to bed he grinned. "And the +worst of it is," he soliloquized, "she'll think I did it because she +asked me to let him go. Guess I been steppin' on my foot the whole +dog-gone day." + + + + +Chapter XI + + +_Spring Lamb_ + +Mrs. Adams had decided to have roast spring lamb for dinner that +evening. Instead, her guests had to content themselves with canned +salmon and hot biscuit. And because ... + +Lorry appeared at the breakfast table in overalls and jumper. He had +purposely waited until the Westons had gone downstairs. He anticipated +an invitation to ride to the hills with them. He would decline, and +smile as he did so. If that girl thought he cared anything about _her_! + +He answered their greeting with a cheery "Good-mornin'," and immediately +turned his whole attention to bacon and eggs. + +Alice Weston wondered that his eyes should be so clear and care-free, +knowing what she did of last night's escapade. + +Mrs. Adams was interested in the girl's riding-habit. It made her own +plain riding-skirt and blouse appear rather countrified. And after +breakfast Lorry watched the preparations for the ride with a critical +eye. No one would know whether or not he cared to go. They seemed to +have taken it for granted that he would. He whistled softly, and shook +his head as his mother suggested that he get ready. + +"Of course you're coming with us," said Alice Weston. + +"I got to look after the hotel," he said with conclusive emphasis. + +Lorry disappeared, and in the bustle of preparation and departure Mrs. +Adams did not miss him until they were some distance out on the mesa. + +"Where's Lorry?" she queried. + +"He said he had to look after the hotel," said Alice Weston. + +"Well, he didn't. I had everything arranged for. I don't know what's got +into him lately." + +Back at the hotel Lorry was leaning against the veranda rail, talking to +Mrs. Weston. "I reckon it will be kind of tame for you, ma'am. I was +wondering, now, if you would let me look over that machine. I've helped +fix 'em up lots of times." + +"Why, I don't know. It wouldn't do any harm to look, would it?" + +"I guess not." + +Mrs. Weston gazed at Lorry curiously. He had smiled, and he resembled +Waring so closely that Mrs. Weston remarked it aloud. + +Lorry flushed. "I think Mr. Waring is a right good-lookin' man, don't +you?" + +Mrs. Weston laughed. "Yes, I do." + +"Yes, ma'am. But honest, Mrs. Weston, I never did see a finer-lookin' +girl than your girl. I seen plenty of magazine pictures like her. I'd +feel some proud if I was her mother." + +The morning was not so dull, after all. Mrs. Weston was not used to such +frankness, but she was not displeased. "I see you have on your working +clothes. If you really think you can repair the car--" + +"I got nothin' else to do. The sun is gettin' round to the front. If you +would like to sit in the car and watch, I would look her over; there, in +the shade." + +"I'll get a hat," said Mrs. Weston, rising. + +"Your hair is right pretty without a hat. And besides you would be in +the shade of the top." + +It had been some time since any one had complimented Mrs. Weston about +her hair, and especially a man young enough to be her son. What was the +cowboy going to say next? + +Mrs. Weston stepped into the car, which was parked on the south side of +the building. Lorry, whistling blithely, searched until he found a +wrench in one of the forward-door pockets. He disappeared beneath the +car. Mrs. Weston could hear him tinkering at something. She leaned back, +breathing deep of the clean, thin air. She could not recall having felt +so thoroughly content and keenly alive at the same time. She had no +desire to say or do anything. + +Presently Lorry appeared, his face grimy and his hands streaked with +oil. "Nothin' busted," he reported cheerfully. "We got a car over to +the ranch. She's been busted a-plenty. I fixed her up more times than I +can remember. Cars is like horses ma'am; no two just alike, but kind of +generally the same. The steering-knuckle ain't broke. It's the left axle +that's sprung. That won't take long to straighten." + +Mrs. Weston smiled. Lorry thought she was actually pretty. She saw this +in his eyes, and flushed slightly. + +"And I'll just block her up and take off the wheel, and I reckon the +blacksmith can straighten that axle easy." + +"It's very nice of you. But I am wondering why you didn't go on the +picnic--with the others." + +"Well, who'd 'a' kept you company, ma'am? Anita, she's busy. Anyhow, I +seen plenty of scenery. I'd rather be here." + +"Talking to a woman old enough to be your mother?" + +"Huh! I never thought of you like that. I'm only eighteen. Anyhow, what +difference does it make how old a lady is, if she is pretty?" + +Mrs. Weston's eyes twinkled. "Do you ever pay compliments to yourself +when you are combing your hair or tying your scarf?" + +"Me! Why, not so anybody could hear 'em. Now, I think my mother is right +pretty, Mrs. Weston." + +"So do I. And it was nice of you to say it." + +"But I don't see anything wrong in sayin' what's so," he argued. "I seen +you kind of raise your eyebrows, and I thought mebby I was bein' took as +a joke." + +"Oh, no, indeed!" + +Lorry disappeared again. As he worked he wondered just how long it would +be before Buck Hardy would look for him. Lorry knew that some one must +have taken food and water to the prisoner by this time, or to where the +prisoner was supposed to be. But he did not know that Hardy and his +deputy had questioned Anita, and that she had told the sheriff the folks +had all gone on a picnic to the hills. The car, at the back of the +hotel, was not visible from the street. + +With some pieces of timber Lorry jacked up the front of the machine and +removed the damaged wheel and axle. + +He took the bent axle to the blacksmith, and returned to the hotel. +Nothing further offered just then, so he suggested that he clean the +car. Mrs. Weston consented, deciding that she would not pay him until +her daughter returned. + +He attached the hose to a faucet, and suggested that Mrs. Weston take a +chair, which he brought from the veranda. He hosed the car, and as he +polished it, Mrs. Weston asked him about Waring. + +"Why, he's a friend of ours," replied Lorry. + +"Of course. But I was wondering what he did." + +Lorry hesitated. "Didn't you ever hear that song about Waring of +Sonora-Town? It's a whizzer. Well, that's him. All the cowboys sing that +song." + +"I have never heard it." + +"Well, mebby dad wouldn't like that I sing it. He's kind of funny that +way. Now you wouldn't think he was the fastest gunman in the Southwest, +would you?" + +"Gunman! Your father?" + +Lorry straightened up from polishing the car. "I clean forgot what I was +sayin'. I guess my foot slipped that time." + +"I am sorry I asked," said Mrs. Weston. "It really doesn't matter." + +"Oh, it ain't your fault. But I wasn't aimin' to tell. Dad he married my +mother, and they went to live in Sonora, down in Mexico. Some of the +minin' outfits down there hired him regular to--to protect their +interests. I guess ma couldn't stand that kind of life, for after a few +years she brought me up here. I was just a kid then. Ma she built up a +good trade at this hotel. Folks call her Mrs. Adams. Her name was Adams +afore she got married. We been here ten years. Dad didn't know where she +was till last week he showed up here. I reckon she thought he got killed +long ago. Folks would talk about it if they knowed he was her husband, +so I guess she asked dad to say nothin' about that. He said he came up +to see me. I guess he don't aim to stay long." + +"I think I understand," said Mrs. Weston. + +"Well, it ain't none of my business, long as ma is all right. Say, she +shines like a new hack, eh?" + +"You have cleaned the car beautifully." + +"Oh, I dunno. Now, if it was a hoss--And say, I guess you'll be startin' +to-morrow. That axle will be all right in about an hour." + +Just then Anita came to call them to luncheon. She had heard them +talking at the rear of the hotel shortly after Sheriff Hardy had +inquired for Lorry. Several townsfolk came in, ate, and departed on +their several ways. + +After luncheon Mrs. Weston went to her room. She thought she would lie +down and sleep for an hour or so, but the noon heat made the room rather +close. She picked up a book and came down, where she found it +comfortably cool on the veranda. + +The town was quiet. A hand-car with its section crew of Mexicans clicked +past, and hummed on down the glittering rails. A stray burro meandered +about, and finally came to a stop in the middle of the street, where he +stood, stoically enduring the sun, a veritable long-eared statue of +dejection. Mrs. Weston turned a page, but the printed word was flat and +insignificant. + +She felt as though she were in a kind of twilight valley, midway between +the hills of slumber and wakefulness. For the moment she forgot the name +of the town itself. She knew that she could recall it if she tried. A +dog lay asleep beneath the station platform opposite, one relaxed paw +over his nose. Some one was calling to some one in the kitchen. A figure +passed in the street; a young man who smiled and nodded. It was the boy, +Lorry. He had been working on the car that morning. She had watched him +work, rather enjoying his energy. A healthy young animal as +unsophisticated as a kitten, and really innately kind and innocent of +intent to flatter. He was not at all like the bright young savage who +had roped and almost choked to death that awful man. + +It was impossible to judge a person at first sight and especially under +unusual circumstances. And he seemed not at all chagrined that he had +not gone with the others to the hills. Alice had enjoyed reading about +Westerners--rough, boisterous beings intolerable to Mrs. Weston even in +print. And Mrs. Weston thought that proper environment and association +might bring out their better qualities, even as the boy, Lorry, seemed +to have improved--well, since yesterday morning. Perhaps he was on his +good behavior because they were there. + +It seemed past comprehension that anything startling could happen in +that drowsy atmosphere. + +The young cowboy was coming back down the street, some part of the car +over his shoulder. Mrs. Weston anticipated his nod, and nodded lazily as +he passed. She could hear him tinkering at the car. + +A few blocks up the street, Buck Hardy was seated in his office talking +with the undersheriff. The undersheriff twisted the end of his black +mustache and looked wise. + +"They told me at the hotel that he had gone riding with them +Easterners," said Hardy. "And now you say he's been in town all day +working on that automobile." + +"Yep. He's been to the blacksmith twice to-day. I didn't say anything to +him, seein' you was over to Larkins's, and said he was out of town. I'd +hate to think he done anything like that." + +"That hobo was gone when I went to talk to him this morning. The lock +was busted. I can't figure it out. Young Lorry stood to win the reward, +and he could use the money." + +"Hear anything by wire?" queried the undersheriff. + +"Nothing. The man didn't get by on any of the trains. I notified both +stations. He's afoot and he's gone." + +"Well, I guess the kid loses out, eh?" + +"That ain't all. This county will jump me for letting that guy get away. +It won't help us any next election." + +"Well, my idea is to have a talk with Adams," said the undersheriff. + +"I'm going to do that. I like the kid, and then there's his mother--" + +"And you'd hold him for lettin' the guy loose, eh?" + +"I would. I'd hold my own brother for playing a trick like that." + +"Well, I don't sabe it," asserted the undersheriff. "Lorry Adams always +had a good name." + +"We'll have a talk with him, Bill." + +"Are you sure Adams did it, Buck?" + +"No, not sure, but I'm going to find out. I'll throw a scare into him +that'll make him talk." + +"Mebby he won't scare." + +"Then I'll run him in. He's some enterprising, if I do say it. He put +High-Chin Bob out of business over by the water-hole yesterday." + +"High Chin! The hell you say!" + +"That's what I thought when I heard it. High was beating up the hobo, +and Lorry claimed him as his prisoner. Jim Waring says the kid walloped +High on the head and knocked him stiff." + +"Whew! Bob will get his hide for that." + +"I don't know. Jim Waring is riding the country just now." + +"What's that got to do with it?" + +"More than I'm going to tell you, Bill. But take it from me, he's +interested in young Adams a whole lot." + + * * * * * + +When Hardy and his deputy rode over to the hotel there was a pause in +the chatter. Alice Weston was describing their journey to her mother and +calling upon Waring to substantiate her vivid assertions of the +wonderful adventure. The saddle-horse still stood at the hitching-rail, +and Hardy, who had an eye for a good horse, openly admired the big +buckskin. Waring was talking with Lorry. Mrs. Adams had gone in. Hardy +indicated that he wanted to speak to Lorry, and he included Waring in +his gesture. Lorry rose and glanced quickly at Alice Weston. She was +leaning forward in her chair, suddenly aware of a subtle undercurrent of +seriousness. The undersheriff was patting the nose of the big buckskin. + +The men stepped down from the veranda, and stood near the horses. + +"That hobo got away," said the sheriff. "Do you know anything about it?" + +"I turned him loose," said Lorry, without hesitation. + +"What for?" + +"I changed my mind. I didn't want any blood-money for arrestin' a +tramp." + +"That's all right. But you can't change the law so easy. That man was my +prisoner. Why didn't you come to me?" + +"Well, if you want to know, in company," said Lorry, "High Chin and the +boys had it framed up to give that hobo a goin'-over for stealin' a +Starr horse. They figured to bust in the jail, same as I did. I got that +straight; I didn't aim to let High Chin get his hands on my prisoner." + +"Well, Lorry, I don't like to do it, but I got to hold you till we get +him." + +"How do you figure that?" + +"You've aided a prisoner to escape. You broke the law." + +"What right had you to hold him?" + +"Your own story. You brought him in yourself." + +"I sure did. But supposin' I say I ain't got nothin' against him, and +the folks over there won't appear against him, how could you prove +anything?" + +"He's under suspicion. You said yourself he was holding up them +tourists." + +"But you can't make me swear that in court." + +Buck Hardy glared at the younger man. "See here, Lorry, I don't +understand your game. Suppose the man ain't guilty. He was locked +up--and by me, representing this county. You can't prove that the Starr +boys would have done anything to him. And you can't monkey with the law +to suit yourself as long as I'm sheriff. Am I right?" And Hardy turned +to Waring. + +"You're right, Hardy." + +Lorry's gray eyes shone with a peculiar light. "What you goin' to do +about it, Buck?" + +"Two of my boys are out looking for the man. You're under arrest till he +is brought in." + +"You aim to lock me in that calaboose?" + +"No. But, understand, you're under arrest. You can't leave town." + +"Say, now, Buck, ain't you kind of crowdin' me into the fence?" + +"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that." + +Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat +watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their +attitudes confirmed her apprehension. + +"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry. + +"Go ahead. There's no hurry." + +Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda +steps and sat down. + +Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other. + +"That's all right, Hardy." + +The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way +the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later." + +Waring smiled. "You have a free hand so far as I am concerned," he said. + +Alice Weston was talking with her mother when she heard a cautious step +on the stairway behind her. She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted +and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his +hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy +was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's +horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her +breath. + +Without a word of warning, and before the group on the veranda knew what +was happening, Lorry shot from the doorway, leaped from the edge of the +veranda rail, and alighted square in the saddle of Waring's horse, Dex. +The buckskin whirled and dashed down the road, one rein dragging. Lorry +reached down, and with a sinuous sweep of his body recovered the loose +rein. As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked +strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute. + +Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse +nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they +raced down the street and disappeared round a corner. + +"What is it?" queried Alice Weston. + +Waring still sat on the steps. He was laughing when he turned to answer +the girl's question. + +"Lorry and the sheriff had a little argument. Lorry didn't wait to +finish it. It was something about that hobo that bothered you +yesterday." + +Alice crushed her handkerchief to her mouth. "I--shall we get ready for +dinner?" she stammered. + +Mrs. Weston rose. "It's nothing serious, I hope. Do you think your--Mr. +Adams will be back to-night?" + +"Not this evening," replied Waring. + +"You mean that he won't be back at all?" + +"Not unless he changes his mind. He's riding my horse." + +"He took your horse?" + +"Yes. I think he made a mistake in leaving so suddenly, but he didn't +make any mistake about the best horse." + +"Aren't you worried about him?" queried Mrs. Weston. + +"Why, no. The boy will take care of himself. Did you happen to notice +what he had in his hand when he ran across the veranda?" + +"No. It happened so suddenly. Was it a pistol?" + +Waring grinned. "No. It was a shoulder of lamb. The next town is thirty +miles south, and no restaurants on the way." + +"But his mother--" began Alice Weston. + +"Yes," said Waring. "I think that leg of lamb was for dinner to-night." + +Alice Weston said nothing further, but as she got ready for dinner she +confessed to herself that the event of Lorry's escape would have been +much more thrilling, in retrospect at least, had he chosen to wave his +hasty farewell with a silken bandanna, or even a pistol. To ride off +like that, waving a leg of lamb! + + + + +Chapter XII + + +_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_ + +As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges, +cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed +homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for +many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with +diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a +lively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's most +vindictive enemies. And he had enemies and many friends. + +Meanwhile he had taken on weight until, as one of his friends remarked, +"Most any hoss but a Percheron draft would shy the minute Bud tried to +put his foot in the stirrup." + +And when Bud came to that point in his career when he summed up his past +and found that his chief asset was experience, garnished with a somewhat +worn outfit of pack-saddles, tarps, bridles, chaps, and guns, he sighed +heavily. + +The old trails were changing to roads. The local freight intermittently +disgorged tons of harvesting machinery. The sound of the Klaxton was +heard in the land. Despite the times and the manners, Bud's girth +increased insidiously. His hard-riding days were past. Progress marched +steadily onward, leaving an after-guard of homesteaders intrenched +behind miles of barbed-wire fence and mazes of irrigating-ditches. The +once open range was now a chessboard of agricultural endeavor, with the +pawns steadying ploughshares as they crept from square to square until +the opposing cattle king suffered ignominious checkmate, his prerogative +of free movement gone, his army scattered, his castles taken, and his +glory surviving only in the annals of the game. + +Incidentally, Bud Shoop had saved a little money, and his large +popularity would have won for him a political sinecure; but he disliked +politics quite as heartily as he detested indolence. He needed work not +half so much as he wanted it. + +He had failed as a rancher, but he still held his homestead on the Blue +Mesa, some twenty miles from the town of Jason, an old Mormon settlement +in the heart of the mesa country. + +Friday morning at sunup Bud saddled his horse, closed the door of his +cabin on the Blue Mesa, and, whistling to his old Airedale, Bondsman, +rode across the mesa and down the mountain trail toward Jason. By +sundown that night he was in town, his horse fed, and he and Bondsman +sitting on the little hotel veranda, watching the villagers as they +passed in the dusk of early evening. + +Coatless and perspiring, Bud betook himself next morning to the office +of the supervisor of that district of the Forest Service. Bondsman +accompanied him, stalking seriously at his master's heels. The +supervisor was busy. Bud filled a chair in the outer office, polished +his bald spot with a blue bandanna, and waited. + +Presently the supervisor called him in. Bud rose heavily and plodded to +another chair in the private office. Torrance, the supervisor, knew Bud; +knew that he was a solid man in the finer sense of the word from the +shiny dome of his head to his dusty boot. And Torrance thought he knew +why Bud had called. The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching his +master. Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail. + +"He's just tellin' me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he'll +wait till I get through. That there dog bosses me around somethin' +scandalous." + +"He's getting old and set in his ways," laughed Torrance. + +"So be I, John. Kind of settin' in my own way mostly." + +"Well, Bud, how are things up on the mesa?" + +"Growin' and bloomin' and singin' and feedin' and keepin' still, same as +always." + +"What can I do for you?" + +"Well, I ain't seen a doctor for so long I can't tell you; but I reckon +I need more exercise and a little salary thrown in for luck." + +"I'm glad you came in. You needn't say anything about it, but I'm +scheduled to leave here next month." + +"Then I reckon I'm left. Higher up, John?" + +"Yes. I have this end of it pretty well whipped into shape. They seem to +think they can use me at headquarters." + +Bud frowned prodigiously. The situation did not seem to promise much. +And naturally enough, being a Westerner, Bud disliked to come out +flatfooted and ask for work. + +His frown deepened as the supervisor asked another question: "Do you +think you could hold down my job, Bud?" + +"Say, John, I've stood for a lot in my time. But, honest, I was lookin' +for a job as ranger. I can ride yet. And if I do say it I know every +hill and cañon, every hogback and draw and flat from here to the Tonto +Basin." + +"I know it. I was coming to that. The grazing-leases are the most +important items just now. You know cattle, and you know something about +the Service. You have handled men. I am not joking." + +"Well, this is like a hobo gettin' up his nerve to ask for a san'wich, +and havin' the lady of the house come runnin' with a hot apple pie. I'll +tackle anything." + +"Well, the Department has confidence enough in me to suggest that I name +a successor, subject to their approval. Do you think that you could hold +down this job?" + +"If settin' on it would hold it down, it would never get up alive, +John. But I ain't no author." + +"Author?" + +"Uh-uh. When it comes to facts, I aim to brand 'em. But them reports to +headquarters--" + +The supervisor laughed. "You would be entitled to a clerk. The man I +have would like to stay. And another thing. I have just had an +application from young Adams, of Stacey. He wrote from St. Johns. He +wants to get into the Service. While we are at it, what do you know +about him?" + +"Nothin'. But his mother runs a right comf'table eatin'-house over to +Stacey. She's a right fine woman. I knew her when she was wearin' her +hair in a braid." + +"I have stopped there. It's a neat place. Would you take the boy on if +you were in my place?" + +Bud coughed and studied the ends of his blunt fingers. "Well, now, John, +if I was in your place, I could tell you." + +Torrance was amused and rather pleased. Bud's careful evasion was +characteristic. He would do nothing hastily. Moreover, with Shoop as +supervisor, it was safe to assume that the natives would hesitate to +attempt their usual subterfuges in regard to grazing-leases. Bud was too +well known for that. Torrance had had trouble with the cattlemen and +sheepmen. He knew that Shoop's mere name would obviate much argument and +bickering. + +"The White Mountain Apaches are eating a lot of beef these days," he +said suddenly. + +Shoop grinned. "And it ain't all Gov'ment beef, neither. The line fence +crost Still Cañon is down. They's been a fire up on the shoulder of Ole +Baldy--nothin' much, though. Your telephone line to the lookout is +saggin' bad over by Sheep Crossin'. Some steer'll come along and take it +with him in a hurry one of these days. A grizzly killed a yearlin' over +by the Milk Ranch about a week ago. I seen your ranger, young Winslow, +day before yesterday. He says somebody has been grazin' sheep on the +posted country, west. He was after 'em. The grass is pretty good on the +Blue. The Apaches been killin' wild turkey on the wrong side of their +line. I seen their tracks--and some feathers. They's some down timber +along the north side of the creek over on the meadows. And a couple of +wimmin was held up over by the Notch the other day. I ain't heard the +partic'lars. Young Adams--" + +"Where do you get it all, Bud? Only two of the things you mentioned have +been reported in to this office." + +"Who, me? Huh! Well, now, John, that's just the run of news that floats +in when you're movin' around the country. If I was to set out to get +info'mation--" + +"You'd swamp the office. All right. I'll have my clerk draft a letter of +application. You can sign it. I'll add my word. It will take some time +to put this through, if it goes through. I don't promise anything. Come +in at noon and sign the letter. Then you might drop in in about two +weeks; say Saturday morning. We'll have heard something by then." + +Bud beamed. "I'll do that. And while I'm waitin' I'll ride over some of +that country up there and look around." + +Torrance leaned forward. "There's one more thing, Bud. I know this job +offers a temptation to a man to favor his friends. So far as this office +is concerned, I don't want you to have any friends. I want things run +straight. I've given the best of my life to the Service. I love it. I +have dipped into my own pocket when Washington couldn't see the need for +improvements. I have bought fire-fighting tools, built trails, and paid +extra salaries at times. Now I will be where I can back you up. Keep +things right up to the minute. If you get stuck, wire me. Here's your +territory on this map. You know the country, but you will find this +system of keeping track of the men a big help. The pins show where each +man is working. We can go over the office detail after we have heard +from headquarters." + +Bud perspired, blinked, shuffled his feet. "I ain't goin' to say thanks, +John. You know it." + +"That's all right, Bud. Your thanks will be just what you make of this +work when I leave. There has been a big shake-up in the Service. Some of +us stayed on top." + +"Congratulations, John. Saturday, come two weeks, then." + +And Bud heaved himself up. The Airedale, Bondsman, thumped the floor +with his tail. Bud turned a whimsical face to the supervisor. "Now +listen to that! What does he say? Well, he's tellin' me he sabes I got a +chanct at a job and that he'll keep his mouth shut about what you said, +like me. And that it's about time I quit botherin' folks what's busy and +went back to the hotel so he can watch things go by. That there dog +bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Torrance smiled, and waved his hand as Bud waddled from the office, with +Bondsman at his heels. + +About an hour later, as Torrance was dictating a letter, he glanced up. +Bud Shoop, astride a big bay horse, passed down the street. For a moment +Torrance forgot office detail in a general appreciation of the Western +rider, who, once in the saddle, despite age or physical attributes, +bears himself with a subconscious ease that is a delight to behold, be +he lean Indian, lithe Mexican, or bed-rock American with a girth, say, +of fifty-two inches and weighing perhaps not less than two hundred and +twenty pounds. + +"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses and +dogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. And +they say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straight +up, and white lightning with a gun." + +The supervisor shook his head. "Take a letter to Collins," he said. + +The stenographer glanced up. "Senator Collins, Mr. Torrance?" + +"Yes. And make an extra copy. Mark it confidential. You need not file +the copy. I'll take care of it. And if Mr. Shoop is appointed to my +place, he need know nothing about this letter." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner a +bit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointed +here. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists in +this field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thin +and some day you may land a job as private secretary to a State +Senator." + +"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr. +Torrance." + +"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'm +with the Service as long as it will have me. But if some clever +politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa +country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa +people like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--" + +The stenographer bent over his book. + +Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's +life with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, had +once been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog as +it crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud had +ridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across the +saddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life. +Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride. + +Bud Shoop's assets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesa +land, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But his +greatest asset, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big, +homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apart +from his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merely +useful or otherwise. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + +_The Horse Trade_ + +The following day a young cowboy, mounted upon a singularly noticeable +buckskin horse, rode down the main street of Jason and dismounted at the +Forestry Office. Torrance was reading a letter when his clerk proffered +the young man a chair and notified the supervisor that a Mr. Adams +wished to see him. + +A few minutes later, Lorry was shown in. The door closed. + +Torrance surveyed the strong, young figure with inward approval. "I have +your letter. Sit down. I see your letter is postmarked St. Johns." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Know anything about the Service?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why do you want to get into it?" + +"I thought mebby I'd like the work." + +"Have you any recommendations?" + +"Nothin'--except what you're lookin' at." + +Torrance smiled. "Could you get a letter from your last employer?" + +"Not the kind of letter that would do any good. I had an argument with +the foreman, and he fired me." + +Torrance had heard something about the matter, and did not question +further at the time. + +"Do you drink?" queried Torrance. + +"I never monkeyed with it much. I reckon I could if I wanted to." + +Torrance drummed on the desk with his long, strong fingers. He reached +in a drawer and drew out a letter. + +"How about that?" + +Lorry glanced at the heading. Evidently the sheriff knew of his general +whereabouts. The letter stated that the sheriff would appreciate +information leading to the apprehension of Lawrence Adams, wanted for +aiding a prisoner to escape and for having in his possession a horse +that did not belong to him. + +"What he says is right," Lorry asserted cheerfully. "I busted into the +jail and turned that hobo loose, and I borrowed the horse I'm riding. I +aim to send him back. My own horse is in the corral back at Stacey." + +"What was your idea in letting the man go after arresting him?" + +Lorry's clear color deepened. "I wasn't figurin' on explainin' that." + +"You don't have to explain. But you will admit that the charges in this +letter are rather serious. We don't want men in the Service who are open +to criticism. You're pretty young to have such a record. It's up to you +to explain--or not, just as you like. But anything you tell me will be +treated as absolutely confidential, Adams." + +"All right. Well, everything I done that day went wrong. I caught the +hobo tryin' to rob a couple of wimmin over by the Notch. I was takin' +him to Stacey when Bob Brewster butted in. The hobo was sick, and I +didn't aim to stand and see him kicked and beat up with a quirt, even if +he did steal one of the Starr horses. I told High Chin to quit, but his +hearin' wasn't good, so I had to show him. Then I got to thinkin' I +wasn't so much--takin' a pore, busted tramp to jail. And it made me sick +when everybody round town was callin' me some little hero. Then one of +the Starr boys told me High Chin was cinchin' up to ride in and get the +hobo, anyhow, so I busted the lock and told him to fan it." + +"Why didn't you appeal to the sheriff?" + +"Huh! Buck Hardy is all right. But I can tell you one thing; he's not +the man to stand up to High Chin when High is drinkin'. Why, I see High +shove a gun in Hardy's face once and tell him to go home and go to bed. +And Hardy went. Anyhow, that hobo was my prisoner, and I didn't aim to +let High Chin get his hands on him." + +"I see. Well, you have a strange way of doing things, but I appreciate +why you acted as you did. Of course, you know it is a grave offense to +aid a prisoner to escape." + +"Buck Hardy seems to think so." + +"So do I. And how about that horse?" + +"Well, next day I was fixin' up the machine and foolin' around--that +machine belonged to them tourists that the fella stuck up--when along +about sundown Buck Hardy comes swellin' up to me and tells me I'm under +arrest. He couldn't prove a darned thing if I hadn't said I done the +job. But, anyhow, he didn't see it my way, so I borrowed Waring's horse +and come down this way. Everybody saw me take the horse. You can't call +that stealin'." + +"Did Hardy ride after you?" + +"Yes, sir. But he was so far behind I couldn't hear what he wanted. That +big buckskin is a wonder. I wish I owned him." + +Torrance mentally patched the fragments of evidence together. He decided +that a young man who could capture a holdup man, best the notorious High +Chin in a fight, repair a broken automobile, turn a prisoner loose, and +make his own escape all within the short compass of forty-eight hours +was a rather capable person in a way. And Torrance knew by Lorry's +appearance and manner that he was still on the verdant side of twenty. +If such a youth chose to turn his abilities in the right direction he +might accomplish much. Lorry's extreme frankness satisfied Torrance that +the boy had told the truth. He would give him a chance. + +"Do you know Bud Shoop?" queried the supervisor. + +"No, sir. I know what he looks like. He's been to our hotel." + +"Well, you might look him up. He may be out of town. Possibly he is up +at his homestead on the Blue Mesa. Tell Mr. Shoop that I sent you to +him. He will understand. But you will have to square yourself with the +authorities before I can put you to work." + +"Yes, sir. But I don't aim to ride back to Stacey just because I know +where it is. If they want me, they can find me." + +"That is your affair. When your slate is clear--" + +"Mr. Waring to see you," said the clerk, poking his head through the +doorway. + +Torrance stepped out and greeted Waring heartily. Lorry was surprised; +both to see his father and to learn that Torrance and he were old +friends. + +"I saw this horse as I rode up, and I took a fancy to him," said Waring, +after having nodded to Lorry. "Sorry to bother you, Torrance." + +"Here's the man you'll bother, I think," said Torrance, indicating +Lorry. "He's riding that horse." + +Lorry grinned. "Want to trade horses?" + +"I don't know. Is that your horse?" + +"Nope. I borrowed him. Is that your horse?" And he indicated Gray Leg. + +"No. I borrowed him." + +Torrance laughed. "The buckskin seems to be a pretty fair horse." + +"Then I ought to get somethin' to boot," suggested Lorry. + +"How much?" laughed Waring. + +"Oh, I don't know. You'll find that buckskin a mighty likely rambler." + +Waring turned to Torrance. "You'll witness that we made this trade, +John?" + +"All right. But remember; neither of you owns the horse you are +trading." + +"But we're goin' to," asserted Lorry. + +Waring reached beneath his coat and unbuckled a heavy belt. From buckle +to tongue it glittered with cartridges and a service-worn holster bulged +with a short-barreled Colt's .45. He handed the belt to Lorry. + +"It's a good gun," he said, "and I hope you'll never need to use it." + +Lorry stammered his thanks, untied Dex, and gave the reins into Waring's +hand. "The trade goes," he said. "But we change saddles." + +"Correct," said Waring. "And here's a letter--from your mother." + +Lorry slid the letter in his shirt. "How's the Weston folks?" + +"They were to leave this morning. Mrs. Weston asked me to pay you for +repairing their machine. She gave me the money." + +"You can keep it. I wasn't workin' for pay." + +"All right. Going to stay down here awhile?" + +"I aim to. Did you see anything of Buck Hardy on the way down?" + +"Hardy? Why, no. But I rode part way with his deputy. He's due here some +time to-day." + +"That bein' the case," said Lorry, swinging to the saddle, "I reckon +I'll hunt up Bud Shoop. Thanks for my horse. Mebby I'll be back in this +town in two, three days." And he was gone. + +Waring dropped Dex's reins. "Got a minute to spare, Torrance?" + +"Yes, indeed. You're looking well, Jim." + +In the office they shook hands again. + +"It's a long time," said Torrance, proffering a cigar. "You were +punching cattle for the Box S and I was a forest ranger those days. Did +Mexico get too hot?" + +"Warm. What's the boy doing down here?" + +"He seems to be keeping out of the way of the sheriff," laughed +Torrance. "Incidentally he applied for a position as ranger." + +"Did he? I'm glad of that. I was afraid he might get to riding the high +trails. He's got it in him." + +"You seem to know him pretty well." + +"Not so well as I would like to. I'm his father." + +"Why, I had no idea--but, come to think of it, he does resemble you. I +didn't know that you were married." + +"Yes. I married Annie Adams, of Las Cruces. He's our boy." + +Torrance saw that Waring did not care to talk further on the subject of +his married life. And Torrance recalled the fact that Mrs. Adams, who +lived in Stacey, had been in Mexico. + +"He's a live one," said Torrance. "I think I'll take him on." + +"I don't ask you to, John. He's got to play the game for himself. He may +not always do right, but he'll always do what he thinks is right, if I +am any judge. And he won't waste time doing it. I told Hardy's deputy on +the way down that he might as well give up running after the boy. Hardy +is pretty sore. Did Lorry tell you?" + +"Yes. And I can understand his side of it." + +"I think that little Weston girl dazzled him," said Waring. "She's +clever, and Lorry hasn't seen many of her kind. I think he would have +stayed right in Stacey and faced the music if she hadn't been there when +Hardy tried to arrest him. Lorry is only eighteen. He had to show off a +little." + +"Will Hardy follow it up?" + +"Not too strong. The folks in Stacey are giving Hardy the laugh. He's +not so popular as he might be." + +"I can't say that I blame Hardy, either. The boy was wrong." + +"Not a bit. Lorry was wrong." + +"It will blow over," said Torrance. "I had no idea he was your son." + +Waring leaned back in his chair. "John, I had two reasons for coming +down here. One was to get my horse. That's settled. Now I want to talk +about leasing a few thousand acres down this way, with water-rights. I'm +through with the other game. I want to run a few cattle in here, under +fence. I think it will pay." + +Torrance shook his head. "The Mormons and the Apaches will keep you +poor, Jim." + +"They might, if I tried it alone. But I have a partner just up from the +border. You remember Pat. He's been customs inspector at Nogales for +some time." + +"I should say I do remember him!" + +"Well, he asked me to look around and write to him. I think we could do +well enough here. What do you know about the land north of here, on up +toward the Santa Fé?" + +Torrance pondered the situation. The times were, indeed, changing when +men like Waring and Pat ceased to ride the high trails and settled down +to ranching under fence. The day of the gunman was past, but two such +men as Pat and Waring would suppress by their mere presence in the +country the petty rustling and law-breaking that had made Torrance's +position difficult at times. + +"I'll see what I can do," said he. "About how much land?" + +"Ten or twenty thousand, to begin with." + +"There's some Government land not on the reservation between here and +the railroad. There are three or four families of squatters on it now. I +don't know how they manage to live, but they always seem to have beef +and bacon. You might have some trouble about getting them off--and about +the water. I'll let you know some time next month just what I can do." + +"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. "That's the last thing we +want. I'll ride over next month. You can write to me at Stacey if +anything turns up." + +"I'll write to you. Do you ever get hungry? Come on over to the hotel. +I'm as hungry as a bear." + + + + +Chapter XIV + + +_Bondsman's Decision_ + +Bud Shoop's homestead on the Blue Mesa lay in a wide level of grassland, +round which the spruce of the high country swept in a great, blue-edged +circle. To the west the barren peak of Mount Baldy maintained a solitary +vigil in sunshine and tempest. Away to the north the timbered plateaus +dropped from level to level like a gigantic stair until they merged with +the horizon-line of the plains. The air on the Blue Mesa was thin and +keen; warm in the sun, yet instantly cool at dusk. A mountain stream, +all but hidden by the grasses, meandered across the mesa to an emerald +hollow of coarse marsh-grass. A few yards from this pool, and on its +southern side, stood the mountain cabin of the Shoop homestead, a roomy +building of logs, its wide, easy-sloping veranda roof covered with +home-made shakes. Near the house was a small corral and stable of logs. +Out on the mesa a thin crop of oats wavered in the itinerant breeze. +Round the cabin was a garden plot that had suffered from want of +attention. Above the gate to the door-yard was a weathered sign on which +was lettered carefully: + + "The rose is red; the violet blue; + Please shut this gate when you come through." + +And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possible +carelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:-- + + "Now you've been in and had your chuck, + Please close this gate, just once, for luck." + +Otherwise the place was like any mountain homestead of the better sort, +viewed from without. The interior of the cabin, however, was unusual in +that it boasted of being the only music-room within fifty miles in any +direction. + +When the genial Bud had been overtaken with the idea of homesteading, he +had had visions of a modest success which would allow him to entertain +his erstwhile cow-puncher companions when they should ride his way. To +this end he had labored with more heart than judgment. + +The main room was large and lighted by two unusually large windows. The +dimensions of the room were ample enough to accommodate a fair number of +dancers. Bud knew that if cowboys loved anything they loved to dance. +The phonograph was so common that it offered no distinction in gracing +Bud's camp; so with much labor and expense he had freighted an upright +piano from the distant railroad, an innovation that at first had stunned +and then literally taken the natives off their feet. Riders from all +over the country heard of Bud's piano, questioned its reality, and +finally made it a point to jog over and see for themselves. + +For a time Bud's homestead was popular. A real piano, fifty miles from +a settlement, was something worth riding far to see. But respect for the +shining veneer of the case was not long-lived. In a moment of +inspiration, a cowboy pulled out his jackknife and carved his home brand +on the shining case. Bud could have said more than he did when he +discovered it. Later another contingent, not to be outdone, followed +this cowboy's incisive example and carved its brand on the piano. +Naturally it became a custom. No visitor in boots and chaps left the +cabin without first having carved some brand. + +Bud suffered in silence, consoling himself with the thought that while +there were many pianos in the lower country, there were none like his. +And "As long as you don't monkey with her works or shoot her up," he +told his friends, "I don't care how much you carve her; only leave +enough sidin' and roof to hold her together." + +Cowboys came, danced long and late as Bud pumped the mechanical player, +and thrilled to the shuffle of high-heeled boots. Contingent after +contingent came, danced, and departed joyously, leaving Bud short on +rations, but happy that he could entertain so royally. Finally the +novelty wore off, and Bud was left with his Airedale, his saddle-ponies, +and the hand-carved piano. + +But Bud had profited by the innovation. An Easterner sojourning with Bud +for a season, had taught him to play two tunes--"Annie Laurie" and +"Dixie." "Real hand-made music," Bud was wont to remark. And with these +tunes at his disposal he was more than content. Many a long evening he +sat with his huge bulk swaying in the light of the hanging lamp as he +wandered around Maxwelton's braes in search of the true Annie Laurie; or +hopped with heavy sprightliness across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, while +Bondsman, the patient Airedale, sat on his haunches and accompanied Bud +with dismal energy. + +Bud was not a little proud of his accomplishment. The player was all +right, but it lacked the human touch. Even when an occasional Apache +strayed in and borrowed tobacco or hinted at a meal, Bud was not above +entertaining the wondering red man with music. And Bud disliked Apaches. + +And during these latter days Bud had had plenty of opportunity to +indulge himself in music. For hours he would sit and gently strike the +keys, finding unexpected harmonies that thrilled and puzzled him. The +discords didn't count. And Bondsman would hunch up close with watchful +eye and one ear cocked, waiting for the familiar strains of "Annie +Laurie" or "Dixie." He seemed to consider these tunes a sort of +accompaniment to his song. If he dared to howl when Bud was +extemporizing, Bud would rebuke him solemnly, explaining that it was not +considered polite in the best circles to interrupt a soloist. And an +evening was never complete without "Annie Laurie," and "Dixie," with +Bondsman's mournful contralto gaming ascendance as the evening +progressed. + +"That dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous," Bud was wont to +remark, as he rose from his labors and prepared for bed. "There I was +huntin' around for that chord I lit on the other night and almost +findin' it, when he has to howl like a coyote with a sore throat and +spile the whole thing. I ought to learned more tunes." + + * * * * * + +It was almost dusk when Lorry topped the trail that led across the Blue +Mesa to Bud's cabin. Gray Leg pricked his ears, and jogged over the wide +level, heading straight for the corral. The cabin was dark. Lorry +hallooed. A horse in the corral answered, nickering shrilly. Lorry found +some loose gramma grass in the stable and threw it to the horse. If this +was Shoop's place, Shoop would not be gone long, or he'd have turned the +horse to graze on the open mesa. + +Lorry entered and lighted the lamp. He gazed with astonishment at the +piano. But that could wait. He was hungry. In a few minutes he had a +fire going, plates laid for two, had made coffee and cut bacon. He was +mixing the dough for hot biscuit when he heard some one ride up. He +stepped to the door. A bulky figure was pulling a saddle from a horse. +Lorry called a greeting. + +"Just a minute, friend," came from the darkness. + +Lorry stepped to the kitchen, and put the biscuit pan in the oven. A +saddle thumped on the veranda, and Bud Shoop, puffing heavily, strode +in. He nodded, filled a basin, and washed. As he polished his bald spot, +his glance traveled from the stove to the table, and thence to Lorry, +and he nodded approval. + +"Looks like you was expectin' comp'ny," he said, smiling. + +"Yep. And chuck's about ready." + +"So am I," said Bud, rubbing his hands. + +"I'm Adams, from Stacey." + +"That don't make me mad," said Bud. "How's things over to your town?" + +"All right, I guess. Mr. Torrance--" + +Bud waved his hand. "Let's eat. Been out since daylight. Them biscuits +is just right. Help yourself to the honey." + +"There's somebody outside," said Lorry, his arm raised to pass the honey +jar. + +"That's my dog, Bondsman. He had to size up your layout, and he's +through and waitin' to size up you. Reckon he's hungry, too. But +business before pleasure is his idea mostly. He's tellin' me to let him +in. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous. When did you +get in?" + +"About sundown." + +"Uh-uh. I seen that your horse hadn't grazed out far yet. How do you +like this country?" + +"Good summer country, all right. Too high for stock in winter." + +"Yes. Four feet of snow on the mesa last winter. When you say 'Arizona' +to some folks, they don't think of snow so deep a hoss can't get from +the woods over there to this cabin." Bud Shoop sighed and rose. "Never +mind them dishes. Mornin' 'll do." + +"Won't take a minute," said Lorry. + +Bud's blue eyes twinkled as he waddled to the living-room. Young Adams +was handy around a kitchen. He had laid plates for two, knew how to +punch dough, was willing to wash the dishes without a hint, and had fed +the horse in the corral. + +"He trots right along, like he knew where he was goin'," Bud said to +himself. "I like his looks--but that ain't always a sign." + +Lorry whistled as he dried the dishes. Bud was seated in a huge armchair +when Lorry entered the room. Shoop seemed to pay no attention to +Bondsman, who whined and occasionally scratched on the door. + +"Funny thing happened this mornin'," said Shoop, settling himself in his +chair. "I was ridin' down the ole Milk Ranch Trail when I looked up and +seen a bobcat lopin' straight for me. The cat didn't see me, but my hoss +stopped, waitin' for me to shoot. Well, that kittycat come right along +till I could 'a' almost roped him. Bondsman--that's my dog--never seen +him, neither, till I hollered. You ought to seen that cat start back +without losin' a jump. I like to fell off the hoss, laughin'. Bondsman +he lit out--" + +"I'll let him in," said Lorry, moving toward the door. + +"--After that cat," continued Shoop, "but the cat never treed, I reckon, +for pretty soon back comes Bondsman, lookin' as disgusted as a hen in a +rainstorm. 'We're gettin' too old,' I tells Bondsman--" + +"Ain't you goin' to let him in?" queried Lorry. + +"--We're gettin' too old to chase bobcats just for fun," concluded +Shoop. "What was you sayin'?" + +"Your dog wants to come in." + +"That's right. Now I thought you was listenin' to me." + +"I was. But ain't he hungry?" + +Shoop chuckled. "Let him in, son." + +Lorry opened the door. Bondsman stalked in, sniffed at Lorry's boots, +and padded to the kitchen. + +"What do you feed him?" said Lorry, hesitating. + +"He won't take nothin' from you," said Shoop, heaving himself up. "I've +had him since he was a pup. You set down and I'll 'tend to him. + +"And I says to him," said Shoop, as he returned to his chair,--"I says, +'Bondsman, that there cat was just passin' the buck to us to see if we +was game.' And he ain't got over it yet." + +"I've roped 'em," said Lorry--"roped 'em out of a tree." + +"Uh-uh. Where'd you learn to rope?" + +"At the Starr Ranch. I worked there once." + +"Git tired of it?" + +"Nope. I had a argument with the foreman." + +"Uh-uh. I reckon it ain't hard to pick a fuss with High Chin." + +"I wasn't lookin' for a fuss. It was his funeral." + +"So I heard; all but the procession." + +"And that's why I came up to see you. Mr. Torrance told me to hunt you +up." + +"He did, eh? Well, now, John sure gets queer idees. I don't need a man +round here." + +"I was after a job in the Service." + +"And he sends you to me. Why, I ain't ever worked a day for the +Service." + +"I guess he wanted you to look me over," said Lorry, smiling. + +"Well, they's lots of time, 'less you're in a hurry." + +"If I can't get in the Service, I'll look up a job punchin'," said +Lorry. "I got to get somethin'." + +Bondsman stalked in, licking his chops. He nuzzled Shoop's hand. Lorry +snapped his fingers. Bondsman strode to him. Lorry patted his knee. The +big dog crouched and sprang to Lorry's knees, where he sat, studying him +quizzically, his head to one side, his keen eyes blinking in the +lamplight. Lorry laughed and patted the dog. + +"He's trying to get my number," said Lorry. + +"He's got it," said Shoop. "You could 'a' snapped your fingers off afore +he'd 'a' come nigh you, 'less he wanted to. And while we're talkin' +about it, you can tell John Torrance I said to give you a try." + +Lorry sat up quickly. "Guess you didn't know that Buck Hardy is lookin' +for me," said Lorry. "Mr. Torrance says I got to square myself with Buck +afore I get the job." + +"He did, eh? Well, speakin' of Buck, how would you like to hear a little +talk from a real music-box?" + +"Fine!" + +Shoop waddled to the piano. "I ain't no reg'lar music sharp," he +explained unnecessarily, "but I got a couple of pieces broke to go +polite. This here piano is cold-mouthed, and you got to rein her just +right or she'll buffalo you. This here piece is 'Annie Laurie.'" + +As Bud struck the first note, Bondsman leaped from Lorry's knees and +took his place beside the piano. The early dew had just begun to fall +when Bondsman joined in. Lorry grinned. The dog and his master were +absolutely serious in their efforts. As the tune progressed, Lorry's +grin faded, and he sat gazing intently at the huge back of his host. + +"Why, he's playin' like he meant it," thought Lorry. "And folks says Bud +Shoop was a regular top-hand stem-winder in his day." + +Shoop labored at the piano with nervous care. When he turned to Lorry +his face was beaded with sweat. + +"I rode her clean through to the fence," he said, with a kind of +apologetic grin. "How did you like that piece?" + +"I always did like them old tunes," replied Lorry. "Give us another." + +Shoop's face beamed. "I only got one more that I can get my rope on. But +if you can stand it, I can. This here one is 'Dixie.'" + +And Bud straightened his broad shoulders, pushed back his sleeves, and +waded across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, hitting the high spots with +staccato vehemence, as though Dixie had recently suffered from an +inundation and he was in a hurry to get to dry land. Bondsman's moody +baritone reached up and up with sad persistency. + +Lorry was both amused and astonished. Shoop's intensity, his real love +for music, was a revelation. Lorry felt like smiling, yet he did not +smile. Bud Shoop could not play, but his personality forced its own +recognition, even through the absurd medium of an untutored performance +on that weird upright piano. Lorry began to realize that there was +something more to Bud Shoop than mere bulk. + +Bud swung round, puffing. "I got that tune where I can keep her in sight +as long as she lopes on the level. But when she takes to jumpin' stumps +and makin' them quick turns, I sure have to do some hard ridin' to keep +her from losin' herself. Me and Bondsman's been worryin' along behind +them two tunes for quite a spell. I reckon I ought to started in +younger. But, anyhow, that there piano is right good comp'ny. When I +been settin' here alone, nights, and feelin' out her paces, I get so het +up and interested that I don't know the fire's out till Bondsman takes +to shiverin' and whinin' and tellin' me he'd like to get some sleep +afore mornin'." + +And Bondsman, now that the music had stopped, stalked to Lorry and eyed +him with an expression which said plainly: "It's his weak spot--this +music. You will have to overlook it. He's really a rather decent sort of +person." + +"I got a mechanical player in the bedroom," said Shoop. "And a reg'lar +outfit of tunes for dances." + +Lorry was tempted to ask to hear it, but changed his mind. "I've heard +them players. They're sure good for a dance, but I like real playin' +better." + +Bud Shoop grinned. "That's the way with Bondsman here. Now he won't open +his head to one of them paper tunes. I've tried 'em all on him. You +can't tell me a dog ain't got feelin's." + + + + +Chapter XV + + +_John and Demijohn_ + +The grass on the high mesa was heavy with dew when Lorry stepped from +the cabin next morning. His pony, Gray Leg, stood close to the corral, +where Shoop's horses were playfully biting at him over the bars. Lorry +unhobbled Gray Leg and turned Shoop's horses out to water. The three +ponies trotted to the water-hole, sniffed at the water, and, whirling, +raced across the mesa, pitching and kicking in the joy of liberation. + +After breakfast Bud and Lorry sat out in the sun, enjoying the slow +warmth. The morning air was still keen in the shade. Bondsman lay +between them, watching the distant horses. + +"He won't let 'em get far into the timber," said Shoop. "He sure saves +me a lot of steps, roundin' up them hosses." + +"I can whistle Gray Leg to me," said Lorry. "Then the other horses'll +come." + +Shoop nodded. "What you goin' to do to-day?" + +"Me? Well, it's so kind of quiet and big up here I feel like settin' +around and takin' it all in. I ain't been in the high country much. +'Course I don't aim to camp on you." + +"You're sure welcome," said Shoop heartily. "It gets lonesome up here. +But if you ain't got no reg'lar plan I was thinkin' of ridin' over to +Sheep Crossin'--and mebby on down to Jason." + +"Suits me fine!" + +Shoop heaved himself up. Lorry whistled shrilly. Gray Leg, across the +mesa, raised his head. Lorry whistled again. The pony lowered his head +and nipped at the bunch-grass as he moved slowly toward the house. +Shoop's horses watched him, and finally decided that they would follow. +Gray Leg stopped just out of reach. + +"Get in the corral, there!" said Lorry, waving his arm. + +The pony shied and trotted into the corral, the other horses following. + +Bondsman was not exactly disgruntled, but he might have been happier. +Shoop had told him to "keep house" until they returned. + +"It's a funny thing," said Shoop as he mounted. "Now, if I was to tell +that dog he was gettin' too old to ramble with me, he'd feel plumb sick +and no account. But when I tell him he's got to do somethin'--like +watchin' the house--he thinks it's a reg'lar job. He's gettin' old, but, +just like folks, he wants to think he's some use. You can't tell me dogs +don't know. Why, I've seen young folks so durned fussy about their +grandmas and grandpas, trying to keep 'em from putterin' around, that +the old folks just nacherally folded their hands and set down and died, +havin' nothin' else to do. And a dog is right proud about bein' able to +do somethin'. Bondsman there keeps me so busy thinkin' of how I can keep +him busy that I ain't got time to shine my boots. That there dog bosses +me around somethin' scandalous." + +"That's right," acquiesced Lorry. "I seen a ole mule once that they +turned loose from a freight wagon because he was too old to pull his own +weight. And that mule just followed the string up and down the hills and +across the sand, doin' his best to tell the skinner that he wanted to +get back into the harness. He would run alongside the other mules, and +try to get back in his old place. They would just naturally kick him, +and he'd turn and try to wallop 'em back. Then he'd walk along, with his +head hangin' down and his ears floppin', as if he was plumb sick of +bein' free and wanted to die. The last day he was too stiff to get on +his feet, so me and Jimmy Harp heaved him up while the skinner was +gettin' the chains on the other mules. That ole mule was sure wabblin' +like a duck, but he come aside his ole place and followed along all day. +We was freightin' in to camp, back in the Horseshoe Hills. You know that +grade afore you get to the mesa? Well, the ole mule pulled the grade, +sweatin' and puffin' like he was pullin' the whole load. And I guess he +was, in his mind. Anyhow, he got to the top, and laid down and died. +Mules sure like to work. Now a horse would have fanned it." + +Shoop nodded. "I never seen a animile too lazy to work if it was only +gettin' his grub and exercise. But I've seen a sight of folks too lazy +to do that much. Why, some folks is so dog-gone no account they got to +git killed afore folks ever knowed they was livin'. Then they's some +folks so high-chinned they can't see nothin' but the stars when they'd +do tol'able well if they would follow a good hoss or a dog around and +learn how to live human. But this ain't gettin' nowhere, and the sun's +keepin' right along doin' business." + +They rode across the beautiful Blue Mesa, and entered the timberlands, +following a ranger trail through the shadowy silences. At the lower +level, they came upon another mesa through which wound a mountain +stream. And along a stream ran the trail, knee-high in grass on either +side. + +Far below them lay the plains country, its hazy reaches just visible +over the tree-tops. Where the mountain stream merged with a deeper +stream the ground was barren and dotted with countless tracks of cattle +and sheep. This was Sheep Crossing, a natural pass where the cattlemen +and sheepmen drifted their stock from the hills to the winter +feeding-grounds of the lower country. It was a checking point for the +rangers; the gateway to the hills. + +The thin mountain air was hot. The unbridled ponies drank eagerly, and +were allowed to graze. The men moved over to the shade of a blue-topped +spruce. As Lorry was about to sit down he picked an empty whiskey bottle +from the grass, turned the label toward Shoop, and grinned. He tossed +the bottle into the edge of the timber. + +Shoop rolled a cigarette, and Lorry squatted beside him. Presently +Shoop's voice broke the indolent silence of noon: "Just why did you +chuck that bottle over there?" + +"I don't know. Horse might step on it and cut himself." + +"Yes. But you chucked it like you was mad at somethin'. Would you thrun +it away if it was full?" + +"I don' know. I might 'a' smelt of it to see if it was whiskey or +kerosene some herder forgot." + +"It's right curious how a fella will smell of a bottle to see what's in +it or what's been in it. Most folks does that. I guess you know what +whiskey smells like." + +"Oh, some; with the boys once or twice. I never did get to like it right +well." + +Shoop nodded. "I ain't what you'd call a drinkin' man myself, but I +started out that way. I been tol'able well lit up at times. But +temperance folks what never took a drink can tell you more about whiskey +than I can. Now that there empty bottle, a hundred and thirty miles from +a whiskey town, kind of set me thinkin'." + +Lorry leaned back against the spruce and watched a hawk float in easy +circles round the blue emptiness above. He felt physically indolent; at +one with the silences. Shoop's voice came to him clearly, but as though +from a distance, and as Shoop talked Lorry visualized the theme, +forgetting where he was in the vivid picture the old ex-cowboy sketched +in the rough dialect of the range. + +"I've did some thinkin' in my time, but not enough to keep me awake +nights," said Shoop, pushing back his hat. "That there whiskey bottle +kind of set me back to where I was about your years and some lively. +Long about then I knowed two fellas called 'John' and 'Demijohn.' John +was young and a right good cow-hand. Demijohn was old, but he was always +dressed up like he was young, and he acted right lively. Some folks +thought he was young. They met up at a saloon down along the Santa Fé. +They got acquainted, and had a high ole time. + +"That evenin', as John was leavin' to go back to the ranch, Demijohn +tells him he'll see him later. John remembers that. They met up ag'in. +And finally John got to lookin' for Demijohn, and if he didn't show up +reg'lar John would set out and chase Demijohn all over the country, +afoot and ahorseback, and likin' his comp'ny more every time they met. + +"Now, this here Demijohn, who was by rights a city fella, got to takin' +to the timber and the mesas, with John followin' him around lively. Ole +Demijohn would set in the shade of a tree--no tellin' how he got +there--and John would ride up and light down; when mebby Demijohn would +start off to town, bein' empty, and John after him like hell wasn't hot +enough 'less he sweat runnin'. And that young John would ride clean to +town just to say 'How' to that ole hocus. And it come that John got to +payin' more attention to Demijohn than he did to punchin' cows. Then +come a day when John got sick of chasin' Demijohn all over the range, +and he quit. + +"But the first thing he knowed, Demijohn was a chasin' him. Every time +John rode in and throwed off his saddle there'd be ole Demijohn, settin' +in the corner of the corral or under his bunk or out in the box stall, +smilin' and waitin'. Finally Demijohn got to followin' John right into +the bunk-house, and John tryin' his durndest to keep out of sight. + +"One evenin', when John was loafin' in the bunk-house, ole Demijohn +crawls up to his bunk and asks him, whisperin', if he ain't most always +give John a good time when they met up. John cussed, but 'lowed that +Demijohn was right. Then Demijohn took to pullin' at young John's sleeve +and askin' him to come to town and have a good time. Pretty soon John +gets up and saddles his cayuse and fans it for town. And that time him +and Demijohn sure had one whizzer of a time. But come a week later, when +John gits back to the ranch, the boss is sore and fires him. Then John +gits sore at the boss and at himself and at Demijohn and the whole +works. So he saddles up and rides over to town to have it out with +Demijohn for losin' a good job. But he couldn't lick Demijohn right +there in town nohow. Demijohn was too frequent for him. + +"When young John wakes up next mornin' he is layin' under a tree, mighty +sick. He sees he is up on the high mesa, but he don' know how he got +there; only his pony is grazin' near by, with reins all tromped and the +saddle 'way up on his withers. John sets up and rubs his eyes, and there +he sees ole Demijohn settin' in the grass chucklin' to hisself, and his +back is turned to young John, for he don't care nohow for a fella when +he is sick. Ole Demijohn is always feelin' good, no matter how his +friends feel. Well, young John thinks a while, and pretty soon he moseys +over to a spring and gets a big, cold drink and washes his head, and +feels better. + +"He never knowed that just plain water tasted so good till that mornin'. +Then he sets awhile, smellin' of the clean pine air and listenin' to the +wind runnin' loose in the tree-tops and watchin' the clouds driftin' by, +white and clean and proud-like. Pretty soon he rares up and walks over +to the tree where ole Demijohn sets rockin' up and down and chucklin'. +He takes a holt of Demijohn by the shoulder, and he says: 'You darned +ole hocus, you, I lost my job, and I'm broke, lopin' around this country +with you.' + +"'Forget it!' says ole Demijohn. 'Ain't I good comp'ny?' + +"'Mebby you be--for some folks,' says young John. 'But not for me. You +don't belong up in this here country; you belong back in town, and I +reckon you better fan it.' + +"Ole Demijohn he laughed. 'You can't run me off the range that easy,' he +says. + +"'I can't, eh?' says young John, and he pulls his gun and up and busts +ole Demijohn over the head. Then, bein' a likely young fella, he shuts +his jaw tight and fans it back to the ranch. The fo'man is some +surprised to see him come ridin' up, whistlin' like he owned the works. +Fellas what's fired mostly looks for work some place else. But young +John got the idee that he owed it to hisself to make good where he +started as a cow-hand. 'I busted my ole friend Demijohn over the head,' +he says to the fo'man. 'We ain't friends no more.' + +"The fo'man he grins. 'All right, Jack,' he says. 'But if I see him +hangin' round the corrals ag'in, or in the bunk-house, you needn't to +wait for me to tell you which way is north.' + +"Well, young John had done a good job. 'Course ole Demijohn used to come +sneakin' round in the moonlight, once in a spell, botherin' some of the +boys, but he stayed clear of young John. And young John he took to +ridin' straight and hard and 'tendin' to business. I ain't sayin' he +ever got to be president or superintendent of a Sunday School, for this +ain't no story-book yarn; but he always held a good job when he wanted +it, and he worked for a good boss--which was hisself." + +Lorry grinned as he turned to Shoop. "That ole Demijohn never got close +enough to me to get busted on the head." + +"Them hosses is strayin' down the creek," said Shoop, rising. + +They turned and rode north, somewhat to Lorry's surprise. The trail was +ragged and steep, and led from the mesa to the cañon bottom of the White +River. Before Lorry realized where they were, Jason loomed before them +on the mesa below. + +"She's a quick trail to town in summer," explained Shoop. "Snow hangs +too heavy in the cañon to ride it in winter." + +At Jason they tied their horses, and entered the ranger's office. Lorry +waited while Shoop talked with Torrance in the private office. Presently +Shoop came to the door and gestured to Lorry. + +"Mr. Shoop says he thinks you could qualify for the Service," Torrance +said. "We will waive the matter of recommendations from the Starr +people. But there is one thing I can't do. I can't hire a man who is +wanted by the authorities. There's a deputy sheriff in town with a +warrant for you. That is strictly your affair. If you can square +yourself with the deputy, I'll put you to work." + +"I'll go see what he wants," said Lorry. + +"He wants you. Understand, you'll only jeopardize your chances by +starting a row." + +"They won't be a row," said Lorry. + +When he returned he was accompanied by the deputy. Lorry took his stand +without parley. + +"I want to ask you folks a question, and then I'm through," he asserted. +"Will you listen to what he says and what I say, and then say who is +right?" + +"That might not settle it," said Torrance. "But go ahead." + +"Then all I got to say is, was I right or wrong when I turned that hobo +loose and saved him from gettin' beat up by High Chin and the boys, and +mebby strung up, afore they got through?" + +"Morally you were right," said Torrance. "But you should have appealed +to Sheriff Hardy to guard his prisoner." + +"That's all right, Mr. Torrance. But suppose they wasn't time. And +suppose,--now Buck's deputy is here to listen to it,--suppose I was to +say that Buck is scared to death of High-Chin Bob. Everybody knows it." + +The deputy flushed. He knew that Lorry spoke the truth. + +Torrance turned to Shoop. "What do you think, Bud?" + +Bud coughed and shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Bein' as I'm drug into +this, I say the boy did a good job and he's right about Hardy, which +you can tell him," he added, turning to the deputy. + +"Then that's all I got to say," and Lorry pushed back his hat and +rumpled his hair. + +The deputy was not there to argue. He had been sent to get Lorry. + +"I don't say he ain't right. But how about my job if I ride back to +Stacey with nothin' to show for the trip but my expense card?" + +"Buck Hardy isn't a fool," said Torrance. + +"Oh, hell!" said Lorry, turning to the deputy. "I'll go back with you. +I'm sick of jawin' about the right and the wrong and who's to blame. But +I want to say in company that I'll go just as far as the county line of +this county. You're south of your county. If you can get me across the +line, I'll go on to Stacey." + +Bud Shoop mopped his face with a bandanna. He was not overhot, but he +wanted to hide the grin that spread over his broad countenance. He +imagined he could see the deputy just about the time they arrived at the +county line, and the mental picture seemed to amuse him. + +"The idee is, the kid thinks he's right," said Shoop presently. +"Speakin' personal, I never monkey with a man when he thinks he's +right--and he is." + +"All I got to go by is the law," asserted the deputy. "As for Adams here +sayin' I won't run him in, I got orders to do it, and them orders goes." + +"Adams has applied for a position in the Service," said Torrance. + +"I ain't got anything against Lorry personal," said the deputy. + +"Then just you ride back an' tell Buck Hardy that Bud Shoop says he'll +stand responsible for Adams keepin' the peace in Jason County, same as I +stood responsible for Buck oncet down in the Panhandle. Buck will +remember, all right." + +"Can't you give me a letter to Buck, explainin' things?" queried the +deputy. + +Bud glanced at Torrance. "I think we can," said the supervisor. + +Lorry stepped to the door with the deputy. There was no personal feeling +evident as they shook hands. + +"You could tell ma to send down my clothes by stage," said Lorry. + +Shoop and Torrance seemed to be enjoying themselves. + +"I put in my say," said Bud, "'cause I kind of like the kid. And I +reckon I saved that deputy a awful wallopin'. When a fella like young +Adams talks pleasant and chokes his hat to death at the same time you +can watch out for somethin' to fall." + +"Do you think Adams would have had it out with him?" + +"He'd 'a' rode along a spell, like he said. Mebby just this side of the +county line he'd 'a' told the deputy which way was north. And if the +deputy didn't take the hint, I reckon Adams would 'a' lit into him. I +knowed Adams's daddy afore he married Annie Adams and went to live in +Sonora." + +"Then you knew that his father was Jim Waring?" + +"I sure did. And I reckon I kep' somebody from gettin' a awful +wallopin'. I was a kid oncet myself." + + + + +Chapter XVI + + +_Play_ + + +The installation of Bud Shoop as supervisor of the White Mountain +District was celebrated with an old-fashioned barbecue by the cattlemen +and sheepmen leasing on the reserve. While John Torrance had always +dealt fairly with them, the natives felt that he was more or less of a +theorist in the matter of grazing-leases. Shoop was a practical cowman; +one of themselves. Naturally there was some dissatisfaction expressed by +disgruntled individuals who envied Shoop's good fortune. But this was +overwhelmed by the tide of popular acclaim with which Shoop was hailed +as a just administrator of their grazing-rights. + +The barbecue was a boisterous success. Although the day of large +holdings was past, the event lacked nothing in numbers or enthusiasm. +The man who owned a hundred head of cattle was quite as popular as his +neighbor who owned perhaps eight hundred or a thousand. Outfits +fraternized, ran pony races, roped for prizes, and rode bucking horses, +as their predecessors had raced, roped, and "rode 'em" in the days of +old. + +Lorry, itching to enter the roping contest, was checked by a suggestion +from the genial Bud. + +"I've heard you was top-hand with a rope. But you're a ranger, by the +grace of God and me and John Torrance. Let the boy's play, but don't +play with 'em yet. Keep 'em guessin' just how good you are. Let 'em get +to know you slow--and solid." + +Lorry accepted Bud's advice, and made himself popular with the various +outfits by maintaining a silence when questioned as to how he "put +High-Chin Bob out of business." The story of that affair had had a wide +circulation, and gained interest when it became known that High Chin and +his men were present. Their excuse for coming was only legitimate in +that a barbecue draws no fine lines of distinction. Any one who has a +horse and an appetite is welcome. The Starr riders were from the +northern county, but they would have been quite as welcome had they come +from Alaska. + +Bud Shoop was present in a suit of religiously severe black, his pants +outside his boots. He had donned a white shirt and knotted a black silk +bandanna round his short neck. + +The morning was noisy with pony races, roping contests, and the riding +of pitching horses. The events were not tabulated, but evolved through +the unwritten law of precedent. + +After the noon feast there was talk of a shooting-match. Few of the +local men packed guns, and none of them openly. The Starr riders were +the only exception. This fact was commented upon by some of the +old-timers, who finally accosted Bud with the suggestion that he "show +that Starr outfit what a gun was made for." Bud declined. + +"I ain't had a gun in my hand, except to clean it, since I quit +punchin'," he told them. "And, anyhow, I'm no fancy gun sharp." + +"High Chin and his outfit is sure handin' it to us," complained the +old-timers. "And you're about the only man here who could show 'em." + +"No use provin' it to 'em when they know it," Bud said. + +The committee retired and consulted among themselves. Bud was talking +with a cattleman when they again accosted him. + +"Say, Bud, them Starr boys has cleaned us out on ropin' and racin'. We +trimmed 'em on ridin'. Now that makes two to one, and we're askin' you +as a old-timer if we're goin' to let them fellas ride north a-tellin' +every hay-tosser atween here and Stacey that we're a bunch of jays?" + +"Oh, shucks!" was all Bud had to say. + +"And that High-Chin Bob says he aims to hang young Adams's scalp on his +belt afore he gits through," asserted a townsman. + +"I'll set in the game," said Bud. + +And he waddled across the street to his office. In a few minutes he came +back and mingled with the crowd. The Starr boys were pitching dollars at +a mark when Bud and a companion strolled past. High Chin invited Shoop +to join in the game. Shoop declined pleasantly. + +"Things is runnin' slow," said a Starr man. "Wish I'd 'a' fetched my +music along. Mebby I could git somebody to sing me to sleep." + +Bud laughed. "Have a good time, boys." And he moved on. + +"That was one for you--and yore piano," said his companion. + +"Mebby so. We'll let that rest. I'm lookin' for a friend of mine." And +Shoop edged along the crowd. + +The man that Shoop was looking for was standing alone beneath the shade +of an acacia, watching the crowd. He was a tall, heavy man, +dark-featured, with a silver-gray beard and brown eyes that seemed to +twinkle with amusement even when his lips were grim. The giant sheepman +of the south country was known to every one on account of his great +physique and his immense holdings in land and sheep. Shoop talked with +him for a few minutes. Together they strolled back to the crowd. + +The Starr boys were still pitching dollars when Shoop and the sheepman +approached. + +"Who's top-hand in this game?" queried Shoop genially. + +"High Chin--and at any game you got," said a Starr man. + +"Well, now!" + +"Any game you got." + +Shoop gazed about, saw Lorry, and beckoned to him. + +"Here's my candidate," said Shoop. "He kep' out of the ropin' so as to +give you fellas a chance." And he turned to Lorry. "Give him a whirl," +he said, indicating High Chin. "It's worth a couple of dollars just to +find out how good he is." + +High Chin surveyed the circle of faces, poised a dollar, and threw it. +Lorry threw and lost. High Chin pocketed the two dollars. The Starr boys +grinned. High Chin threw again. The dollar slid close to the line. Lorry +shied his dollar and knocked the other's coin several feet away from the +line. + +"Try him ag'in," said Shoop. + +Lorry tossed again. His dollar dropped on the line. High Chin threw. His +coin clinked squarely on Lorry's, but spun off, leaving it undisturbed. + +"You break even--at that game," said Shoop. "It was a good shot." + +"Folks been sayin' the same of you," said High Chin, turning to the +supervisor. + +"Oh, folks will talk. They're made that way," chuckled Shoop. + +"Well, I got ten bucks that says High Chin can outshoot any hombre in +this crowd," said a Starr boy. + +"I'm right glad you got it," said Shoop pleasantly. + +"Meanin' I stand to lose it, eh?" + +"Oh, gosh, no! You're steppin' on your bridle. I was congratulatin' you +on your wealth." + +"I ain't seen that you been flashin' any money," said the cowboy. + +"Nope. That ain't what money's made for. And I never bet on a sure +thing. Ain't no fun in that." + +The giant sheepman, whose movements were as deliberate as the sun's, +slowly reached in his pocket and drew out a leather pouch. He counted +out forty dollars in gold-pieces. + +"I'll lay it even," he said, his eyes twinkling, "that Bud Shoop can +outshoot any man in the crowd." + +"I'll take ten of that," said the Starr man. + +"And I'll take ten," said another cowboy. + +"John," said Shoop, turning to the sheepman, "you're a perpendicular +dam' fool." + +Word went forth that High-Chin Bob, of the Starr, and Bud Shoop were to +shoot a match for a thousand dollars a side, and some of the more +enthusiastic believed it. In a few minutes the street was empty of all +save the ponies at the hitching-rails. + +In a shallow arroyo back of town the excited throng made wagers and +talked of wonderful shots made by the principals. High Chin was known as +a quick and sure shot. Shoop's reputation was known to fewer of the +crowd. The Starr boys backed their foreman to the last cent. A judge was +suggested, but declined as being of the locality. Finally the giant +sheepman, despite his personal wager, was elected unanimously. He was +known to be a man of absolute fairness, and qualified to judge +marksmanship. He agreed to serve, with the proviso that the Starr boys +or any of High Chin's friends should feel free to question his +decisions. The crowd solidified back of the line, where Shoop and High +Chin stood waiting for the test. + +The marksmen faced two bottles on a rock some thirty paces away. At the +word, each was to "go for his gun" and shoot. High Chin carried his gun +in the usual holster. Bud Shoop's gun was tucked in the waistband of his +pants. + +"Go!" said the sheepman. + +High Chin's hand flashed to his hip. His gun jumped and spoke. Shoop's +wrist turned. Both bottles were shattered on the instant. A tie was +declared. + +The men were placed with their backs toward the targets--two empty +bottles. The sheepman faced them, with his hands behind his back. When +he snapped his fingers they were to turn and fire. Many of the onlookers +thought this test would leave High Chin a point ahead. + +Both men swung and fired at the signal. Again both bottles were +shattered. Although a tie was again declared, the crowd cheered for +Shoop, realizing his physical handicap. Yet many asserted that High Chin +was the faster man, won to this decision by his lightning speed of +movement and his easy manner, suggesting a kind of contemptuous +indifference to results. + +In contrast to High Chin's swift, careless efficiency, Shoop's solid +poise and lack of elbow motion showed in strong relief. Their methods +were entirely dissimilar. But it was evident to the old-timers that +Shoop shot with less effort and waste motion than his lithe competitor. +And High Chin was the younger man by twenty years. + +Thus far the tests had not been considered difficult. But when the +sheepman stepped off ten paces and faced the competitors with a cigar +held at arm's length, the chattering of the crowd ceased. High Chin, as +guest, was asked to shoot first. He raised his gun. It hung poised for a +second. As it jumped in his hand the ash flirted from the end of the +cigar. The crowd stamped and cheered. Shoop congratulated High Chin. The +crowd hooted and called to Shoop to make good. Even as they called, his +hand flashed up. Hardly had the report of his gun startled them to +silence when they saw that his hands were empty. A roar of laughter +shook the crowd. Some one pointed toward the sheepman. The laughter died +down. He held a scant two inches of cigar in his fingers. Then they +understood, and were silent again. They gathered round the sheepman. He +held up his arms. Shoop's bullet had nipped the cigar in two before they +had realized that he intended to shoot. + +"You're havin' the luck," said High. + +"You're right," said Shoop. "And luck, if she keeps steady gait, is just +as good a hoss to ride as they is." + +Still, there were those who maintained that Shoop had made a chance +hit. But High Chin knew that this was not so. He had met his master at +the six-gun game. + +Bud Shoop's easy manner had vanished. As solid as a rock, his lips in a +straight line, he waited for the next test while High Chin talked and +joked with the bystanders. + +"You'll shoot when you see something to shoot at," was the sheepman's +word. The crowd laughed. He stood behind the marksmen, a tin can in each +hand. Both High Chin and Shoop knew what was coming, and Shoop decided +to surprise the assemblage. The main issue was not the shooting contest, +and if High-Chin Bob had not already seen enough of Shoop's work to +satisfy him, the genial Bud intended to clinch the matter right there. + +Without warning, the sheepman tossed the cans into the air. Shoop and +High Chin shot on the instant. But before High Chin's can touched the +ground Shoop shot again. It was faster work than any present had ever +seen. A man picked up the cans and brought them to the sheepman. One can +had a clean hole in it. The other had two holes through it. Those +nearest the marksmen wondered why Shoop had not shot twice at his own +can. But the big sheepman knew that Shoop had called High Chin's bluff +about "any game going." + +Even then the match was a tie so far as precedent demanded. Each man +had made a hit on a moving target. + +The crowd had ceased to applaud. + +"How about a try from the saddle?" suggested High Chin. + +"I reckon I look just as fat and foolish settin' in a saddle as +anywhere," said Shoop. + +The crowd shuffled over to a more open spot, on the mesa. Shoop and High +Chin mounted their horses. A tin cracker box was placed on a flat rock +out in the open. + +The men were to reload and shoot at top speed as they rode past the box. +The Starr foreman immediately jumped his pony to a run, and, swaying +easily, threw a shot at the box as he approached it, another and another +when opposite, and, turning in the saddle, fired his three remaining +shots. The box was brought back and inspected. The six shots had all +hit. + +Shoop, straight and solid as a statue, ran his pony down the course, but +held his fire until almost opposite the box. Then six reports rippled +out like the drawing of a stick quickly across a picket fence. It was +found that the six shots had all hit in one side of the box. The +sheepman was asked for a decision. He shook his head and declared the +match a draw. And technically it was a draw. Every one seemed satisfied, +although there was much discussion among individuals as to the relative +merits of the contestants. + +As the crowd dispersed and some of them prepared to ride home, two +horsemen appeared on the northern road, riding toward town. As they drew +nearer Shoop chuckled. Lorry, standing a few paces away, glanced at him. + +The supervisor was talking to Bob Brewster. "High, you're the best I +ever stacked up against, exceptin' one, and it's right curious that he +is just a-ridin' into this powwow. If you want to see what real shootin' +is, get him to show you." + +"I don't know your friend," said High, eyeing the approaching horsemen, +"but he's a beaut if he can outshoot you." + +"Outshoot me? Say, High, that hombre ridin' the big buckskin hoss there +could make us look about as fast as a couple of fence-posts when it +comes to handlin' a gun. And his pardner ain't what you'd call slow." + +High Chin's lean face darkened as he recognized Waring riding beside a +gaunt, long-legged man whose gray eyes twinkled as he surveyed the +little group. + +"Pat--and Jim Waring," muttered Shoop. "And us just finished what some +would call a ole-time shootin'-bee!" + +"Who's your friend?" queried High Chin, although he knew. + +"Him? That's Jim Waring, of Sonora. And say, High, I ain't his +advertisin' agent, but between you and me he could shoot the fuzz out of +your ears and never as much as burn 'em. What I'm tellin' you is +first-class life insurance if you ain't took out any. And before you go +I just want to pass the word that young Adams is workin' for _me_. +Reckon you might be interested, seein' as how he worked for you a +spell." + +High Chin met Shoop's gaze unblinkingly. He was about to speak when Pat +and Waring, rode up and greeted the supervisor. High Chin wheeled his +horse and loped back to town. A few minutes later he and his men rode +past. To Shoop's genial wave of farewell they returned a whoop that +seemed edged with a vague challenge. + +Pat, who was watching them, asked Shoop who the man was riding the +pinto. + +"Why, that's High-Chin Bob Brewster, Starr fo'man. He's kind of a wild +bird. I reckon he came over here lookin' for trouble. He's been walkin' +around with his wings and tail spread like he was mad at somethin'." + +"I thought I knew him," said Pat. And he shrugged his shoulders. + +Shoop noticed that Waring was gazing at Pat in a peculiar manner. He +attached no significance to this at the time, but later he recalled the +fact that there had been trouble between Pat and the Brewster boys some +years ago. The Brewsters had then openly threatened to "get Pat if he +ever rode north again." + + + + +Chapter XVII + + +_Down the Wind_ + +Waring, several miles out from the home shack, on the new range, sat his +horse Dexter, watching his men string fence. They ran the barbed wire +with a tackle, stringing it taut down the long line of bare posts that +twinkled away to dots in the west. Occasionally Waring rode up and +tested the wire with his hand. The men worked fast. Waring and Pat had +picked their men; three husky boys of the high country who considered +stringing fence rather pleasant exercise. There was no recognized +foreman. Each knew his work, and Waring had added a foreman's pay to +their salaries, dividing it equally among them. Later they would look +after the ranch and the cattle. + +Twenty thousand acres under fence, with plenty of water, would take care +of eight hundred or a thousand head of cattle. And as a provision +against a lean winter, Waring had put a mowing-machine in at the eastern +end of the range, where the bunch-grass was heavy enough to cut. It +would be necessary to winter-feed. Four hundred white-faced Herefords +grazed in the autumn sunshine. Riding round and among them leisurely was +the Mexican youth, Ramon. + +Backed against a butte near the middle of the range was the broad, +low-roofed ranch-house. A windmill purred in the light breeze, its lean, +flickering shadow aslant the corrals. The buildings looked new and raw +in contrast to the huge pile of grayish-green greasewood and scrub cedar +gathered from the clearing round them. + +In front of the house was a fenced acre, ploughed and harrowed to a dead +level. This was to be Pat's garden, wherein he had planned to grow all +sorts of green things, including cucumbers. At the moment Pat was +standing under the veranda roof, gazing out across the ranch. The old +days of petty warfare, long night rides, and untold hardships were past. +Next spring his garden would bloom; tiny green tendrils would swell to +sturdy vines. Corn-leaves would broaden to waving green blades shot with +the rich brown of the ripening ears. Although he had never spoken of it, +Pat had dreamed of blue flowers nodding along the garden fence; +old-fashioned bachelor's-buttons that would spring up as though by +accident. But he would have to warn Waco, the erstwhile tramp, not to +mistake them for weeds. + +"Peace and plenty," muttered Pat, smiling to himself. "The Book sure +knows how to say those things." + +The gaunt, grizzled ex-sheriff reached in his vest for a cigar. As he +bit the end off and felt for a match, he saw a black speck wavering in +the distance. He shaded his eyes with his hand. + +"'Tain't a machine," he said. "And it ain't a buckboard. Some puncher +lookin' for a job, most likely." + +He turned and entered the house. Waco, shaven and in clean shirt and +overalls, was "punching dough" in the kitchen. + +"Did Jim say when he would ride in?" queried Pat. + +"About sundown. I fixed 'em up some chuck this morning. Jim figures +they're getting too far out to ride in every noon." + +"Well, when you get your bread baked we'll take a whirl at those +ditches. How are the supplies holding out?" + +"We're short on flour. Got enough to last over till Monday. Plenty bacon +and beans and lard." + +"All right. We'll hook up to-morrow and drive in." + +Waco nodded as he tucked a roll of dough into the pan. Pat watched him +for a moment. Waco, despite his many shortcomings, could cook, and, +strangely enough, liked to putter round the garden. + +Picked up half-starving on the mesa road, near St. Johns, he had been +brought to the ranch by Pat, where a month of clean air and industry had +reshaped the tramp to something like a man. Both Pat and Waring knew +that the hobo was wanted in Stacey. They had agreed to say nothing about +the tramp's whereabouts just so long as he made himself useful about +the ranch. They would give him a chance. But, familiar with his kind, +they were mildly skeptical as to Waco's sincerity of purpose. If he took +to drinking, or if Buck Hardy heard of his whereabouts, he would have to +go. Meanwhile, he earned his keep. He was a good cook, and a good cook, +no matter where or where from, is a power in the land. + +As Waco closed the oven door some one hallooed. Pat stepped to the +veranda. A cowboy astride a bay pony asked if Waring were around. + +"I can take your message," said Pat. + +"Well, it's for you, I guess. Letter from Buck Hardy." + +"Yes, it's for me," said Pat. "Who sent you?" + +"Hardy. Said something about you had a man down here he wanted." + +"All right. Stay for chuck?" + +"I got to git back. How's things down this way?" + +"Running on time. Just tell Buck I'll be over right soon." + +"To-day?" + +Pat's gray eyes hardened. "Buck tell you to ask me that?" + +"Well--no. I was just wonderin'." + +"Then keep right on wondering," said Pat. "You got your answer." + +The cowboy swung up and rode off. "To hell with him!" he said. "Thinks +he can throw a scare into me because he's got a name for killin'. To +hell him!" + +Pat climbed the hill back of the house and surveyed the glimmering +levels. + +"Wish Jim would ride in. Funny thing--Hardy sending a Starr boy with +word for me. But perhaps the kid was riding this way, anyhow." + +Pat shook his head, and climbed slowly down to the house. Waco was busy +in the kitchen when he came in. + +After the noon meal, Pat again climbed the hill. He seemed worried about +something. When he returned he told Waco to hitch the pintos to the +buckboard. + +"Get your coat," he told Waco. "We're going over to Stacey." + +Waco's hands trembled. "Say, boss, if you don't mind--" + +"Get your coat. I'll talk to Buck. You needn't to worry. I'll square you +with Buck. We can use you here." + +Waco did as he was told. They drove out of the yard. Waco leaped down +and closed the gate. + +The pintos shook themselves into the harness and trotted down the +faintly marked new road. The buckboard swayed and jolted. Something +rubbed against Waco's hip. He glanced down and saw Pat's gun on the seat +between them. Pat said nothing. He was thinking hard. The cowboy +messenger's manner had not been natural. The note bore the printed +heading of the sheriff's office. Perhaps it was all right. And if it +were not, Pat was not the man to back down from a bluff. + +Several miles out from the ranch ran the naked posts of the line fence. +Pat reined in the ponies and gazed up and down the line. A mile beyond, +the ranch road merged with the main-traveled highway running east and +west. He spoke to the horses. They broke into a fast trot. Waco, +gripping the seat, stared straight ahead. Why had Pat laid that gun on +the seat? + +A thin, gray veil drifted across the sun. From the northwest a light +wind sprang up and ran across the mesa, whipping the bunch-grass. The +wind grew heavier, and with it came a fine, dun-colored dust. An hour +and the air was thick with a shifting red haze of sand. The sun glowed +dimly through the murk. + +Waco turned up his coat-collar and shivered. The air was keen. The +ponies fought the bit, occasionally breaking into a gallop. Pat braced +his feet and held them to a trot. A weird buzzing came down the wind. +The ponies reared and took to the ditch as a machine flicked past and +drummed away in the distance. + +To Waco, rigid and staring, the air seemed filled with a kind of +hovering terror, a whining threat of danger that came in bursts of +driving sand and dwindled away to harsh whisperings. He stood it as +long as he could. Pat had not spoken. + +[Illustration: A huddled shape near a boulder] + +Waco touched his arm. "I got a hunch," he said hoarsely,--"I got a hunch +we oughta go back." + +Pat nodded. But the ponies swept on down the road, their manes and tails +whipping in the wind. Another mile and they slowed down in heavy sand. +The buckboard tilted forward as they descended the sharp pitch of an +arroyo. Unnoticed, Pat's gun slipped to the floor of the wagon. + +In the arroyo the wind seemed to have died away, leaving a startled +quietness. It still hung above them, and an occasional gust filled their +eyes with grit. Waco drew a deep breath. The ponies tugged through the +heavy sand. + +Without a sound to warn them a rider appeared close to the front wheel +of the buckboard. Waco shrank down in sodden terror. It was the Starr +foreman, High-Chin Bob. Waco saw Pat's hand flash to his side, then +fumble on the seat. + +"I'm payin' the Kid's debt," said High Chin, and, laughing, he threw +shot after shot into the defenseless body of his old enemy. + +Waco saw Pat slump forward, catch himself, and finally topple from the +seat. As the reins slipped from his fingers the ponies lunged up the +arroyo. Waco crouched, clutching the foot-rail. A bullet hummed over his +head. Gaining the level, the ponies broke into a wild run. The red wind +whined as it drove across the mesa. The buckboard lurched sickeningly. +A scream of terror wailed down the wind as the buckboard struck a +telegraph pole. A blind shock--and for Waco the droning of the wind had +ceased. + +Dragging the broken traces, the ponies circled the mesa and set off at a +gallop toward home. At the side of the road lay the splintered +buckboard, wheels up. And Waco, hovering on the edge of the black abyss, +dreamed strange dreams. + + * * * * * + +Waring, riding in with the crew, found the ranch-house deserted and the +pinto ponies dragging the shreds of a broken harness, grazing along the +fence. Waring sent a man to catch up the team. Ramon cooked supper. The +men ate in silence. + +After supper Waring changed his clothes, saddled Dex, and packed some +food in the saddle-pockets. "I am going out to look for Pat," he told +one of his men. "If Waco shows up, keep him here till I get back. Those +horses didn't get away from Pat. Here's a signed check. Get what you +need and keep on with the work. You're foreman till I get back." + +"If there's anything doing--" began the cowboy. + +"I don't know. Some one rode in here to-day. It was along about noon +that Pat and Waco left. The bread was baked. I'd say they drove to town +for grub; only Pat took his gun--without the holster. It looks bad to +me. If anything happens to me, just send for Lorry Adams at the Ranger +Station." + +Waring rode out, looking for tracks. His men watched him until he had +disappeared behind a rise. Bender, the new foreman, turned to his +fellows. + +"I'd hate to be the man that the boss is lookin' for," he said, shaking +his head. + +"Why, he's lookin' for Pat, ain't he?" queried one of the men. + +"That ain't what I mean," said the foreman. + + * * * * * + +The wind died down suddenly. The sun, just above the horizon, glowed +like a disk of burnished copper. The wagon ruts were filled with fine +sand. Waring read the trail. The buckboard had traveled briskly. It had +stopped at the line. The tracks of the fretting ponies showed that +clearly. Alongside the tracks of the ponies were the half-hidden tracks +of a single horse. Waring glanced back at the sun, and put Dex to a +lope. He swung into the main road, his gaze following the +half-obliterated trail of the single horseman. Suddenly he reined up. +The horseman had angled away from the road and had ridden north across +the open country. He had not gone to Stacey. Waring knew that the +horseman had been riding hard. Straight north from where Waring had +stopped was the Starr Ranch. + +He rode on, his heart heavy with a black premonition. The glowing +copper disk was now half-hidden by the western hills. + +At the brink of the arroyo he dismounted. He could see nothing +distinctly in the gloom of its depths. Stooping, he noted the wagon +tracks as he worked on down. His foot struck against something hard. He +fumbled and picked Pat's gun from the sand. Every chamber was loaded. + +"He didn't have a chance." Waring was startled by his own voice. He +thrust the gun in his waistband. The twilight deepened rapidly. Rocks +and ridges in the arroyo assumed peculiar shapes like those of men +crouching; men prone; men with heads up, listening, watching, waiting. +Yet Waring's instinct for hidden danger told him that there was no +living thing in the arroyo--unless--Suddenly he sprang forward and +dropped to his knees beside a huddled shape near a boulder. + +"Pat!" he whispered. + +Then he knew; saw it all as clearly as though he had witnessed it--the +ambushment in the blinding sandstorm; the terror-stricken Waco; the +frightened ponies; the lunging and swaying buckboard. And Pat, left for +dead, but who had dragged himself from the roadway in dumb agony. + +The dole of light from the sinking sun was gone. Waring's hands came +away from the opened shirt shudderingly. He wiped his hands on the sand, +and, rising, ran back to Dex. He returned with a whiskey flask. Pat was +of tough fiber and tremendous vitality. If the spark were still +unquenched, if it could be called back even for a breath, that which +Waring knew, yet wanted to confirm beyond all doubt, might be given in a +word. He raised Pat's head, and barely tilted the flask. The spirit of +the mortally stricken man, perchance loath to leave such a brave +hermitage, winged slowly back from the far shore of dreams. In the black +pit of the arroyo, where death crouched, waiting, life flamed for an +instant. + +Waring felt the limp body stir. He took Pat's big, bony hand in his. + +"Pat!" he whispered. + +A word breathed heavily from the motionless lips. "You, Jim?" + +"Yes! For God's sake, Pat, who did this thing?" + +"Brewster--Bob. Letter--in my coat." + +"I'll get _him_!" said Waring. + +"Shake!" exclaimed the dying man, and the grip of his hand was like +iron. Waring thought he had gone, and leaned closer. "I'm--kind of +tired--Jim. Reckon--I'll--rest." + +Waring felt the other's grip relax. He drew his hand from the stiffening +fingers. A dull pain burned in his throat. He lighted a match, and found +the message that had lured Pat to his death in the other's coat-pocket. +He rose and stumbled up the arroyo to his horse. + +Halfway back to the ranch, and he met Ramon riding hard. "Ride back," +said Waring. "Hook up to the wagon and come to the arroyo." + +"Have you found the Señor Pat?" + +"Yes. He is dead." + +Ramon whirled his pony and pounded away in the darkness. + +Out on the highway two long, slender shafts of light slid across the +mesa, dipped into an arroyo, and climbed skyward as a machine buzzed up +the opposite pitch. The lights straightened again and shot on down the +road, swinging stiffly from side to side. Presently they came to a stop. +In the soft glow of their double radiance lay a yellow-wheeled +buckboard, shattered and twisted round a telegraph pole. The lights +moved up slowly and stopped again. + +A man jumped from the machine and walked round the buckboard. Beneath it +lay a crumpled figure. The driver of the machine ran a quick hand over +the neck and arms of Waco, who groaned. The driver lifted him and +carried him to the car. Stacey lay some twenty miles behind him. He was +bound south. The first town on his way was thirty miles distant. But the +roads were good. He glanced back at the huddled figure in the tonneau. +The car purred on down the night. The long shafts of light lifted over a +rise and disappeared. + +In about an hour the car stopped at the town of Grant. Waco was carried +from the machine to a room in the hotel, and a doctor was summoned. +Waco lay unconscious throughout the night. + +In the morning he was questioned briefly. He gave a fictitious name, and +mentioned a town he had heard of, but had never been in. His horses had +run away with him. + +The man who had picked him up drove away next morning. Later the doctor +told Waco that through a miracle there were no bones broken, but that he +would have to keep to his bed for at least a week. Otherwise he would +never recover from the severe shock to his nervous system. + +And Waco, recalling the horror of the preceding day, twisted his head +round at every footstep in the hall, fearing that Waring had come to +question him. He knew that he had done no wrong; in fact, he had told +Pat that they had better drive back home. But a sense of shame at his +cowardice, and the realization that his word was as water in evidence, +that he was but a wastrel, a tramp, burdened him with an aching desire +to get away--to hide himself from Waring's eyes, from the eyes of all +men. + +He kept telling himself that he had done nothing wrong, yet fear shook +him until his teeth chattered. What could he have done even had he been +courageous? Pat had had no chance. + +He suffered with the misery of indecision. Habit inclined him to flee +from the scene of the murder. Fear of the law urged him. Three nights +after he had been brought to Grant, he dressed and crept down the back +stairs, and made his way to the railroad station. Twice he had heard the +midnight freight stop and cut out cars on the siding. He hid in the +shadows until the freight arrived. He climbed to an empty box-car and +waited. Trainmen crunched past on the cinders. A jolt and he was swept +away toward the west. He sank into a half sleep as the iron wheels +roared and droned beneath him. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + +_A Piece of Paper_ + +In the little desert hotel at Stacey, Mrs. Adams was singing softly to +herself as she moved about the dining-room helping Anita clear away the +breakfast dishes. Mrs. Adams had heard from Lorry. He had secured a +place in the Ranger Service. She was happy. His letter had been filled +with enthusiasm for the work and for his chief, Bud Shoop. This in +itself was enough to make her happy. She had known Bud in Las Cruces. He +was a good man. And then--Jim had settled down. Only last week he had +ridden over and told her how they were getting on with the work at the +ranch. He had hinted then that he had laid his guns away. Perhaps he had +wanted her to know _that_ more than anything else. She had kissed him +good-bye. His gray eyes had been kind. "Some day, Annie," he had said. +Her face flushed as she recalled the moment. + +A boot-heel gritted on the walk. She turned. Waring was standing in the +doorway. His face was set and hard. Involuntarily she ran to him. + +"What is it, Jim? Lorry?" + +He shook his head. She saw at once that he was dressed for a long ride +and that--an unusual circumstance--a gun swung at his hip. He usually +wore a coat and carried his gun in a shoulder holster. But now he was +in his shirt-sleeves. A dread oppressed her. He was ready on the instant +to fight, but with whom? Her eyes grew big. + +"What is it?" she whispered again. + +"The Brewster boys got Pat." + +"Not--they didn't kill him!" + +Waring nodded. + +"But, Jim--" + +"In the Red Arroyo on the desert road. I found him. I came to tell you." + +"And you are going--" + +"Yes. I was afraid this would happen. Pat made a mistake." + +"But, Jim! The law--the sheriff--you don't have to go." + +"No," he said slowly. + +"Then why do you go? I thought you would never do that again. +I--I--prayed for you, Jim. I prayed for you and Lorry. I asked God to +send you back to me with your two hands clean. I told Him you would +never kill again. Oh, Jim, I wanted you--here! Don't!" she sobbed. + +He put his arm round her shoulders. Stooping, he kissed her. + +"You are going?" she asked, and her hands dropped to her sides. + +"Yes; I told Pat I would get Brewster. Pat went out with his hand in +mine on that word. My God, Annie, do you think I could ride back to the +ranch and face the boys or sleep nights with Pat's hand reaching for me +in the dark to remind me of my word? Can't you see where I stand? Do you +think I could look Lorry in the face when he knew that I sat idle while +the man that murdered Pat was riding the country free?" + +"Pat was your friend. I am your wife," said Mrs. Adams. + +Waring's lips hardened. "Pat's gone. But I'm calling myself his friend +yet. And the man that got him is going to know it." + +Before she could speak again Waring was gone. + +She dropped to a chair and buried her face in her arms. Anita came to +her and tried to comfort her. But Mrs. Adams rose and walked to the +office doorway. She saw Waring riding down the street. She wanted to +call out to him, to call him back. She felt that he was riding to his +death. If he would only turn! If he would only wave his hand to show +that he cared--But Waring rode on, straight and stern, black hate in his +heart, his free hand hollowed as though with an invisible vengeance that +was gone as he drew his fingers tense. + +He rode north, toward the Starr Ranch. He passed a group of riders +drifting some yearlings toward town. A man spoke to him. He did not +reply. + +And as he rode he heard a voice--the Voice of his desert wanderings, the +Voice that had whispered to him from the embers of many a night fire in +the Southern solitudes. Yet there, was this difference. That voice had +been strangely dispassionate, detached; not the voice of a human being. +But now the Voice was that of his friend Pat softly reiterating: "Not +this way, Jim." + +And Waring cursed. His plan was made. He would suffer no interference. +If Brewster were at the Starr Ranch, he would question him first. If he +were not, there would be no questioning. Waring determined to trail him. +If Brewster had left that part of the country, that would prove his +guilt. + +Waring knew that Hardy and his men had ridden south, endeavoring to find +some clue to the murderer's whereabouts. Waring, guided by almost +absolute knowledge, rode in the opposite direction and against a keen +instinct that told him High-Chin Bob was not at the ranch. Yet Waring +would not overlook the slightest chance. Brewster was of the type that +would kill a man in a quarrel and ride home, depending on his nerve and +lack of evidence to escape punishment. + +The Voice had said, "Not this way, Jim." And Waring knew that it had +been the voice of his own instinct. Yet a stubborn purpose held him to +his course. There was one chance in a thousand that Bob Brewster was at +the ranch and would disclaim all knowledge of the shooting. + +Starr was away when Waring arrived. Mrs. Starr made Waring welcome, and +told him that her husband would be in that evening. He was out with one +of his men running a line for a new fence. The old days of open range +were past. And had Mr. Waring heard that Pat had been killed? Buck Hardy +was out searching for the murderer. Did Mr. Waring know of a likely +foreman? Bob Brewster had left suddenly. Jasper--her husband--was not +well: had the rheumatics again. He could hardly walk--and his foreman +had left. "Things always happened that way." + +Mrs. Starr paused for lack of breath. + +"When did Brewster leave, Mrs. Starr?" + +"Why, the last Jasper seen of him was Wednesday morning. Jasper is +worried. I'm right glad you rode over. He'll be glad to see you." + +"Do you mind if I look over the horses in your corral?" + +"Goodness, no! I'll have Sammy go with you--" + +"Thanks; but I'd rather you said nothing to the boys." + +"You don't think that Bob--" + +"Mrs. Starr, I wouldn't say so if I knew it. Bob Brewster has friends up +here. I'm looking for one of them." + +"Goodness, Mr. Waring, I hope you don't think any of our boys was mixed +up in that." + +"I hope not. Have you seen Tony or Andy Brewster lately?" + +"Why, no. I--why, yes! Tony and Andy rode over last Sunday. I remember +it was Sunday because Bob was out to the line shack. Tony and Andy hung +around for a while, and then rode out to look for Bob." + +"Well, I'll step over and look at the horses. You say Jasper will be in +this evening?" + +"If he ain't too stiff with rheumatics to ride back." + +Waring walked round the corrals, looking for a pony lame forward and +with half a front shoe gone. Finally he noticed a short-coupled bay that +had not moved when he had waved his arm. Waring climbed through the bars +and cornered the horse. One front shoe was entirely gone, and the pony +limped as Waring turned him loose. + +Mrs. Starr was getting supper when Waring returned to the house. + +"Any of the boys coming in with Jasper?" he queried. + +"Why, nobody except Pete. Pete's been layin' off. He claims his horse +stepped in a gopher hole and threw him. Jasper took him along, feelin' +like he wanted some one on account of his rheumatics. Jasper gets so +stiff ridin' that sometimes he can hardly get on his horse. Mebby you +noticed Pete's pony, that chunky bay in the corral--lame forward." + +"Yes, I noticed that. But that pony didn't step in a gopher hole. He was +ridden down by some one in a hurry to get somewhere. He cast a shoe and +went tender on the rocks." + +Mrs. Starr stared at Waring. + +He shook his head and smiled. "I don't know. I can only guess at it." + +"Well, you'll stay for supper--and you can talk to Jasper. He's +worried." + +"Thank you. And would you mind asking this man Pete in to supper with +us?" + +"I figured to, him being with Jasper and not feeling right well." + +About sundown Starr rode in. Waring helped him from his horse. They +shook hands in silence. The old cattleman knew at once why Waring had +come, but he had no inkling of what was to follow. + +The cowboy, Pete, took care of the horses. A little later he clumped +into the house and took a seat in a corner. Waring paid no attention to +him, but talked with Starr about the grazing and the weather. + +Just before supper Starr introduced Waring. + +The cowboy winced at Waring's grip. "Heard tell of you from the boys," +he said. + +"You want to ride over to our place," said Waring pleasantly. "Pat and I +will show you some pretty land under fence." + +The cowboy's eyelids flickered. How could this man Waring speak of Pat +that way, when he must know that Pat had been killed? Everybody knew +that. Why didn't Mrs. Starr or Starr say something? But Starr was +limping to the table, and Mrs. Starr was telling them to come and have +supper. + +In the glow of the hanging lamp, Starr's lined, grizzled features were +as unreadable as carved bronze. Waring, at his left, sat directly +opposite the cowboy, Pete. The talk drifted from one subject to another, +but no one mentioned the killing of Pat. Waring noted the cowboy's lack +of appetite. + +"I looked over your saddle-stock this afternoon," said Waring. "Noticed +you had a bay out there, white blaze on his nose. You don't want to sell +that pony, do you?" + +"Oh, that's Pete's pony, Baldy," said Mrs. Starr. + +Starr glanced at Waring. The horse Baldy was good enough as cow-ponies +went, but Waring had not ridden over to buy horses. + +"I aim to keep that cayuse," said Pete, swallowing hard. + +"But every man has his price,"--and Waring smiled. "I'll make my offer; +a hundred, cash." + +"Not this evenin'," said the cowboy. + +Waring felt in the pocket of his flannel shirt. "I'll go you one better. +I'll make it a hundred, cash, and this to boot." And his arm +straightened. + +Pete started back. Waring's hand was on the table, the fingers closed. +His fingers slowly opened, and a crumpled piece of paper lay in his +palm. The cowboy's lips tightened. His eyes shifted from Waring to +Starr, and then back again. + +Mrs. Starr, who could not understand the strange silence of the men, +breathed hard and wiped her forehead with her apron. + +"Read it!" said Waring sharply. + +The cowboy took the piece of paper, and, spreading it out, glanced at it +hurriedly. + +"This ain't for me," he asserted. + +"Did you ever see it before?" + +"This? No. What have I got to do with the sheriff's office?" + +"Pete," said Waring, drawing back his hand, "you had better read that +note again." + +"Why, I--Pete can't read," said Mrs. Starr. "He can spell out printed +reading some, but not writing." + +"Then how did you know this paper was from the sheriff's office?" +queried Waring. + +The cowboy half rose. + +"Sit down!" thundered Waring. "Who sent you with a note to Pat last +Wednesday?" + +"Who said anybody sent me?" + +"Don't waste time! I say so. That broken shoe your cayuse cast says so, +for I trailed him from my ranch to the line fence. And you have said so +yourself. This paper is not from the sheriff's office. It's a tax +receipt." + +The cowboy's face went white. + +"Honest, so help me, Mr. Waring, I didn't know the Brewster boys was +after Pat. Bob he give me the paper. Said it was from the sheriff, and +I was to give it to Pat if you weren't around." + +"And if I happened to be around?" + +"I was to wait until you was out with the fence gang--" + +"How did you know I would be out with them?" + +"Bob Brewster told me you would be." + +Waring folded the piece of paper and tore it across. + +"Starr," he said, turning to the old cattleman, "you have heard and seen +what has happened since we sat down." And Waring turned on the cowboy. +"How much did Bob Brewster give you for this work?" + +"I was to get fifty dollars if I put it through." + +"And you put it through! You knew it was crooked. And you call yourself +a man! And you took a letter to Pat that called him out to be shot down +by that coyote! Do you know that Pat's gun was loaded when I found it; +that he didn't have a chance?" + +Waring's face grew suddenly old. He leaned back wearily. + +"I wonder just how you feel?" he said presently. "If I had done a trick +like that I'd take a gun and blow my brains out. God, I'd rather be +where Pat is than have to carry your load the rest of my life! But +you're yellow clean through, and Bob Brewster knew it and hired you. Now +you will take that lame cayuse and ride north just as quick as you can +throw a saddle on him. And when you go,"--and Waring rose and pointed +toward the doorway,--"forget the way back to this country." + +The cowboy shuffled his feet and picked up his hat. Starr got up stiffly +and limped to his room. He came out with a check, which he gave to the +cowboy. + +Waring pushed back his chair as though to step round the table and +follow the cowboy, but he hesitated, and finally sat down. + +"I'm sorry it happened this way, Mrs. Starr," he said. + +"It's awful! And one of our men!" + +"That's not your fault, Mrs. Starr." + +Starr fumbled along the clock shelf, found his pipe, and lighted it. He +sat down near Waring as Mrs. Starr began to clear away the dishes. + +"If I can do anything to help run down that white-livered skunk--" + +"You can, Jasper. Just keep it to yourself that I have been here. Pete +left of his own accord. I don't want the Brewster boys to know I'm out +on their trail." + +Starr nodded and glanced at his wife. "I looked to see you kill him," he +said, gesturing toward the doorway. + +"What! That poor fool? I thought you knew me better, Jasper." + + + + +Chapter XIX + + +_The Fight in the Open_ + +Starr was awakened at midnight by the sound of boot-heels on the +ranch-house veranda. He lighted a lamp and limped to the door. The +lamplight shone on the smooth, young face of a Mexican, whose black +sombrero was powdered with dust. + +"What do you want?" queried Starr. + +"I am look for the Señor Jim. I am Ramon, of his place. From the rancho +I ride to Stacey. He is not there. Then I come here." + +"And you ain't particular about wakin' folks up to tell 'em, either." + +"I would find him," said Ramon simply. + +"What's your business with Jim Waring?" + +"It is that I am his friend. I know that he is ride looking for the men +who killed my patron the Señor Pat. I am Ramon." + +"Uh-uh. Well, suppose you are?" + +"It is not the suppose. I am. I would find Señor Jim." + +"Who said he was here?" + +"The señora at the hotel would think that he was here." + +Starr scratched his grizzled head. Waring had said nothing about the +Mexican. And Starr did not like Mexicans. Moreover, Waring had said to +tell no one that he had been at the Starr Ranch. + +"I don't know where Jim Waring is," said Starr, and, stepping back, he +closed the door. + +Ramon strode to his horse and mounted. All gringos were not like the +Señor Jim. Many of them hated Mexicans. Ah, well, he would ride back to +Stacey. The señora at the cantina was a pleasant woman. She would not +shut the door in his face, for she knew who he was. He would ask for a +room for the night. In the morning he would search for Señor Jim. He +must find him. + +Mrs. Adams answered his knock at the hotel door by coming down and +letting him in. Ramon saw by the office clock that it was past three. +She showed him to a room. + +No, the señor had not been at the Starr Rancho. But he would find him. + +Ramon tiptoed to the open window, and knelt with his arms on the sill. A +falling star streaked the night. + +"And I shall as soon find him as I would find that star," he murmured. +"Yet to-morrow there will be the sun. And I will ask the Holy Mother to +help me. She will not refuse, knowing my heart." + +Without undressing, he flung himself on the bed. As he slept he dreamed; +a strange, vivid dream of the setting sun and a tiny horseman limned +against the gold. The horseman vanished as he rose to follow. If he +were only sure that it was the Señor Jim! The dream had said that the +señor had ridden into the west. In the morning-- + +With the dawn Ramon was up. Some one was moving about in the kitchen +below. Ramon washed and smoothed his long black hair with his hands. He +stepped quietly downstairs. Breakfast was not ready, so he walked to the +kitchen and talked with Anita. + +To her, who understood him as no gringo could, he told of his quest. She +knew nothing of the Señor Jim's whereabouts, save that he had come +yesterday and talked with the señora. Anita admired the handsome young +Mexican, whose face was so sad save when his quick smile lightened the +shadow. And she told him to go back to the ranch and not become +entangled in the affairs of the Americanos. It would be much better for +him so. + +Ramon listened patiently, but shook his head. The Señor Jim had been +kind to him; had given him his life down in the Sonora desert. Was Ramon +Ortego to forget that? + +Mrs. Adams declined to take any money for Ramon's room. He worked for +her husband, and it was at Ramon's own expense that he would make the +journey in search for him. Instead she had Anita put up a lunch for +Ramon. + +He thanked her and rode away, taking the western trail across the +morning desert. + +Thirty miles beyond Stacey, he had news of Waring. A Mexican rancher +had seen the gringo pass late in the evening. He rode a big buckskin +horse. He was sure it must be the man Ramon sought. There was not +another such horse in Arizona. + +Ramon rode on next day, inquiring occasionally at a ranch or crossroad +store. Once or twice he was told that such a horse and rider had passed +many hours ago. At noon he rested and fed his pony. All that afternoon +he rode west. Night found him in the village of Downey, where he made +further inquiry, but without success. + +Next morning he was on the road early, still riding west. No dream had +come to guide him, yet the memory of the former dream was keen. If that +dream were not true, all dreams were lies and prayer a useless ceremony. + +For three days he rode, tracing the Señor Jim from town to town, but +never catching up with him. Once he learned that Waring had slept in the +same town, but had departed before daybreak. Ramon wondered why no dream +had come to tell him of this. + +That day he rode hard. There were few towns on his way. He reined in +when he came to the fork where the southern highway branches from the +Overland Road. The western road led on across the mountains past the +great cañon. The other swept south through cattle land and into the +rough hills beyond which lay Phoenix and the old Apache Trail. He hailed +a buck-board coming down the southern road. The driver had seen nothing +of a buckskin horse. Ramon hesitated, closing his eyes. Suddenly in the +darkness glared a golden sun, and against it the tiny, black silhouette +of a horseman. His dream could not lie. + +Day by day the oval of his face grew narrower, until his cheek-bones +showed prominently. His lips lost their youthful fullness. Only his eyes +were the same; great, velvet-soft black eyes, gently questioning, veiled +by no subtlety, and brighter for the deepening black circles beneath +them. + +The fifth day found him patiently riding west, despite the fact that all +trace of Waring had been lost. Questioned, men shook their heads and +watched him ride away, his lithe figure upright, but his head bowed as +though some blind fate drew him on while his spirit drowsed in stagnant +hopelessness. + +To all his inquiries that day he received the same answer. Finally, in +the high country, he turned and retraced his way. + +A week after he had left Stacey he was again at the fork of the highway. +The southern road ran, winding, toward a shallow valley. He took this +road, peering ahead for a ranch, or habitation of any kind. That +afternoon he stopped at a wayside store and bought crackers and canned +meat. He questioned the storekeeper. Yes, the storekeeper had seen such +a man pass on a big buckskin cayuse several days ago. Ramon thanked him +and rode on. He camped just off the road that evening. In the morning he +set out again, cheered by a new hope. His dream had not lied; only +there should have been another dream to show him the way before he had +come to the fork in the road. + +That afternoon three men passed him, riding hard. They were in their +shirt-sleeves and were heavily armed. Their evident haste caused Ramon +to note their passing with some interest. Yet they had thundered past +him so fast, and in such a cloud of dust, that he could not see them +clearly. + + * * * * * + +Waring, gaunt as a wolf, unshaven, his hat rimmed with white dust, +pulled up in front of the weathered saloon in the town of Criswell on +the edge of the desert. + +He dismounted and stepped round the hitching-rail. His face was lined +and gray. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy. As he strode toward the +saloon door, he staggered and caught himself. Dex shuffled uneasily, +knowing that something was wrong with his master. + +Waring drew his hand across his eyes, and, entering the saloon, asked +for whiskey. As in a dream, he saw men sitting in the back of the place. +They leaned on their elbows and talked. He drank and called for more. +The loafers in the saloon glanced at each other. Three men had just +ridden through town and down into the desert, going over-light for such +a journey. And here was the fourth. They glanced at Waring's boots, his +belt, his strong shoulders, and his dusty sombrero. Whoever he was, he +fitted his clothes. But a man "going in" was a fool to take more than +one drink. The three men ahead had not stopped at the saloon. One of +them had filled a canteen at the tank near the edge of the town. They +had seemed in a great hurry for men of their kind. + +Waring wiped his lips and turned. His eyes had grown bright. For an +instant he glanced at the men, the brown walls spotted with "Police +Gazette" pictures, the barred window at the rear of the room. He drew +out his gun, spun the cylinder, and dropped it back into the holster. + +The stranger, whoever he was, seemed to be handy with that kind of tool. +Well, it was no affair of theirs. The desert had taken care of such +affairs in the past, and there was plenty of room for more. + +From the saloon doorway they saw Waring ride to the edge of town, +dismount, and walk out in the desert in a wide circle. He returned to +his horse, and, mounting, rode at right angles to the course the three +riders had taken. + +One of the men in the doorway spoke. "Thought so," he said with +finality. + +The others nodded. It was not their affair. The desert would take care +of that. + +About the middle of the afternoon, Waring rode down a sandy draw that +deepened to an arroyo. Near the mouth of the arroyo, where it broke off +abruptly to the desert level, he reined up. His horse stood with head +lowered, his gaunt sides heaving. Waring patted him. + +"Not much longer, old boy," he said affectionately. + +With his last burst of strength, the big buckskin had circled the course +taken by the three men, urged by Waring's spur and voice. They were +heading in a direct line across the level just beyond the end of the +arroyo where Waring was concealed. He could not see them, but as usual +he watched Dex's ears. The horse would be aware of their nearness +without seeing them. And Waring dared not risk the chance of discovery. +They must have learned that he was following them, for they had ridden +hard these past few days. Evidently they had been unwilling to chance a +fight in any of the towns. And, in fact, Waring had once been ahead of +them, knowing that they would make for the desert. But that night he had +overslept, and they had passed him in the early hours of morning. + +Slowly Dex raised his head and sniffed. Waring patted him, afraid that +he would nicker. He had dismounted to tighten the cinches when he +thought he heard voices in argument. He mounted again. The men must have +ridden hard to have made such good time. Again he heard voices. The men +were near the mouth of the arroyo. Waring tossed his hat to the ground +and dropped his gauntlets beside his hat. Carefully he wiped his +sweating hands on his bandanna. Dex threw up his head. His nostrils +worked. Waring spoke to him. + +A shadow touched the sand at the mouth of the arroyo. Waring leaned +forward and drove in the spurs. The big buckskin leaped to a run as he +rounded the shoulder of the arroyo. + +The three horsemen, who had been riding close together, spread out on +the instant. Waring threw a shot at the foremost figure even as High +Chin's first shot tore away the front of his shirt. Waring fired again. +Tony Brewster, on the ground, emptied his gun as Waring spurred over +him. Turning in the saddle as he flashed past High Chin, Waring fired at +close range at the other's belt buckle. Out on the levels, Andy +Brewster's horse was running with tail tucked down. Waring threw his +remaining shot at High Chin, and, spurring Dex, stood in his stirrups as +he reloaded his gun. + +The rider ahead was rocking in the saddle. He had been hit, although +Waring could not recall having shot at him. Suddenly the horse went +down, and Andy Brewster pitched to the sand. Waring laughed and reined +round on the run, expecting each instant to feel the blunt shock of a +bullet. High Chin was still sitting his horse, his gun held muzzle up. +Evidently he was not hard hit, or, if he were, he was holding himself +for a final shot at Waring. Behind him, almost beneath his horse, his +brother Tony had raised himself on his elbow and was fumbling with his +empty gun. + +Waring rode slowly toward High Chin. High Chin's hand jerked down. +Waring's wrist moved in answer. The two reports blended in a blunt, +echoless roar. Waring felt a shock that numbed his thigh. High Chin sat +stiffly in the saddle, his hand clasping the horn. He turned and gazed +down at his brother. + +"Thought you got him," said Tony Brewster from the ground. "Sit still +and I'll get him from under your horse." + +Waring knew now that High Chin was hit hard. The foreman had let his gun +slip from his fingers. Waring saw a slight movement just beneath High +Chin's horse. A shock lifted him from the saddle, and he dropped to the +ground as Tony Brewster fired. But there was no such thing as quit just +so long as Waring could see to shoot. Dragging himself to his gun, he +shook the sand from its muzzle. He knew that he could not last long. +Already flecks of fire danced before his eyes. He bit his lip as he +raised himself and drew fine on that black figure beneath High Chin's +horse. The gun jumped in his hand. Waring saw the black figure twitch +and roll over. Then his sight grew clouded. He tried to brush away the +blur that grew and spread. For an instant his eyes cleared. High Chin +still sat upright in the saddle. Waring raised his gun and fired +quickly. As his hand dropped to the sand, High Chin pitched headlong and +lay still. + +Then came a soft black veil that hid the glimmering sun and the wide +desert reaches. + +High Chin, his legs paralyzed by a slug that had torn through his +abdomen and lodged in his spine, knew that he had made his last fight. +He braced himself on his hands and called to his brother Tony. But his +brother did not answer. High Chin's horse had strayed, and was grazing +up the arroyo. The stricken man writhed round, feeling no pain, but +conscious of a horrible numbness across his back and abdomen. + +"When it hits my heart I'm done," he muttered. "Guess I'll go over and +keep Tony company." + +Inch by inch he dragged himself across the sand. Tony Brewster lay on +his back. High Chin touched him; felt of the limp arm, and gazed +curiously at the blue-edged hole in his brother's chest. With awful +labor that brought a clammy moisture to his face, he managed to drag +himself close to his brother and writhe round to a position where he +could sit up, braced against the other's body. He gazed out across the +desert. It had been a fast fight. Waring was done for. High Chin +wondered how long he would last. The sun was near the horizon. It seemed +only a few minutes ago that the sun had been directly overhead and he +and his brothers had been cursing the heat. It was growing cold. He +shivered. A long shadow reached out toward him from the bank of the +arroyo. In a few minutes it would touch him. Then would come night and +the stars. The numbness was creeping toward his chest. He could not +breathe freely. He moved his arms. _They_ were alive yet. He opened and +closed his fingers, gazing at them curiously. It was a strange thing +that a man should die like this; a little at a time, and not suffer much +pain. The fading flame of his old recklessness flared up. + +"I'm goin' across," he said. "But, by God, I'm takin' Jim Waring with +me!" + +He glanced toward the buckskin horse that stood so patiently beside that +silent figure out there. Waring was done for. High Chin blinked. A long +shaft of sunlight spread across the sand, and in the glow High Chin saw +that the horse was moving toward him. He stared for a few seconds. Then +he screamed horribly. + +Waring, his hand gripping the stirrup, was dragging across the sand +beside the horse that stepped sideways and carefully as Waring urged him +on. Dex worked nearer to High Chin, but so slowly that High Chin thought +it was some horrible phantasy sent to awaken fear in his dulled brain. +But that dragging figure, white-faced and terrible--that was real! +Within a few paces of High Chin, Dex stopped and turned his head to look +down at Waring. And Waring, swaying up on his hands, laughed wildly. + +"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun--" He collapsed and lay +still. + +High Chin sat staring dully at the gunman's uncovered head. The horse +sniffed at Waring. High Chin's jaw sagged. He slumped down, and lay +back across the body of his brother. + + * * * * * + +A pathway of lamplight floated out and across the main street of +Criswell. A solitary figure lounged at the saloon bar. The sharp barking +of a dog broke the desert silence. The lounger gazed at the path of +lamplight which framed the bare hitching-rail. His companions of the +afternoon had departed to their homes. Again the dog barked shrilly. The +saloon-keeper moved to a chair and picked up a rumpled paper. + +The lounger, leaning on his elbow, suddenly straightened. He pointed +toward the doorway. The saloon-keeper saw the motion from the corner of +his eye. He lowered his paper and rose. In the soft radiance a riderless +horse stood at the hitching-rail, his big eyes glowing, his ears pricked +forward. Across the horse's shoulder was a ragged tear, black against +the tawny gold of his coat. The men glanced at each other. It was the +horse of the fourth man; the man who had staggered in that afternoon, +asked for whiskey, and who had left as buoyantly as though he went to +meet a friend. + +"They got him," said the saloon-keeper. + +"They got him," echoed the other. + +Together they moved to the doorway and peered out. The man who had first +seen the horse stepped down and tied the reins to the rail. He ran his +hand down the horse's shoulder over muscles that quivered as he +examined the wound. He glanced at the saddle, the coiled rope, the +slackened cinches, and pointed to a black stain on the stirrup leather. + +[Illustration: I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun] + +"From the south," he said. "Maguey rope, and that saddle was made in +Mexico." + +"Mebby he wants water," suggested the saloon-keeper. + +"He's had it. Reins are wet where he drug 'em in the tank." + +"Wonder who them three fellas was?" + +"Don' know. From up north, by their rig. I'm wonderin' who the fourth +fella was--and where he is." + +"Why, he's out there, stiff'nin' on the sand. They's been a fight. And, +believe me, if the others was like him--she was a dandy!" + +"I guess it's up to us to do somethin'," suggested the lounger. + +"Not to-night, Bill. You don't ketch me ridin' into a flash in the dark +before I got time to tell myself I'm a dam' fool. In the mornin', +mebby--" + +Their heads came up as they heard a horse pounding down the road. A lean +pony, black with sweat, jumped to a trembling stop. + +A young Mexican swung down and walked stiffly up to Dex. + +"Where is Señor Jim?" he queried, breathing hard. + +"Don' know, hombre. This his hoss?" + +"Si! It is Dex." + +'Well, the hoss came in, recent, draggin' the reins." + +"Then you have seen him?" + +"Seen who? Who are you, anyway?" + +"Me, I am Ramon Ortego, of Sonora. The Señor Jim is my friend. I would +find him." + +"Well, if your friend sports a black Stetson and a dam' bad eye and +performs with a short-barreled .45, he rode in this afternoon just about +a hour behind three other fellas. They lit out into the dry spot. Reckon +you'll find your friend out there, if the coyotes ain't got to him." + +Ramon limped to the rail and untied Dex. Then he mounted his own horse. + +"Dex," he said softly, riding alongside, "where is the Señor Jim?" + +The big buckskin swung his head round and sniffed Ramon's hand. Then he +plodded down the street toward the desert. At the tank Ramon let his +horse drink. Dex, like a great dog, sniffed the back trail on which he +had come, plodding through the night toward the spot where he knew his +master to be. + +Ramon, burdened with dread and weariness, rode with his hands clasped +round the saddle-horn. The Señor Jim, his Señor Jim, had found those +whom he sought. He had not come back. Ramon was glad that he had filled +the canteen. If the man who had killed his Señor Jim had escaped, he +would follow him even as he had followed Waring. And he would find him. +"And then I shall kill him," said Ramon simply. "He does not know my +face. As I speak to him the Señor Jim's name I shall kill him, and the +Señor Jim will know then that I have been faithful." + +The big buckskin plodded on across the sand, the empty stirrups +swinging. Ramon's gaze lifted to the stars. He smiled wanly. + +"I follow him. Wherever he has gone, I follow him, and he will not lose +the way." + +His bowed head, nodding to the pace of the pony, seemed to reiterate in +grotesque assertion his spoken word. Ramon's tired body tingled as Dex +strode faster. The horse nickered, and an answering nicker came from the +night. His own tired pony struck into a trot. Dex stopped. Ramon slid +down, and, stumbling forward, he touched a black bulk that lay on the +sand. + +Waring, despite his trim build, was a heavy man. Ramon was just able to +lift him and lay him across the saddle. A coyote yipped from the brush +of the arroyo. As Ramon started back toward town his horse shied at +something near the arroyo's entrance. Ramon did not know that the bodies +of Tony and Bob Brewster formed that low mound half-hidden by the +darkness. + +A yellow star, close to the eastern horizon, twinkled faintly and then +disappeared. The saloon at Criswell had been closed for the night. + +Next morning the marshal of Criswell sent a messenger to the telegraph +office at the junction. There was no railroad entering the Criswell +Valley. The messenger bore three telegraph messages; one to Sheriff +Hardy, one to Bud Shoop, and one to Mrs. Adams. + +Ramon, outside Waring's room in the marshal's house, listened as the +local doctor moved about. Presently he heard the doctor ask a question. +Waring's voice answered faintly. Ramon stepped from the door and found +his way to the stable. Dex, placidly munching alfalfa, turned his head +as Ramon came in. + +"The Señor Jim is not dead," he told the horse. + +And, leaning against Dex, he wept softly, as women weep, with a +happiness too great to bear. The big horse nuzzled his shoulder with his +velvet-smooth nose, as though he would sympathize. Then he turned to +munching alfalfa again in huge content. He had had a weary journey. And +though his master had not come to feed him, here was the gentle, +low-voiced Ramon, whom he knew as a friend. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +_City Folks_ + +Bud Shoop's new duties kept him exceedingly busy. As the days went by he +found himself more and more tied to office detail. Fortunately Torrance +had left a well-organized corps of rangers, each with his own special +work mapped out, work that Shoop understood, with the exception of +seeding and planting experiments, which Lundy, the expert, attended to +as though the reserve were his own and his life depended upon successful +results along his special line. + +Shoop had long since given up trying to dictate letters. Instead he +wrote what he wished to say on slips of paper which his clerk cast into +conventional form. The genial Bud's written directions were brief and to +the point. + +Among the many letters received was one from a writer of Western +stories, applying for a lease upon which to build a summer camp. His +daughter's health was none too good, and he wanted to be in the +mountains. Shoop studied the letter. He had a vague recollection of +having heard of the writer. The request was legitimate. There was no +reason for not granting it. + +Shoop called in his stenographer. "Ever read any of that fella's +books?" + +"Who? Bronson? Yes. He writes bang-up Western stories." + +"He does, eh? Well, you get hold of one of them stories. I want to read +it. I've lived in the West a few minutes myself." + +A week later Shoop had made his decision. He returned a shiny, new +volume to the clerk. + +"I never took to writin' folks reg'lar," he told the clerk. "Mebby I got +the wrong idee of 'em. Now I reckon some of them is human, same as you +and me. Why, do you know I been through lots of them things he writes +about. And, by gollies, when I read that there gun-fight down in Texas, +I ketched myself feelin' along my hip, like I was packin' a gun. And +when I read about that cowboy's hoss,--the one with the sarko eye and +the white legs,--why, I ketched myself feelin' for my ole bandanna to +blow my nose. An' I seen dead hosses a-plenty. But you needn't to say +nothin' about that in the letter. Just tell him to mosey over and we'll +talk it out. If a man what knows hosses and folks like he does wa'n't +raised in the West, he ought to been. Heard anything from Adams?" + +"He was in last week. He's up on Baldy. Packed some stuff up to the +lookout." + +"Uh-uh. Now, the land next to my shack on the Blue ain't a bad place for +this here writer. I got the plat, and we can line out the five acres +this fella wants from my corner post. But he's comin' in kind of late to +build a camp." + +"It will be good weather till December," said the clerk. + +"Well, you write and tell him to come over. Seen anything of Hardy and +his men lately?" + +"Not since last Tuesday." + +"Uh-uh. They're millin' around like a lot of burros--and gettin' +nowhere. But Jim Waring's out after that bunch that got Pat. If I wasn't +so hefty, I'd 'a' gone with him. I tell you the man that got Pat ain't +goin' to live long to brag on it." + +"They say it was the Brewster boys," ventured the stenographer. + +"They say lots of things, son. But Jim Waring _knows_. God help the man +that shot Pat when Jim Waring meets up with him. And I want to tell you +somethin'. Be kind of careful about repeatin' what 'they say' to +anybody. You got nothin' to back you up if somebody calls your hand. +'They' ain't goin' to see you through. And you named the Brewster boys. +Now, just suppose one of the Brewster boys heard of it and come over +askin' you what you meant? I bet you a new hat Jim Waring ain't said +Brewster's name to a soul--and he _knows_. I'm goin' over to Stacey. Any +mail the stage didn't get?" + +"Letter for Mrs. Adams." + +"Uh-uh. Lorry writes to his ma like he was her beau--reg'lar and +plenty. Funny thing, you can't get a word out of him about wimmin-folk, +neither. He ain't that kind of a colt. But I reckon when he sees the gal +he wants he'll saddle up and ride out and take her." And Bud chuckled. + +Bondsman rapped the floor with his tail. Bondsman never failed to +express a sympathetic mood when his master chuckled. + +"Now, look at that," said Shoop, grinning. "He knows I'm goin' over to +Stacey. He heard me say it. And he says I got to take him along, 'cause +he knows I ain't goin' on a hoss. That there dog bosses me around +somethin' scandalous." + +The stenographer smiled as Shoop waddled from the office with Bondsman +at his heels. There was something humorous, almost pathetic, in the +gaunt and grizzled Airedale's affection for his rotund master. And +Shoop's broad back, with the shoulders stooped slightly and the set +stride as he plodded here and there, often made the clerk smile. Yet +there was nothing humorous about Shoop's face when he flashed to anger +or studied some one who tried to mask a lie, or when he reprimanded his +clerk for naming folk that it was hazardous to name. + +The typewriter clicked; a fly buzzed on the screen door; a beam of +sunlight flickered through the window. The letter ran:-- + + Yours of the 4th inst. received and contents noted. In answer would + state that Supervisor Shoop would be glad to have you call at your + earliest convenience in regard to leasing a camp-site on the White + Mountain Reserve. + +Essentially a business letter of the correspondence-school type. + +But the stenographer was not thinking of style. He was wondering what +the girl would be like. There was to be a girl. The writer had said that +he wished to build a camp to which he could bring his daughter, who was +not strong. The clerk thought that a writer's daughter might be an +interesting sort of person. Possibly she was like some of the heroines +in the writer's stories. It would be interesting to meet her. He had +written a poem once himself. It was about spring, and had been published +in the local paper. He wondered if the writer's daughter liked poetry. + +In the meantime, Lorry, with two pack-animals and Gray Leg, rode the +hills and cañons, attending to the many duties of a ranger. + +And as he caught his stride in the work he began to feel that he was his +own man. Miles from headquarters, he was often called upon to make a +quick decision that required instant and individual judgment. He made +mistakes, but never failed to report such mistakes to Shoop. Lorry +preferred to give his own version of an affair that he had mishandled +rather than to have to explain some other version later. He was no +epitome of perfection. He was inclined to be arbitrary when he knew he +was in the right. Argument irritated him. He considered his "Yes" or +"No" sufficient, without explanation. + +He made Shoop's cabin his headquarters, and spent his spare time cording +wood. He liked his occupation, and felt rather independent with the +comfortable cabin, a good supply of food, a corral and pasture for the +ponies, plenty of clear, cold water, and a hundred trails to ride each +day from dawn to dark as he should choose. Once unfamiliar with the +timber country, he grew to love the twinkling gold of the aspens, the +twilight vistas of the spruce and pines, and the mighty sweep of the +great purple tides of forest that rolled down from the ranges into a +sheer of space that had no boundary save the sky. + +He grew a trifle thinner in the high country. The desert tan of his +cheeks and throat deepened to a ruddy bronze. + +Aside from pride in his work, he took special pride in his equipment, +keeping his bits and conchas polished and his leather gear oiled. +Reluctantly he discarded his chaps. He found that they hindered him when +working on foot. Only when he rode into Jason for supplies did he wear +his chaps, a bit of cowboy vanity quite pardonable in his years. + +If he ever thought of women at all, it was when he lounged and smoked by +the evening fire in the cabin, sometimes recalling "that Eastern girl +with the jim-dandy mother." He wondered if they ever thought of him, and +he wished that they might know he was now a full-fledged ranger with +man-size responsibilities. "And mebby they think I'm ridin' south yet," +he would say to himself. "I must have looked like I didn't aim to pull +up this side of Texas, from the way I lit out." But, then, women didn't +understand such things. + +Occasionally he confided something of the kind to the spluttering fire, +laughing as he recalled the leg of lamb with which he had waved his +hasty farewell. + +"And I was scared, all right. But I wasn't so scared I forgot I'd get +hungry." Which conclusion seemed to satisfy him. + +When he learned that a writer had leased five acres next to Bud's cabin, +he was skeptical as to how he would get along with "strangers." He liked +elbow-room. Yet, on second thought, it would make no difference to him. +He would not be at the cabin often nor long at a time. The evenings were +lonely sometimes. + +But when camped at the edge of the timber on some mountain meadow, with +his ponies grazing in the starlit dusk, when the little, leaping flame +of his night fire flung ruddy shadows that danced in giant mimicry in +the cavernous arches of the pines; when the faint tinkle of the belled +pack-horse rang a faëry cadence in the distance; then there was no such +thing as loneliness in his big, outdoor world. Rather, he was content in +a solid way. An inner glow of satisfaction because of work well done, a +sense of well-being, founded upon perfect physical health and ease, +kept him from feeling the need of companionship other than that of his +horses. Sometimes he sat late into the night watching the pine gum ooze +from a burning log and swell to golden bubbles that puffed into tiny +flames and vanished in smoky whisperings. At such times a companion +would not have been unwelcome, yet he was content to be alone. + +Later, when Lorry heard that the writer was to bring his daughter into +the high country, he expressed himself to Shoop's stenographer briefly: +"Oh, hell!" Yet the expletive was not offensive, spoken gently and +merely emphasizing Lorry's attitude toward things feminine. + +While Lorry was away with the pack-horses and a week's riding ahead of +him, the writer arrived in Jason, introduced himself and his +daughter,--a rather slender girl of perhaps sixteen or eighteen,--and +later, accompanied by the genial Bud, rode up to the Blue Mesa and +inspected the proposed camp-site. As they rode, Bud discoursed upon the +climate, ways of building a log cabin, wild turkeys, cattle, sheep, +grazing, fuel, and water, and concluded his discourse with a +dissertation upon dogs in general and Airedales in particular. The +writer was fond of dogs and knew something about Airedales. This +appealed to Shoop even more than had the writer's story of the West. + +Arrived at the mesa, tentative lines were run and corners marked. The +next day two Mormon youths from Jason started out with a load of lumber +and hardware. The evening of the second day following they arrived at +the homestead, pitched a tent, and set to work. That night they unloaded +the lumber. Next morning they cleared a space for the cabin. By the end +of August the camp was finished. The Mormon boys, to whom freighting +over the rugged hills was more of a pastime than real work, brought in a +few pieces of furniture--iron beds, a stove, cooking-utensils, and the +hardware and provisions incidental to the maintenance of a home in the +wilderness. + +The writer and his daughter rode up from Jason with the final load of +supplies. Excitement and fatigue had so overtaxed the girl's slender +store of strength that she had to stay in bed for several days. +Meanwhile, her father put things in order. The two saddle-horses, +purchased under the critical eye of Bud Shoop, showed an inclination to +stray back to Jason, so the writer turned them into Lorry's corral each +evening, as his own lease was not entirely fenced. + +Riding in from his long journey one night, Lorry passed close to the new +cabin. It loomed strangely raw and white in the moonlight. He had +forgotten that there was to be a camp near his. The surprise rather +irritated him. Heretofore he had considered the Blue Mesa was his by a +kind of natural right. He wondered how he would like the city folks. +They had evidently made themselves at home. Their horses were in his +corral. + +As he unsaddled Gray Leg, a light flared up in the strange camp. The +door opened, and a man came toward him. + +"Good-evening," said the writer. "I hope my horses are not in your way." + +"Sure not," said Lorry as he loosened a pack-rope. + +He took off the packs and lugged them to the veranda. The tired horses +rolled, shook themselves, and meandered toward the spring. + +"I'm Bronson. My daughter is with me. We are up here for the summer." + +"My name is Adams," said Lorry, shaking hands. + +"The ranger up here. Yes. Well, I'm glad to meet you, Adams. My daughter +and I get along wonderfully, but it will be rather nice to have a +neighbor. I heard you ride by, and wanted to explain about my horses." + +"That's all right, Mr. Bronson. Just help yourself." + +"Thank you. Dorothy--my daughter--has been under the weather for a few +days. She'll be up to-morrow, I think. She has been worrying about our +using your corral. I told her you would not mind." + +"Sure not. She's sick, did you say?" + +"Well, over-tired. She is not very strong." + +"Lungs?" queried Lorry, and immediately he could have kicked himself for +saying it. + +"I'm afraid so, Adams. I thought this high country might do her good." + +"It's right high for some. Folks got to take it easy at first; +'specially wimmin-folk. I'm right sorry your girl ain't well." + +"Thank you. I shouldn't have mentioned it. She is really curious to know +how you live, what you do, and, in fact, what a real live ranger looks +like. Mr. Shoop told her something about you while we were in Jason. +They became great friends while the camp was building. She says she +knows all about you, and tries to tease me by keeping it to herself." + +"Bud--my boss--is some josher," was all that Lorry could think of to say +at the time. + +Bronson went back to his cabin. Lorry, entering his camp, lighted the +lamp and built a fire. The camp looked cozy and cheerful after a week on +the trail. + +When he had eaten he sat down to write to his mother. He would tell her +all about the new cabin and the city folks. But before he had written +more than to express himself "that it was too darned bad a girl had to +stay up in the woods without no other wimmin-folks around," he became +drowsy. The letter remained unfinished. He would finish it to-morrow. He +would smoke awhile and then go to bed. + +A healthy young animal himself, he could not understand what sickness +meant. And as for lungs--he had forgotten there were such things in a +person's make-up. And sick folks couldn't eat "regular grub." It must be +pretty tough not to be able to eat heartily. Now, there was that wild +turkey he had shot near the Big Spring. He tiptoed to the door. The +lights were out in the other cabin. It was closed season for turkey, but +then a fellow needed a change from bacon and beans once in a while. + +He had hidden the turkey in a gunny-sack which hung from a kitchen +rafter. Should he leave it in the sack, hang it from a rafter of their +veranda, out of reach of a chance bobcat or coyote, or--it would be much +more of a real surprise to hang the big bird in front of their door in +all his feathered glory. The sack would spoil the effect. + +He took off his boots and walked cautiously to the other cabin. The +first person to come out of that cabin next morning would actually bump +into the turkey. It would be a good joke. + +"And if he's the right kind of a hombre he won't talk about it," thought +Lorry as he returned to his camp. "And if he ain't, I am out one fine +bird, and I'll know to watch out for him." + + + + +Chapter XXI + + +_A Slim Whip of a Girl_ + +When Bronson opened his door to the thin sunlight and the crisp chill of +the morning, he chuckled. He had made too many camps in the outlands to +be surprised by an unexpected gift of game out of season. His neighbor +was a ranger, and all rangers were incidentally game wardens. Bronson +believed heartily in the conservation of game, and in this instance he +did not intend to let that turkey spoil. + +He called to his daughter. + +Her brown eyes grew big. "Why, it's a turkey!" + +Bronson laughed. "And to-day is Sunday. We'll have a housewarming and +invite the ranger to dinner." + +"Did he give it to you? Isn't it beautiful! What big wings--and the +breast feathers are like little bronze flames! Do wild turkeys really +fly?" + +"Well, rather. It's a fine sight to see them run to a rim rock and float +off across a cañon." + +"Did you tell him about our horses? Is he nice? What did he say? But I +could never imagine a turkey like that flying. I always think of turkeys +as strutting around a farmyard with their heads held back and all puffed +out in front. This one is heavy! I can't see how he could even begin to +fly." + +"They have to get a running start. Then they usually flop along and +sail up into a tree. Once they are in a tree, they can float off into +space easily. They seem to fly slowly, but they can disappear fast +enough. The ranger seems to be a nice chap." + +"Did he really give the turkey to us?" + +"It was hanging right here when I came out. I can't say that he gave it +to us. You see, it is closed season for turkey." + +"But we must thank him." + +"We will. Let's ask him to dinner. He seems to be a pleasant chap; quite +natural. He said we were welcome to keep our horses in his corral. But +if you want to have him for a real friendly neighbor, Dorothy, don't +mention the word 'turkey.' We'll just roast it, make biscuits and gravy, +and ask him to dinner. He will understand." + +"Then I am going to keep the wings and tail to put on the wall of my +room. How funny, not to thank a person for such a present." + +"The supervisor would reprimand him for killing game out of season, if +he heard about it." + +"But just one turkey?" + +"That isn't the idea. If it came to Mr. Shoop that one of his men was +breaking the game laws, Mr. Shoop would have to take notice of it. Not +that Shoop would care about one of his men killing a turkey to eat, but +it would hurt the prestige of the Service. The natives would take +advantage of it and help themselves to game." + +"Of course, you know all about those matters. But can't I even say +'turkey' when I ask him to have some?" + +"Oh," laughed Bronson, "call it chicken. He'll eat just as heartily." + +"The ranger is up," said Dorothy. "I can hear him whistling." + +"Then let's have breakfast and get this big fellow ready to roast. It +will take some time." + +An hour later, Lorry, fresh-faced and smiling, knocked on the lintel of +their open doorway. + +Bronson, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a diminutive apron to which +clung a fluff of turkey feathers, came from the kitchen. + +"Good-morning. You'll excuse my daughter. She is busy." + +"I just came over to ask how she was." + +"Thank you. She is much better. We want you to have dinner with us." + +"Thanks. But I got some beans going--" + +"But this is chicken, man! And it is Sunday." + +Lorry's gray eyes twinkled. "Chickens are right scarce up here. And +chicken sure tastes better on Sunday. Was you goin' to turn your stock +out with mine?" + +"That's so!" + +They turned Bronson's horses out, and watched them charge down the mesa +toward the three animals grazing lazily in the morning sunshine. + +"Your horses will stick with mine," said Lorry. "They won't stray now." + +"Did I hear a piano this morning, or did I dream that I heard some one +playing?" + +"Oh, it was me, foolin' with Bud's piano in there. Bud's got an amazin' +music-box. Ever see it?" + +"No. I haven't been in your cabin." + +"Well, come right along over. This was Bud's camp when he was +homesteadin'. Ever see a piano like that?" + +Bronson gazed at the carved and battered piano, stepping close to it to +inspect the various brands. "It is rather amazing. I didn't know Mr. +Shoop was fond of music." + +"Well, he can't play reg'lar. But he sure likes to try. You ought to +hear him and Bondsman workin' out that 'Annie Laurie' duet. First off, +you feel like laughin'. But Bud gets so darned serious you kind of +forget he ain't a professional. 'Annie Laurie' ain't no dance tune--and +when Bud and the dog get at it, it is right mournful." + +"I have seen a few queer things,"--and Bronson laughed,--"but this beats +them all." + +"You'd be steppin' square on Bud's soul if you was to josh him about +that piano," said Lorry. + +"I wouldn't. But thank you just the same. You have a neat place here, +Adams." + +"When you say 'neat' you say it all." + +"I detest a fussy camp. One gets enough of that sort of thing in town. +Is that a Gallup saddle or a Frazier?" + +"Frazier." + +"I used a Heiser when I was in Mexico. They're all good." + +"That's what I say. But there's a hundred cranks to every make of saddle +and every rig. You said you were in Mexico?" + +"Before I was married. As a young man I worked for some of the mines. I +went there from college." + +"I reckon you've rambled some." And a new interest lightened Lorry's +eyes. Perhaps this man wasn't a "plumb tenderfoot," after all. + +"Oh, not so much. I punched cattle down on the Hassayampa and in the +Mogollons. Then I drifted up to Alaska. But I always came back to +Arizona. New Mexico is mighty interesting, and so is Colorado. +California is really the most wonderful State of all, but somehow I +can't keep away from Arizona." + +"Shake! I never been out of Arizona, except when I was a kid, but she's +the State for me." + +A shadow flickered in the doorway. Lorry turned to gaze at a delicate +slip of a girl, whose big brown eyes expressed both humor and +trepidation. + +"My daughter Dorothy, Mr. Adams. This is our neighbor, Dorothy." + +"I'm right glad to meet you, miss." + +And Lorry's strong fingers closed on her slender hand. To his robust +sense of the physical she appealed as something exceedingly fragile and +beautiful, with her delicate, clear coloring and her softly glowing +eyes. What a little hand! And what a slender arm! And yet Lorry thought +her arm pretty in its rounded slenderness. He smiled as he saw a turkey +feather fluttering on her shoulder. + +"Looks like that chicken was gettin' the best of you," he said, smiling. + +"That's just it," she agreed, nothing abashed. "Father, you'll have to +help." + +"You'll excuse us, won't you? We'll finish our visit at dinner." + +Lorry had reports to make out. He dragged a chair to the table. That man +Bronson was all right. Let's see--the thirtieth--looked stockier in +daylight. Had a good grip, too, and a clear, level eye. One mattock +missing in the lookout cabin--and the girl; such a slender whip of a +girl! Just like a young willow, but not a bit like an invalid. Buckley +reports that his man will have the sheep across the reservation by the +fourth of the month. Her father had said she was not over-strong. And +her eyes! Lorry had seen little fawns with eyes like that--big, +questioning eyes, startled rather than afraid. + +"Reckon everything she sees up here is just amazin' her at every jump. +I'll bet she's happy, even if she _has_ got lungs. Now, a fella couldn't +help but to like a girl like that. She would made a dandy sister, and a +fella would just about do anything in the world for such a sister. And +she wouldn't have to ask, at that. He would just naturally want to do +things for her, because--well, because he couldn't help feeling that +way. Funny how some wimmin made a man feel like he wanted to just about +worship them, and not because they did anything except be just +themselves. Now, there was that Mrs. Weston. She was a jim-dandy +woman--but she was different. She always seemed to know just what she +was going to say and do. And Mrs. Weston's girl, Alice. Reckon I'd scrap +with her right frequent. She was still--" + +Dog-gone it! Where was he drifting to? Sylvestre's sheep were five days +crossing the reserve. Smith reported a small fire north of the lookout. +The Ainslee boys put the fire out. It hadn't done any great damage. + +Lorry sat back and chewed the lead pencil. As he gazed out of the window +across the noon mesa a faint fragrance was wafted through the doorway. +He sniffed and grinned. It was the warm flavor of wild turkey, a flavor +that suggested crispness, with juicy white meat beneath. Lorry jumped up +and grabbed a pail as he left the cabin. On his way back from the +spring, Bronson waved to him. Lorry nodded. And presently he presented +himself at Bronson's cabin, his face glowing, his flannel shirt neatly +brushed, and a dark-blue silk bandanna knotted gracefully at his throat. + +"This is the princess," said Bronson, gesturing toward his daughter. +"And here is the feast." + +"And it was a piano," continued Bronson as they sat down. + +"Really? 'Way up here?" + +"My daughter plays a little," explained Bronson. + +"Well, you're sure welcome to use that piano any time. If I'm gone, the +door is unlocked just the same." + +"Thank you, Mr. Adams, I only play to amuse myself now." + +Lorry fancied there was a note of regret in her last word. He glanced at +her. She was gazing wistfully out of the window. It hurt him to see that +tinge of hopelessness on her young face. + +"This here chicken is fine!" he asserted. + +The girl's eyes were turned to him. She smiled and glanced roguishly at +her father. Lorry laughed outright. + +"What is the joke?" she demanded. + +"Nothin'; only my plate is empty, Miss Bronson." + +Bronson grabbed up carving-knife and fork. "Great Caesar! I must have +been dreaming. I _was_ dreaming. I was recalling a turkey hunt down in +Virginia with Colonel Stillwell and his man Plato. Plato was a good +caller--but we didn't get a turkey. Now, this is as tender as--as it +ought to be. A little more gravy? And as we came home, the colonel, who +was of the real mint-julep type, proposed as a joke that Plato see what +he could do toward getting some kind of bird for dinner that night. And +when Plato lifted the covers, sure enough there was a fine, fat roast +chicken. The colonel, who lived in town and did not keep chickens, asked +Plato how much he had paid for it. Plato almost dropped the cover. +'Mars' George,' he said with real solicitude in his voice,' is you +sick?' And speaking of turkeys--" + +"Who was speaking of turkeys?" asked Dorothy. + +"Why, I think this chicken is superior to any domestic turkey I ever +tasted," concluded Bronson. + +"Was you ever in politics?" queried Lorry. And they all laughed +heartily. + +After dinner Lorry asked for an apron. + +Dorothy shook her finger at him. "It's nice of you--but you don't mean +it." + +"Now, ma wouldn't 'a' said that, miss. She'd 'a' just tied one of her +aprons on me and turned me loose on the dishes. I used to help her like +that when I was a kid. Ma runs the hotel at Stacey." + +"Why, didn't we stop there for dinner?" asked Dorothy. + +"Yes, indeed. All right, Adams, I'll wash 'em and you can dry 'em, and +Dorothy can rest." + +"It's a right smilin' little apron," commented Lorry as Dorothy handed +it to him. + +"And you do look funny! My, I didn't know you were so big! I'll have to +get a pin." + +"I reckon it's the apron looks funny," said Lorry. + +"I made it," she said, teasing him. + +"Then that's why it is so pretty," said Lorry gravely. + +Dorothy decided to change the subject. "I think you should let me wash +the dishes, father." + +"You cooked the dinner, Peter Pan." + +"Then I'll go over and try the piano. May I?" + +"If you'll play for us when we come over, Miss Bronson." + +Bronson and Lorry sat on the veranda and smoked. Dorothy was playing a +sprightly melody. She ceased to play, and presently the sweet old tune +"Annie Laurie" came to them. Lorry, with cigarette poised in his +fingers, hummed the words to himself. Bronson was watching him +curiously. The melody came to an end. Lorry sighed. + +"Sounds like that ole piano was just singin' its heart out all by +itself," he said. "I wish Bud could hear that." + +Almost immediately came the sprightly notes of "Anitra's Dance." + +"And that's these here woods--and the water prancin' down the rocks, and +a slim kind of a girl dancin' in the sunshine and then runnin' away to +hide in the woods again." And Lorry laughed softly at his own conceit. + +"Do you know the tune?" queried Bronson. + +"Nope. I was just makin' that up." + +"That's just Dorothy," said Bronson. + +Lorry turned and gazed at him. And without knowing how it came about, +Lorry understood that there had been another Dorothy who had played and +sung and danced in the sunshine. And that this sprightly, slender girl +was a bud of that vanished flower, a bud whose unfolding Bronson watched +with such deep solicitude. + + + + +Chapter XXII + + +_A Tune for Uncle Bud_ + +Lorry had ridden to Jason, delivered his reports to the office, and +received instructions to ride to the southern line of the reservation. +He would be out many days. He had brought down a pack-horse, and he +returned to camp late that night with provisions and some mail for the +Bronsons. + +The next day he delayed starting until Dorothy had appeared. Bronson +told him frankly that he was sorry to see him go, especially for such a +length of time. + +"But I'm glad," said Dorothy. + +Lorry stared at her. Her face was grave, but there was a twinkle of +mischief in her eyes. She laughed. + +"Because it will be such fun welcoming you home again." + +"Oh, I thought it might be that piano--" + +"Now I shan't touch it!" she pouted, making a deliberate face at him. + +He laughed. She did such unexpected things, did them so unaffectedly. +Bronson put his arms about her shoulders. + +"We're keeping Mr. Adams, Peter Pan. He is anxious to be off. He has +been ready for quite a while and I think he has been waiting till you +appeared so that he could say good-bye." + +"Are you anxious to be off?" she queried. + +"Yes, ma'am. It's twenty miles over the ridge to good grass and water." + +"Why, twenty miles isn't so far!" + +"They's considerable up and down in them twenty miles, Miss Bronson. +Now, it wouldn't be so far for a turkey. He could fly most of the way. +But a horse is different, and I'm packin' a right fair jag of stuff." + +"Well, good-bye, ranger man. Good-bye, Gray Leg,--and you two poor +horses that have to carry the packs. Don't stay away all winter." + +Lorry swung up and started the pack-horses. At the edge of the timber he +turned and waved his hat. Dorothy and her father answered with a hearty +Good-bye that echoed through the slumbering wood lands. + +One of Bronson's horses raised his head and nickered. "Chinook is saying +'Adios,' too. Isn't the air good? And we're right on top of the world. +There is Jason, and there is St. Johns, and 'way over there ought to be +the railroad, but I can't see it." + +Bronson smiled down at her. + +She reached up and pinched his cheek. "Let's stay here forever, daddy." + +"We'll see how my girl is by September. And next year, if you want to +come back--" + +"Come back! Why, I don't want to go away--ever!" + +"But the snow, Peter Pan." + +"I forgot that. We'd be frozen in tight, shouldn't we?" + +"I'm afraid we should. Shall we look at the mail? Then I'll have to go +to work." + +"Mr. Adams thinks quite a lot of his horses, doesn't he?" she queried. + +"He has to. He depends on them, and they depend on him. He has to take +good care of them." + +"I shouldn't like it a bit if I thought he took care of them just +because he had to." + +"Oh, Adams is all right, Peter. I have noticed one or two things about +him." + +"Well, I have noticed that he has a tremendous appetite," laughed +Dorothy. + +"And you're going to have, before we leave here, Peter Pan." + +"Then you'd better hurry and get that story written. I want a new saddle +and, oh, lots of things!" + +Bronson patted her hand as she walked with him to the cabin. He sat down +to his typewriter, and she came out with a book. + +She glanced up occasionally to watch the ponies grazing on the mesa. She +was deeply absorbed in her story when some one called to her. She jumped +up, dropping her book. + +Bud Shoop was sitting his horse a few paces away, smiling. He had ridden +up quietly to surprise her. + +"A right lovely mornin', Miss Bronson. I reckon your daddy is busy." + +"Here I am," said Bronson, striding out and shaking hands with the +supervisor. "Won't you come in?" + +"About that lease," said Shoop, dismounting. "If you got time to talk +business." + +"Most certainly. Dorothy will excuse us." + +"Is Adams gone?" + +"He left this morning." + +"Uh-uh. Here, Bondsman, quit botherin' the young lady." + +"He isn't bothering. I know what he wants." And she ran to the kitchen. + +Shoop's face grew grave. "I didn't want to scare the little lady, +Bronson, but Lorry's father--Jim Waring--has been shot up bad over to +Criswell. He went in after that Brewster outfit that killed Pat. I +reckon he got 'em--but I ain't heard." + +"Adams's father!" + +"Yes, Jim Waring. Here comes the little missy. I'll tell you later. Now +Bondsman is sure happy." + +And Bud forced a smile as Dorothy gave the dog a pan of something that +looked suspiciously like bones and shreds of turkey meat. + +A little later Bud found excuse to call Bronson aside to show him a good +place to fence-in the corral. Dorothy was playing with Bondsman. + +"Jim's been shot up bad. I was goin' to tell you that Annie Adams, over +to Stacey, is his wife. She left him when they was livin' down in +Mexico. Lorry is their boy. Now, Jim is as straight as a ruler; I don't +know just why she left him. But let that rest. I got a telegram from the +marshal of Criswell. Reads like Jim was livin', but livin' mighty clost +to the edge. Now, if I was to send word to Lorry he'd just nacherally +buckle on a gun and go after them Brewster boys, if they's any of 'em +left. He might listen to me if I could talk to him. Writin' is no good. +And I ain't rigged up to follow him across the ridge. It's bad country +over there. I reckon I better leave word with you. If he gets word of +the shootin' while he's out there, he'll just up and cut across the +hills to Criswell a-smokin'. But if he gets this far back he's like to +come through Jason--and I can cool him down, mebby." + +"He ought to know; if his father is--" + +"That's just it. But I'm thinkin' of the boy. Jim Waring's lived a big +chunk of his life. But they ain't no use of the kid gettin' shot up. It +figures fifty that I ought to get word to him, and fifty that I ought to +keep him out of trouble--" + +"I didn't know he was that kind of a chap: that is, that he would go out +after those men--" + +"He's Jim Waring's boy," said Bud. + +"It's too bad. I heard of that other killing." + +"Yes. And I've a darned good mind to fly over to Criswell myself. I +knowed Pat better than I did Jim. But I can't ride like I used to. +But"--and the supervisor sighed heavily--"I reckon I'll go just the +same." + +"I'll give your message to Adams, Mr. Shoop." + +"All right. And tell him I want to see him. How's the little lady these +days?" + +"She seems to be much stronger, and she is in love with the hills and +cañons." + +"I'm right glad of that. Kind of wish I was up here myself. Why, already +they're houndin' me down there to go into politics. I guess they want to +get me out of this job, 'cause I can't hear crooked money jingle. My +hands feels sticky ever' time I think of politics. And even if a fella's +hands ain't sticky--politics money is. Why, it's like to stick to his +feet if he ain't right careful where he walks!" + +"I wish you would stay to dinner, Mr. Shoop." + +"So I'll set and talk my fool notions--and you with a writin' machine +handy? Thanks, but I reckon I'll light a shuck for Jason. See my piano?" + +"Yes, indeed. Dorothy was trying it a few nights ago." + +"Then she can play. Missy," and he called to Dorothy, who was having an +extravagant romp with Bondsman, "could you play a tune for your Uncle +Bud?" + +"Of course." And she came to them. + +They walked to the cabin. Bondsman did not follow. He had had a hard +play, and was willing to rest. + +Dorothy drew up the piano stool and touched the keys. Bud sank into his +big chair. Bronson stood in the doorway. By some happy chance Dorothy +played Bud's beloved "Annie Laurie." + +When she had finished, Bud blew his nose sonorously. "I know that tune," +he said, gazing at Dorothy in a sort of huge wonderment. "But I never +knowed all that you made it say." + +He rose and shuffled to the doorway, stopping abruptly as he saw +Bondsman. Could it be possible that Bondsman had not recognized his own +tune? Bud shook his head. There was something wrong somewhere. Bondsman +had not offered to come in and accompany the pianist. He must have been +asleep. But Bondsman had not been asleep. He rose and padded to Shoop's +horse, where he stood, a statue of rugged patience, waiting for Shoop to +start back toward home. + +"Now, look at that!" exclaimed Bud. "He's tellin' me if I want to get +back to Jason in time to catch the stage to-morrow mornin' I got to +hustle. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +When Shoop had gone, Dorothy turned to her father. "Mr. Shoop didn't ask +me to play very much. He seemed in a hurry." + +"That's all right, Peter Pan. He liked your playing. But he has a very +important matter to attend to." + +"He's really just delicious, isn't he?" + +"If you like that word, Peter. He is big and sincere and kind." + +"Oh, so were some of the saints for that matter," said Dorothy, making a +humorous mouth at her father. + + + + +Chapter XXIII + + +_Like One Who Sleeps_ + +Bondsman sat in the doorway of the supervisor's office, gazing +dejectedly at the store across the street. He knew that his master had +gone to St. Johns and would go to Stacey. He had been told all about +that, and had followed Shoop to the automobile stage, where it stood, +sand-scarred, muddy, and ragged as to tires, in front of the +post-office. Bondsman had watched the driver rope the lean mail bags to +the running-board, crank up the sturdy old road warrior of the desert, +and step in beside the supervisor. There had been no other passengers. +And while Shoop had told Bondsman that he would be away some little +time, Bondsman would have known it without the telling. His master had +worn a coat--a black coat--and a new black Stetson. Moreover, he had +donned a white shirt and a narrow hint of a collar with a black +"shoe-string" necktie. If Bondsman had lacked any further proof of his +master's intention to journey far, the canvas telescope suitcase would +have been conclusive evidence. + +The dog sat in the doorway of the office, oblivious to the clerk's +friendly assurances that his master would return poco tiempo. Bondsman +was not deceived by this kindly attempt to soothe his loneliness. + +Toward evening the up-stage buzzed into town. Bondsman trotted over to +it, watched a rancher and his wife alight, sniffed at them incuriously, +and trotted back to the office. That settled it. His master would be +away indefinitely. + +When the clerk locked up that evening, Bondsman had disappeared. + +As Bronson stepped from his cabin the following morning he was startled +to see the big Airedale leap from the veranda of Shoop's cabin and bound +toward him. Then he understood. The camp had been Bondsman's home. The +supervisor had gone to Criswell. Evidently the dog preferred the lonely +freedom of the Blue Mesa to the monotonous confines of town. + +Bronson called to his daughter. "We have a visitor this morning, +Dorothy." + +"Why, it's Bondsman! Where is Mr. Shoop?" + +"Most natural question. Mr. Shoop had to leave Jason on business. +Bondsman couldn't go, so he trotted up here to pay us a visit." + +"He's hungry. I know it. Come, Bondsman." + +From that moment he attached himself to Dorothy, following her about +that day and the next and the next. But when night came he invariably +trotted over to Shoop's cabin and slept on the veranda. Dorothy wondered +why he would not sleep at their camp. + +"He's very friendly," she told her father. "He will play and chase +sticks and growl, and pretend to bite when I tickle him, but he does it +all with a kind of mental reservation. Yesterday, when we were having +our regular frolic after breakfast, he stopped suddenly and stood +looking out across the mesa, and it was only my pony, just coming from +the edge of the woods. Bondsman tries to be polite, but he is really +just passing the time while he is waiting for Mr. Shoop." + +"You don't feel flattered, perhaps. But don't you admire him all the +more for it?" + +"I believe I do. Poor Bondsman! It's just like being a social pet, isn't +it? Have to appear happy whether you are or not." + +Bondsman knew that she proffered sympathy, and he licked her hand +lazily, gazing up at her with bright, unreadable eyes. + + * * * * * + +Bud Shoop wasted no time in Stacey. He puffed into the hotel, indecision +behind him and a definite object in view. + +"No use talkin'," he said to Mrs. Adams. "We got to go and take care of +Jim. I couldn't get word to Lorry. No tellin' where to locate him just +now. Mebby it's just as well. They's a train west along about midnight. +Now, you get somebody to stay here till we get back--" + +"But, Mr. Shoop! I can't leave like this. I haven't a thing ready. Anita +can't manage alone." + +"Well, if that's all, I admire to say that I'll set right down and run +this here hotel myself till you get back. But it ain't right, your +travelin' down there alone. We used to be right good friends, Annie. Do +you reckon I'd tell you to go see Jim if it wa'n't right? If he ever +needed you, it's right now. If he's goin' to get well, your bein' +there'll help him a pow'ful sight. And if he ain't, you ought to be +there, anyhow." + +"I know it, Bud. I wish Lorry was here." + +"I don't. I'm mighty glad he's out there where he is. What do you think +he'd do if he knowed Jim was shot up?" + +"He would go to his father--" + +"Uh-uh?" + +"And--" + +"Go ahead. You wa'n't born yesterday." + +"He would listen to me," she concluded weakly. + +"Yep. But only while you was talkin'. That boy is your boy all right, +but he's got a lot of Jim Waring under his hide. And if you want to keep +that there hide from gettin' shot full of holes by a no-account outlaw, +you'll just pack up and come along." + +Bud wiped his forehead, and puffed. This sort of thing was not exactly +in his line. + +"Here's the point, Annie," he continued. "If I get there afore Lorry, +and you're there, he won't get into trouble. Mebby you could hold him +with your hand on the bridle, but he's runnin' loose right where he is. +Can't you get some lady in town to run the place?" + +"I don't know. I'll see." + +Bud heaved a sigh. It was noticeably warmer in Stacey than at Jason. + +Bud's reasoning, while rough, had appealed to Mrs. Adams. She felt that +she ought to go. She had only needed some such impetus to send her +straight to Waring. The town marshal's telegram had stunned her. She +knew that her husband had followed the Brewsters, but she had not +anticipated the awful result of his quest. In former times he had always +come back to her, taking up the routine of their home life quietly. But +this time he had not come back. If only he had listened to her! And deep +in her heart she felt that old jealousy for the lure which had so often +called him from her to ride the grim trails of his profession. But this +time he had not come back. She would go to him, and never leave him +again. + +Anita thought she knew of a woman who would take charge of the hotel +during Mrs. Adams's absence. Without waiting for an assurance of this, +Bud purchased tickets, sent a letter to his clerk, and spent half an +hour in the barber shop. + +"Somebody dead?" queried the barber as Bud settled himself in the chair. + +"Not that I heard of. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing, Mr. Shoop. I seen that you was dressed in black and had on +a black tie--" + +Later, as Bud surveyed himself in the glass, trying ineffectually to +dodge the barber's persistent whisk-broom, he decided that he did look a +bit funereal. And when he appeared at the supper table that evening he +wore an ambitious four-in-hand tie of red and yellow. There was going to +be no funeral or anything that looked like it, if he knew it. + +Aboard the midnight train he made Mrs. Adams comfortable in the chair +car. It was but a few hours' run to The Junction. He went to the smoker, +took off his coat, and lit a cigar. Around him men sprawled in all sorts +of awkward attitudes, sleeping or trying to sleep. He had heard nothing +further about Waring's fight with the Brewsters. They might still be at +large. But he doubted it. If they were--Shoop recalled the friendly +shooting contest with High-Chin Bob. If High Chin were riding the +country, doubtless he would be headed south. But if he should happen to +cross Shoop's trail by accident--Bud shook his head. He would not look +for trouble, but if it came his way it would bump into something solid. + +Shoop had buckled on his gun before leaving Jason. His position as +supervisor made him automatically a deputy sheriff. But had he been +nothing more than a citizen homesteader, his aim would have been quite +as sincere. + +It was nearly daylight when they arrived at The Junction. Shoop +accompanied Mrs. Adams to a hotel. After breakfast he went out to get a +buck-board and team. Criswell was not on the line of the railroad. + +They arrived in Criswell that evening, and were directed to the +marshal's house, where Ramon met them. + +"How's Jim?" was Shoop's immediate query. + +"The Señor Jim is like one who sleeps," said Ramon. + +Mrs. Adams grasped Shoop's arm. + +"He wakens only when the doctor is come. He has spoken your name, +señora." + +The marshal's wife, a thin, worried-looking woman, apologized for the +untidy condition of her home, the reason for which she wished to make +obvious. She was of the type which Shoop designated to himself as +"vinegar and salt." + +"Reckon I better go in first, Annie?" + +"No." And Mrs. Adams opened the door indicated by the other woman. + +Shoop caught a glimpse of a white face. The door closed softly. Shoop +turned to Ramon. + +"Let's go take a smoke, eh?" + +Ramon led the way down the street and on out toward the desert. At the +edge of town, he paused and pointed across the spaces. + +"It was out there, señor. I found him. The others were not found until +the morning. I did not know that they were there." + +"The others? How many?" + +"Three. One will live, but he will never ride again. The others, High +of the Chin and his brother, were buried by the marshal. None came to +claim them." + +"Were you in it?" + +"No, señor. It was alone that Señor Jim fought them. He followed them +out there alone. I come and I ask where he is gone. I find him that +night. I do not know that he is alive." + +"What became of his horse?" + +"Dex he come back with no one on him. It is then that I tell Dex to find +for me the Señor Jim." + +"And he trailed back to where Jim went down, eh? Uh-uh! I got a dog +myself." + +"Will the Señor Jim ride again?" queried Ramon. + +"I dunno, boy, I dunno. But if you and me and the doc and the +señora--and mebby God--get busy, why, mebby he'll stand a chance. How +many times was he hit?" + +"Two times they shot him." + +"Two, eh? Well, speakin' from experience, they was three mighty fast +guns ag'in' him. Say five shots in each gun, which is fifteen. And he +had to reload, most-like, for he can empty a gun quicker than you can +think. Fifteen to five for a starter, and comin' at him from three ways +to once. And he got the whole three of 'em! Do you know what that means, +boy? But shucks! I'm forgettin' times has changed. How they been usin' +you down here?" + +"I am sleep in the hay by Dex." + +"Uh-uh. Let that rest. Mebby it's a good thing, anyhow. Got any money?" + +"No, señor. I have use all." + +"Where d' you eat?" + +"I have buy the can and the crackers at the store." + +"Can and crackers, eh? Bet you ain't had a square meal for a week. But +we'll fix that. Here, go 'long and buy some chuck till I get organized." + +"Gracias, señor. But I can pray better when I do not eat so much." + +"Good Lord! But, that's some idee! Well, if wishin' and hopin' and such +is prayin', I reckon Jim'll pull through. I reckon it's up to the missus +now." + +"Lorry is not come?" + +"Nope. Couldn't get to him. When does the mail go out of this +bone-hill?" + +"I do not know. To-morrow or perhaps the next day." + +"Uh-uh. Well, you get somethin' to eat, and then throw a saddle on Dex +and I'll give you a couple of letters to take to The Junction. And, come +to think, you might as well keep right on fannin' it for Stacey and +home. They can use you over to the ranch. The missus and me'll take care +of Señor Jim." + +"I take the letter," said Ramon, "but I am come back. I am with the +Señor Jim where he goes." + +"Oh, very well, amigo. Might as well give a duck a bar of soap and ask +him to take a bath as to tell you to leave Jim. Such is wastin' talk." + + + + +Chapter XXIV + + +_The Genial Bud_ + +"And just as soon as he can be moved, his wife aims to take him over to +Stacey." + +So Bud told the Marshal of Criswell, who, for want of better +accommodations, had his office in the rear of the general store. + +The marshal, a gaunt individual with a watery blue eye and a soiled +goatee, shook his head. "The law is the law," he stated sententiously. + +"And a gun's a gun," said Shoop. "But what evidence you got that Jim +Waring killed Bob Brewster and his brother Tony?" + +"All I need, pardner. When I thought Andy Brewster was goin' to pass +over, I took his antimortim. But he's livin'. And he is bound over to +appear ag'in' Waring. What you say about the killin' over by Stacey +ain't got nothin' to do with this here case. I got no orders to hold +Andy Brewster, but I'm holdin' him for evidence. And I'm holdin' Waring +for premeditated contempt and shootin' to death of said Bob Brewster and +his brother Tony. And I got said gun what did it." + +"So you pinched Jim's gun, eh? And when he couldn't lift a finger or say +a word to stop you. Do you want to know what would happen if you was to +try to get a holt of said gun if Jim Waring was on his two feet? Well, +Jim Waring would pull said trigger, and Criswell would bury said city +marshal." + +"The law is the law. This town's payin' me to do my duty, and I'm goin' +to do it." + +"Speakin' in general, how much do you owe the town so far?" + +"Look-a-here! You can't run no whizzer like that on me. I've heard tell +of you, Mr. Shoop. No dinky little ole forest ranger can come +cantelopin' round here tellin' me my business!" + +"Mebby I'm dinky, and mebby, I'm old, but your eyesight wants fixin' if +you callin' me little, old hoss. An' I ain't tryin' to tell you your +business. I'm tellin' you mine, which is that Jim Waring goes to Stacey +just the first minute he can put his foot in a buck-board. And he's +goin' peaceful. I got a gun on me that says so." + +"The law is the law. I can run you in for packin' concealed weapons, Mr. +Shoop." + +"Run me in!" chuckled Shoop. "Nope. You'd spile the door. But let me +tell you. A supervisor is a deputy sheriff--and that goes anywhere +they's a American flag. I don't see none here, but I reckon Criswell is +in America. What's the use of your actin' like a goat just because you +got chin whiskers? I'm tellin' you Jim Waring done a good job when he +beefed them coyotes." + +The marshal's pale-blue eyes blinked at the allusion to the goat. "Now, +don't you get pussonel, neighbor. The law is the law, and they ain't no +use you talkin'." + +Bud's lips tightened. The marshal's reiterated reference to the law was +becoming irksome. He would be decidedly impersonal henceforth. + +"I seen a pair of walkin' overalls once, hitched to a two-bit shirt with +a chewin'-tobacco tag on it. All that held that there fella together was +his suspenders. I don't recollec' whether he just had goat whiskers or +chewed tobacco, but somebody who had been liquorin' up told him he +looked like the Emperor Maximilian. And you know what happened to Maxy." + +"That's all right, neighbor. But mebby when I put in my bill for board +of said prisoner and feed for his hoss and one Mexican, mebby you'll +quit talkin' so much, 'less you got friends where you can borrow money." + +"Your bill will be paid. Don't you worry about that. What I want to know +is: Does Jim Waring leave town peaceful, or have I got to hang around +here till he gets well enough to travel, and then show you? I got +somethin' else to do besides set on a cracker barrel and swap lies with +my friends." + +"You can stay or you can go, but the law is the law--" + +"And a goat is a goat. All right, hombre, I'll stay." + +"As I was sayin'," continued the marshal, ignoring the deepening color +of Shoop's face, "you can stay. You're too durned fat to move around +safe, anyhow. You might bust." + +Shoop smiled. He had stirred the musty marshal to a show of feeling. The +marshal, who had keyed himself up to make the thrust, was disappointed. +He made that mistake, common to his kind, of imagining that he could +continue that sort of thing with impunity. + +"You come prancin' into this town with a strange woman, sayin' that she +is the wife of the defendant. Can you tell me how her name is Adams and +his'n is Waring?" + +"I can!" And with a motion so swift that the marshal had no time to help +himself, Bud Shoop seized the other's goatee and yanked him from the +cracker barrel. "I got a job for you," said Shoop, grinning until his +teeth showed. + +And without further argument on his part, he led the marshal through the +store and up the street to his own house. The marshal back-paddled and +struggled, but he had to follow his chin. + +Mrs. Adams answered Bud's knock. Bud jerked the marshal to his knees. + +"Apologize to this lady--quick!" + +"Why, Mr. Shoop!" + +"Yes, it's me, Annie. Talk up, you pizen lizard!" + +"But, Bud, you're hurting him!" + +"Well, I didn't aim to feed him ice-cream. Talk up, you Gila +monster--and talk quick!" + +"I apologize," mumbled the marshal. + +Bud released him and wiped his hand on his trousers. + +"Sticky!" he muttered. + +The marshal shook his fist at Bud. "You're under arrest for disturbin' +the peace. You're under arrest!" + +"What does it mean?" queried Mrs. Adams. + +"Nothin' what he ain't swallowed, Annie. Gosh 'mighty, but I wasted a +lot of steam on that there walkin' clothes-rack! The blamed horn toad +says he's holdin' Jim for shootin' the Brewsters." + +"But he can't," said Mrs. Adams. "Wait a minute; I'll be right out. Sit +down, Bud. You are tired out and nervous." + +Bud sat down heavily. "Gosh! I never come so clost to pullin' a gun in +my life. If he was a man, I reckon I'd 'a' done it. What makes me mad is +that I let him get _me_ mad." + +When Mrs. Adams came out to the porch she had a vest in her hand. Inside +the vest was pinned the little, round badge of a United States marshal. +Bud seized the vest, and without waiting to listen to her he plodded +down the street and marched into the general store, where the town +marshal was talking to a group of curious natives. + +"Can you read?" said Bud, and without waiting for an answer shoved the +little silver badge under the marshal's nose. "The law is the law," +said Bud. "And that there vest belongs to Jim Waring." + +Bud had regained his genial smile. He was too full of the happy +discovery to remain silent. + +"Gentlemen," he said, assuming a manner, "did your honorable peace +officer here tell you what he said about the wife of the man who is +layin' wounded and helpless in his own house? And did your honorable +peace officer tell you-all that it is her money that is payin' for the +board and doctorin' of Tony Brewster, likewise layin' wounded and +helpless in your midst? And did your honorable peace officer tell you +that Jim Waring is goin' to leave comfortable and peaceful just as soon +as the A'mighty and the doc'll turn him loose? Well, I seen he was +talkin' to you, and I figured he might 'a' been tellin' you these +things, but I wa'n't sure. Was you-all thinkin' of stoppin' me? Such +doin's! Why, when I was a kid I used to ride into towns like this +frequent, turn 'em bottom side up, spank 'em, and send 'em bawlin' to +their--to their city marshal, and I ain't dead yet. Now, I come peaceful +and payin' my way, but if they's any one here got any objections to how +I wear my vest or eat my pie, why, he can just oil up his objection, +load her, and see that she pulls easy and shoots straight. I ain't no +charity organization, but I'm handin' you some first-class life +insurance free." + +That afternoon Buck Hardy arrived, accompanied by a deputy. Andy +Brewster again made deposition that without cause Waring had attacked +and killed his brothers. Hardy had a long consultation with Shoop, and +later notified Brewster that he was under arrest as an accomplice in the +murder of Pat and for aiding the murderer to escape. While +circumstantial evidence pointed directly toward the Brewsters, who had +threatened openly from time to time to "get" Pat, there was valuable +evidence missing in Waco, who, it was almost certain, had been an +eye-witness of the tragedy. Waco had been traced to the town of Grant, +at which place Hardy and his men had lost the trail. The demolished +buckboard had been found by the roadside. Hardy had tracked the +automobile to Grant. + +Shoop suggested that Waco might have taken a freight out of town. +Despite Hardy's argument that Waco had nothing to fear so far as the +murder was concerned, Shoop realized that the tramp had been afraid to +face the law and had left that part of the country. + +Such men were born cowards, irresolute, weak, and treacherous even to +their own infrequent moments of indecision. There was no question but +that Waring had acted within the law in killing the Brewsters. Bob +Brewster had fired at him at sight. But the fact that one of the +brothers survived to testify against Waring opened up a question that +would have to be answered in court. Shoop offered the opinion that +possibly Andy Brewster, the youngest of the brothers, was not directly +implicated in the murder, only taking sides with his brother Bob when he +learned that he was a fugitive. In such a premise it was not unnatural +that his bitterness toward Waring should take the angle that it did. And +it would be difficult to prove that Andy Brewster was guilty of more +than aiding his brother to escape. + +The sheriff and Shoop talked the matter over, with the result that Hardy +dispatched a telegram from The Junction to all the Southern cities to +keep a sharp watch for Waco. + +Next morning Shoop left for Jason with Hardy and his deputy. + +Several days later Waring was taken to The Junction by Mrs. Adams and +Ramon, where Ramon left them waiting for the east-bound. The Mexican +rode the big buckskin. He had instructions to return to the ranch. + +Late that evening, Waring was assisted from the train to the hotel at +Stacey. He was given Lorry's old room. It would be many weeks before he +would be strong enough to walk again. + +For the first time in his life Waring relinquished the initiative. His +wife planned for the future, and Waring only asserted himself when she +took it for granted that the hotel would be his permanent home. + +"There's the ranch, Annie," he told her. "I can't give that up." + +"And you can't go back there till I let you," she asserted, smiling. + +"I'll get Lorry to talk to you about that. I'm thinking of making him an +offer of partnership. He may want to set up for himself some day. I +married young." + +"I'd like to see the girl that's good enough for my Lorry." + +Waring smiled. "Or good enough to call you 'mother.'" + +"Jim, you're trying to plague me." + +"But you will some day. There's always some girl. And Lorry is a pretty +live boy. He isn't going to ride a lone trail forever." + +Mrs. Adams affected an indifference that she by no means felt. + +"You're a lot better to-day, Jim." + +"And that's all your fault, Annie." + +She left the room, closing the door slowly. In her own room at the end +of the hall, she glanced at herself in the glass. A rosy face and +dark-brown eyes smiled back at her. + +But there were many things to attend to downstairs. She had been away +more than a week. And there was evidence of her absence in every room in +the place. + + + + +Chapter XXV + + +_The Little Fires_ + +With the coming of winter the Blue Mesa reclaimed its primordial +solitude. Mount Baldy's smooth, glittering roundness topped a world that +swept down in long waves of dark blue frosted with silver; the serried +minarets of spruce and pine bulked close and sprinkled with snow. +Blanketed in white, the upland mesas lay like great, tideless lakes, +silent and desolate from green-edged shore to shore. The shadowy caverns +of the timberlands, touched here and there with a ray of sunlight, +thrilled to the creeping fingers of the cold. Tough fibers of the +stiff-ranked pines parted with a crackling groan, as though unable to +bear silently the reiterant stabbing of the frost needles. The frozen +gum of the black spruce glowed like frosted topaz. The naked whips of +the quaking asp were brittle traceries against the hard blue of the sky. + +Below the rounded shoulders of the peaks ran an incessant whispering as +thin swirls of powdered snow spun down the wind and sifted through the +moving branches below. + +The tawny lynx and the mist-gray mountain lion hunted along snow-banked +ranger trails. The blue grouse sat stiff and close to the tree-trunk, +while gray squirrels with quaintly tufted ears peered curiously at +sinuous forms that nosed from side to side of the hidden trail below. + +The two cabins of the Blue Mesa, hooded in white, thrust their lean +stovepipes skyward through two feet of snow. The corrals were shallow +fortifications, banked breast-high. The silence seemed not the silence +of slumber, but that of a tense waiting, as though the whole winter +world yearned for the warmth of spring. + +No creak of saddle or plod of hoof broke the bleak stillness, save when +some wandering Apache hunted the wild turkey or the deer, knowing that +winter had locked the trails to his ancient heritage; that the white +man's law of boundaries was void until the snows were thin upon the +highest peaks. + +Thirty miles north of this white isolation the low country glowed in a +sun that made golden the far buttes and sparkled on the clay-red waters +of the Little Colorado. Four thousand feet below the hills cattle +drifted across the open lands. + +Across the ranges, to the south, the barren sands lay shimmering in a +blur of summer heat waves; the winter desert, beautiful in its golden +lights and purple, changing shadows. And in that Southern desert, where +the old Apache Trail melts into the made roads of ranchland and town, +Bronson toiled at his writing. And Dorothy, less slender, more +sprightly, growing stronger in the clean, clear air and the sun, +dreamed of her "ranger man" and the blue hills of her autumn wonderland. +With the warmth of summer around her, the lizards on the rocks, and the +chaparral still green, she could hardly realize that the Blue Mesa could +be desolate, white, and cold. As yet she had not lived long enough in +the desert to love it as she loved the wooded hills, where to her each +tree was a companion and each whisper of the wind a song. + +She often wondered what Lorry was doing, and whether Bondsman would come +to visit her when they returned to their cabin on the mesa. She often +recalled, with a kind of happy wonderment, Bondsman's singular visit and +how he had left suddenly one morning, heedless of her coaxing. The big +Airedale had appeared in Jason the day after Bud Shoop had returned from +Criswell. That Bondsman should know, miles from the town, that his +master had returned was a mystery to her. She had read of such +happenings; her father had written of them. But to know them for the +very truth! That was, indeed, the magic, and her mountains were towering +citadels of the true Romance. + +Long before Bronson ventured to return to his mountain camp, Lorry was +riding the hill trails again as spring loosened the upland snows and +filled the cañons and arroyos with a red turbulence of waters bearing +driftwood and dead leaves. With a companion ranger he mended trail and +rode along the telephone lines, searching for sagging wires; made notes +of fresh down timber and the effect of the snow-fed torrents on the +major trails. + +Each day the air grew warmer. Tiny green shoots appeared in the rusty +tangle of last season's mesa grasses. Imperceptibly the dull-hued mesas +became fresh carpeted with green across which the wind bore a subtly +soft fragrance of sun-warmed spruce and pine. + +To Lorry the coming of the Bronsons was like the return of old friends. +Although he had known them but a short summer season, isolation had +brought them all close together. Their reunion was celebrated with an +old-fashioned dinner of roast beef and potatoes, hot biscuit and honey, +an apple pie that would have made a New England farmer dream of his +ancestors, and the inevitable coffee of the high country. + +And Dorothy had so much to tell him of the wonderful winter desert; the +old Mexican who looked after their horses, and his wife who cooked for +them. Of sunshine and sandstorms, the ruins of ancient pueblos in which +they discovered fragments of pottery, arrowheads, beads, and trinkets, +of the lean, bronzed cowboys of the South, of the cattle and sheep, +until in her enthusiasm she forgot that Lorry had always known of these +things. And Lorry, gravely attentive, listened without interrupting her +until she asked why he was so silent. + +"Because I'm right happy, miss, to see you lookin' so spry and pretty. +I'm thinkin' Arizona has been kind of a heaven for you." + +"And you?" she queried, laughing. + +"Well, it wasn't the heat that would make me call it what it was up here +last winter. I rode up once while you was gone. Gray Leg could just make +it to the cabin. It wasn't so bad in the timber. But comin' across the +mesa the cinchas sure scraped snow." + +"Right here on our mesa?" + +"Right here, miss. From the edge of the timber over there to this side +it was four feet deep on the level." + +"And now," she said, gesturing toward the wavering grasses. "But why did +you risk it?" + +Lorry laughed. He had not considered it a risk. "You remember that book +you lent me. Well, I left it in my cabin. There was one piece that kep' +botherin' me. I couldn't recollect the last part about those 'Little +Fires.' I was plumb worried tryin' to remember them verses. When I got +it, I sure learned that piece from the jump to the finish." + +"The 'Little Fires'? I'm glad you like it. I do. + + "'From East to West they're burning in tower and forge + and home, + And on beyond the outlands, across the ocean foam; + On mountain crest and mesa, on land and sea and height, + The little fires along the trail that twinkle down the night.' + +"And about the sheep-herder; do you remember how-- + + "'The Andalusian herder rolls a smoke and points the way, + As he murmurs, "Caliente," "San Clemente," "Santa Fé," + Till the very names are music, waking memoried desires, + And we turn and foot it down the trail to find the little fires. + Adventuring! Adventuring! And, oh, the sights to see! + And little fires along the trail that wink at you and me.'" + +"That's it! But I couldn't say it like that. But I know some of them +little fires." + +"We must make one some day. Won't it be fun!" + +"It sure is when a fella ain't hustlin' to get grub. That poem sounds +better after grub, at night, when the stars are shinin' and the horses +grazin' and mebby the pack-horse bell jinglin' 'way off somewhere. Then +one of them little fires is sure friendly." + +"Have you been reading this winter?" + +"Oh, some. Mostly forestry and about the war. Bud was tellin' me to read +up on forestry. He's goin' to put me over west--and a bigger job this +summer." + +"You mean--to stay?" + +"About as much as I stay anywhere." + +Dorothy pouted. She had thought that the Blue Mesa and the timberlands +were more beautiful than ever that spring, but to think that the +neighboring cabin would be vacant all summer! No cheery whistling and no +wood smoke curling from the chimney and no blithe voice talking to the +ponies. No jolly "Good-mornin', miss, and the day is sure startin' out +proud to see you." Well, Dorothy had considered Mr. Shoop a friend. She +would have a very serious talk with Mr. Shoop when she saw him. + +She had read of Waring's fight in the desert and of his slow recovery, +and that Waring was Lorry's father; matters that she could not speak of +to Lorry, but the knowledge of them lent a kind of romance to her ranger +man. At times she studied Lorry, endeavoring to find in him some trace +of his father's qualities. She had not met Waring, but she imagined much +from what she had heard and read. And could Lorry, who had such kind +gray eyes and such a pleasant face, deliberately go out and kill men as +his father had done? Why should men kill each other? The world was so +beautiful, and there was so much to live for. + +Although the trail across the great forest terraces below was open clear +up to the Blue Mesa, the trails on the northern side of the range were +still impassable. The lookout man would not occupy his lonely cabin on +Mount Baldy for several weeks to come, and Lorry's work kept him within +a moderate radius of the home camp. + +Several times Dorothy and her father rode with Lorry, spending the day +searching for new vistas while he mended trail or repaired the telephone +line that ran from Mount Baldy to the main office. Frequently they would +have their evening meal in Bronson's camp, after which Lorry always +asked them to his cabin, where Dorothy would play for them while they +smoked contentedly in front of the log fire. To Dorothy it seemed that +they had always lived in a cabin on the Blue Mesa and that Lorry had +always been their neighbor, whom it was a joy to tease because he never +showed impatience, and whose attitude toward her was that of a brother. + +And without realizing it, Lorry grew to love the sprightly, slender +Dorothy with a wholesome, boyish affection. When she was well, he was +happy. When she became over-tired, and was obliged to stay in her room, +he was miserable, blaming himself for suggesting some expedition that +had been too much for her strength, so often buoyed above its natural +level by enthusiasm. At such times he would blame himself roundly. And +if there seemed no cause for her depression, he warred silently with the +power that stooped to harm so frail a creature. His own physical freedom +knew no such check. He could not quite understand sickness, save when it +came through some obvious physical injury. + +Bronson was glad that there was a Lorry; both as a companion to himself +and as a tower of strength to Dorothy. Her depression vanished in the +young ranger's presence. It was a case of the thoroughbred endeavoring +to live up to the thoroughbred standard. And Bronson considered anything +thoroughbred that was true to type. Yet the writer had known men +physically inconsequent who possessed a fine strain of courage, loyalty, +honor. The shell might be misshapen, malformed, and yet the spirit burn +high and clear. And Bronson reasoned that there was a divinity of blood, +despite the patents of democracy. + +Bronson found that he had to go to Jason for supplies. Dorothy asked to +go with him. Bronson hesitated. It was a long ride, although Dorothy had +made it upon occasion. She teased prettily. Lorry was away. She wasn't +afraid to stay alone, but she would be lonesome. If she kissed him three +times, one right on top of the other, would he let her come? Bronson +gave in to this argument. They would ride slowly, and stay a day longer +in Jason to rest. + +When they arrived at Jason, Dorothy immediately went to bed. She wanted +to be at her best on the following day. She was going to talk with Mr. +Shoop. It was a very serious matter. + +And next morning she excused herself while her father bought supplies. +She called at the supervisor's office. Bud Shoop beamed. She was so +alert, so vivacious, and so charming in her quick slenderness. The +genial Bud placed a chair for her with grandiloquent courtesy. + +"I'm going to ask a terrible favor," she began, crossing her legs and +clasping her knee. + +"I'm pow'ful scared," said Bud. + +"I don't want favors that way. I want you to like me, and then I will +tell you." + +"My goodness, missy! Like you! Who said I didn't?" + +"No one. But you have ordered Lorry Adams to close up his camp and go +over to work right near the Apache Reservation." + +"I sure did." + +"Well, Mr. Shoop, I don't like Apaches." + +"You got comp'ny, missy. But what's that got to do with Lorry?" + +"Oh, I suppose he doesn't care. But what do you think his _mother_ would +say to you if he--well, if he got _scalped_?" + +A slow grin spread across Bud's broad face. Dorothy looked solemn +disapproval. "I can't help it," he said as he shook all over. Two tears +welled in the corner of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I can't +help it, missy. I ain't laughin' at you. But Lorry gettin' scalped! Why, +here you been livin' up here, not five miles from the Apache line, and I +ain't heard you tell of bein' scared of Injuns. And you ain't no bigger +than a minute at that." + +"That's just it! Suppose the Apaches did come over the line? What could +we do if Lorry were gone?" + +"Well, you might repo't their trespassin' to me. And I reckon your daddy +might have somethin' to say to 'em. He's been around some." + +"Oh, I suppose so. But there is a lot of work to do in Lorry's district, +I noticed, coming down. The trails are in very bad condition." + +"I know it. But he's worth more to the Service doin' bigger work. I got +a young college man wished onto me that can mend trails." + +"Will he live at Lorry's cabin?" + +"No. He'll head in from here. I ain't givin' the use of my cabin and my +piano to everybody." + +Dorothy's eyes twinkled. "If Lorry were away some one might steal your +piano." + +"Now, see here, missy; you're joshin' your Uncle Bud. Do you know that +you're tryin' to bribe a Gov'ment officer? That means a pow'ful big +penalty if I was to repo't to Washington." + +Dorothy wrinkled her nose. "I don't care if you do! You'd get what-for, +too." + +"Well, I'll tell you, missy. Let's ask Bondsman about this here hocus. +Are you willin' to stand by what he says?" + +"Oh, that's not fair! He's _your_ dog." + +"But he's plumb square in his jedgments, missy. Now, I'll tell you. +We'll call him in and say nothin'. Then you ask him if he thinks I ought +to put Lorry Adams over west or leave him to my camp this summer. Now, +if Bondsman wiggles that stub tail of his, it means, 'yes.' If he don't +wiggle his tail, he says, 'no,'--huh?" + +"Of course he'll wiggle his tail. He always does when I talk to him." + +"Then suppose I do the talkin'?" + +"Oh, you can make him do just as you wish. But all right, Mr. Shoop. +And you will really let Bondsman decide?" + +"'Tain't accordin' to rules, but seein' it's you--" + +Bud called to the big Airedale. Bondsman trotted in, nosed Dorothy's +hand, and looked up at his master. + +"Come 'ere!" commanded Shoop brusquely. "Stand right there! Now, quit +tryin' to guess what's goin' on and listen to the boss. Accordin' to +your jedgment, which is plumb solid, do I put Lorry to work over on the +line this summer?" + +Bondsman cocked his ears, blinked, and a slight quiver began at his +shoulders, which would undoubtedly accentuate to the affirmative when it +reached his tail. + +"Rats!" cried Dorothy. + +The Airedale grew rigid, and his spike of a tail cocked up straight and +stiff. + +Bud Shoop waved his hands helplessly. "I might 'a' knowed it! A lady can +always get a man steppin' on his own foot when he tries to walk around a +argument with her. You done bribed me and corrupted Bondsman. But I'm +stayin' right by what I said." + +Dorothy jumped up and took Bud's big hand in her slender ones. "You're +just lovely to us!" And her brown eyes glowed softly. + +Bud coughed. His shirt-collar seemed tight. He tugged at it, and coughed +again. + +"Missy," he said, leaning forward and patting her hand,--"missy, I +would send Lorry plumb to--to--Phoenix and tell the Service to go find +him, just to see them brown eyes of yours lookin' at me like that. But +don't you say nothin' about this here committee meetin' to nobody. I +reckon you played a trick on me for teasin' you. So you think Lorry is a +right smart hombre, eh?" + +"Oh," indifferently, "he's rather nice at times. He's company for +father." + +"Then I reckon you set a whole lot of store by your daddy. Now, I wonder +if I was a young, bow-legged cow-puncher with kind of curly hair and +lookin' fierce and noble, and they was a gal whose daddy was plumb +lonesome for company, and I was to get notice from the boss that I was +to vamose the diggin's and go to work,--now, I wonder who'd ride twenty +miles of trail to talk up for me?" + +"Why, I would!" + +"You got everything off of me but my watch," laughed Bud. "I reckon +you'll let me keep that?" + +"Is it a good watch?" she asked, and her eyes sparkled with a great +idea. + +"Tol'able. Cost a dollar. I lost my old watch in Criswell. I reckon the +city marshal got it when I wa'n't lookin'." + +"Well, you may keep it--for a while yet. When are you coming up to visit +us?" + +"Just as soon as I can, missy. Here's your daddy. I want to talk to him +a minute." + +Three weeks later, when the wheels of the local stage were beginning to +throw a fine dust, instead of mud, as they whirred from St. Johns to +Jason, Bud Shoop received a tiny flat package addressed in an unfamiliar +hand. He laid it aside until he had read the mail. Then he opened it. In +a nest of cotton batting gleamed a plain gold watch. A thin watch, +reflecting something aristocratic in its well-proportioned simplicity. +As he examined it his genial face expressed a sort of childish +wonderment. There was no card to show from where it had come. He opened +the back of the case, and read a brief inscription. + +"And the little lady would be sendin' this to me! And it's that slim and +smooth; nothin' fancy, but a reg'lar thoroughbred, just like her." + +He laid the watch carefully on his desk, and sat for a while gazing out +of the window. It was the first time in his life that a woman had made +him a present. Turning to replace the watch in the box, he saw something +glitter in the cotton. He pulled out a layer of batting, and discovered +a plain gold chain of strong, serviceable pattern. + +That afternoon, as Bud came from luncheon at the hotel, a townsman +accosted him in the street. During their chat the townsman commented +upon the watch-chain. Bud drew the watch from his pocket and exhibited +it proudly. + +"Just a little present from a lady friend. And her name is inside the +cover, along with mine." + +"A lady friend, eh? Now, I thought it was politics mebby?" + +"Nope. Strictly pussonel." + +"Well, Bud, you want to watch out." + +"If you're meanin' that for a joke," retorted Bud, "it's that kind of a +joke what's foundered in its front laigs and can't do nothin' but walk +around itself. I got the same almanac over to my office." + + + + +Chapter XXVI + + +_Idle Noon_ + +The occasional raw winds of spring softened to the warm calm of summer. +The horses had shed their winter coats, and grew sleek and fat on the +lush grasses of the mesa. The mesa stream cleared from a ropy red to a +sparkling thread of silver banked with vivid green. If infrequent +thunderstorms left a haze in the cañons, it soon vanished in the light +air. + +Bronson found it difficult to keep Dorothy from over-exerting herself. +They arose at daybreak and went to bed at dusk, save when Lorry came for +an after-dinner chat or when he prevailed upon Dorothy to play for them +in his cabin. On such occasions she would entertain them with old +melodies played softly as they smoked and listened, the lamp unlighted +and the door wide open to the stars. + +One evening, when Dorothy had ceased to play for them, Lorry mentioned +that he was to leave on the following day for an indefinite time. There +had been some trouble about a new outfit that was grazing cattle far to +the south. Shoop had already sent word to the foreman, who had ignored +the message. Lorry had been deputized to see the man and have an +understanding with him. The complaint had been brought to Shoop by one +of the Apache police that some cowboys had been grazing stock and +killing game on the Indian reservation. + +Dorothy realized that Lorry might be away for some time. She would miss +him. And that night she asked her father if she might not invite a girl +friend up for the summer. They were established. And Dorothy was much +stronger and able to attend to the housekeeping. Bronson was quite +willing. He realized that he was busy most of the time, writing. He was +not much of a companion except at the table. So Dorothy wrote to her +friend, who was in Los Angeles and had already planned to drive East +when the roads became passable. + +Lorry was roping the packs next morning when Dorothy appeared in her new +silver-gray corduroy riding-habit--a surprise that she had kept for an +occasion. She was proud of the well-tailored coat and breeches, the +snug-fitting black boots, and the small, new Stetson. Her gray silk +waist was brightened by a narrow four-in-hand of rich blue, and her tiny +gauntlets of soft gray buckskin were stitched with blue silk. + +She looked like some slender, young exquisite who had stepped from the +stage of an old play as she stood smoothing the fingers of her gloves +and smiling across at Lorry. He said nothing, but stared at her. She was +disappointed. She wanted him to tell her that he liked her new things, +she had spent so much time and thought on them. But there he stood, the +pack-rope slack in his hand, staring stupidly. + +She nodded, and waved her hand. + +"It's me," she called. "Good-morning!" + +Lorry managed to stammer a greeting. He felt as though she were some +strange person that looked like Dorothy, but like a new Dorothy of such +exquisite attitude and grace and so altogether charming that he could do +nothing but wonder how the transformation had come about. He had always +thought her pretty. But now she was more than that. She was alluring; +she was the girl he loved from the brim of her gray Stetson to the toe +of her tiny boot. + +"Would you catch my pony for me?" + +Lorry flushed. Of course she wanted Chinook. He swung up on Gray Leg and +spurred across the mesa. His heart was pounding hard. He rode with a +dash and a swing as he rounded up the ponies. As he caught up her horse +he happened to think of his own faded shirt and overalls. He was wearing +the essentially proper clothing for his work. For the first time he +realized the potency of carefully chosen attire. As he rode back with +the pastured pony trailing behind him, he felt peculiarly ashamed of +himself for feeling ashamed of his clothing. Silently he saddled +Chinook, accepted her thanks silently, and strode to his cabin. When he +reappeared he was wearing a new shirt, his blue silk bandanna, and his +silver-studded chaps. He would cache those chaps at his first camp out, +and get them when he returned. + +Bronson came to the doorway. + +Dorothy put her finger to her lips. "Lorry is stunned, I think. Do I +look as spiff as all that?" + +"Like a slim young cavalier; very dashing and wonderful, Peter Pan." + +"Not a bit like Dorothy?" + +"Well, the least bit; but more like Peter Pan." + +"I was getting tired of being just Dorothy. That was all very well when +I wasn't able to ride and camp and do all sorts of adventures. + +"And that isn't all," she continued. "I weigh twelve pounds more than I +did last summer. Mr. Shoop weighed me on the store scales. I wanted to +weigh him. He made an awful pun, but he wouldn't budge." + +Bronson nodded. "I wouldn't ride farther than the Big Spring, Peter. +It's getting hot now." + +"All right, daddy. I wish that horrid old story was finished. You never +ride with me." + +"You'll have some one to ride with you when Alice comes." + +"Yes; but Alice is only a girl." + +Bronson laughed, and she scolded him with her eyes. Just then Lorry +appeared. + +Bronson stooped and kissed her. "And don't ride too far," he cautioned. + +Lorry drove the pack-animals toward Bronson's cabin. He dismounted to +tighten the cinch on Chinook's saddle. + +The little cavalcade moved out across the mesa. Dorothy rode behind the +pack-animals, who knew their work too well to need a lead-rope. It was +_her_ adventure. At the Big Spring, she would graciously allow Lorry to +take charge of the expedition. + +Lorry, riding behind her, turned as they entered the forest, and waved +farewell to Bronson. + +To ride the high trails of the Arizona hills is in itself an +unadulterated joy. To ride these wooded uplands, eight thousand feet +above the world, with a sprightly Peter Pan clad in silver-gray +corduroys and chatting happily, is an enchantment. In such +companionship, when the morning sunlight dapples the dun forest carpet +with pools of gold, when vista after vista unfolds beneath the high +arches of the rusty-brown giants of the woodlands; when somewhere above +there is the open sky and the marching sun, the twilight underworld of +the green-roofed caverns is a magic land. + +The ponies plodded slowly upward, to turn and plod up the next angle of +the trail, without loitering and without haste. When Dorothy checked her +pony to gaze at some new vista, the pack-animals rested, waiting for the +word to go on again. Lorry, awakened to a new charm in Dorothy, rode in +a silence that needed no interpreter. + +At a bend in the trail, Dorothy reined up. "Oh, I just noticed! You are +wearing your chaps this morning." + +Lorry flushed, and turned to tie a saddle-string that was already quite +secure. + +Dorothy nodded to herself and spoke to the horses. They strained on up a +steeper pitch, pausing occasionally to rest. + +Lorry seemed to have regained his old manner. Her mention of the chaps +had wakened him to everyday affairs. After all, she was only a girl; not +yet eighteen, her father had said. "Just a kid," Lorry had thought; "but +mighty pretty in those city clothes." He imagined that some women he had +seen would look like heck in such a riding-coat and breeches. But +Dorothy looked like a kind of stylish boy-girl, slim and yet not quite +as slender as she had appeared in her ordinary clothes. Lorry could not +help associating her appearance with a thoroughbred he had once seen; a +dark-bay colt, satin smooth and as graceful as a flame. He had all but +worshiped that horse. Even as he knew horses, through that colt he had +seen perfection; his ideal of something beautiful beyond words. + +From his pondering, Lorry arrived at a conclusion having nothing to do +with ideals. He would buy a new suit of clothes the first time he went +to Phoenix. It would be a trim suit of corduroy and a dark-green flannel +shirt, like the suit and shirt worn by Lundy, the forestry expert. + +At the base of a great gray shoulder of granite, the Big Spring spread +in its natural rocky bowl which grew shallower toward the edges. Below +the spring in the black mud softened by the overflow were the tracks of +wild turkey and the occasional print of a lynx pad. The bush had been +cleared from around the spring, and the ashes of an old camp-fire marked +the spot where Lorry had often "bushed over-night" on his way to the +cabin. + +Lorry dismounted and tied the pack-horses. He explained that they were +still a little too close to home to be trusted untied. + +Dorothy decided that she was hungry, although they had been but two +hours on the trail. Could they have a real camp-fire and make coffee? + +"Yes, ma'am; right quick." + +"Lorry, don't say 'yes, ma'am.' I--it's nice of you, but just say +'Dorothy.'" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Dorothy's brown eyes twinkled. + +Lorry gazed at her, wondering why she smiled. + +"Yes, ma'am," she said stiffly, as though to a superior whom she feared. + +Lorry grinned. She was always doing something sprightly, either making +him laugh or laughing at him, talking to the horses, planning some +little surprise for their occasional dinners in the Bronson cabin, +quoting some fragment of poetry from an outland song,--she called these +songs "outlandish," and had explained her delight in teasing her father +with "outlandish" adjectives; whistling in answer to the birds, and +amusing herself and her "men-folks" in a thousand ways as spontaneous as +they were delightful. + +With an armful of firewood, Lorry returned to the spring. The ponies +nodded in the heat of noon. Dorothy, spreading their modest luncheon on +a bright new Navajo blanket, seemed daintier than ever against the +background of the forest. They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she +had prepared. After luncheon Lorry smoked, leaning back against the +granite rock, his hat off, and his legs crossed in lazy content. + +"If it could only be like this forever," sighed Dorothy. + +Lorry promptly shook his head. "We'd get hungry after a spell." + +"Men are always hungry. And you've just eaten." + +"But I could listen to a poem," he said, and he winked at a tree-trunk. + +"It's really too warm even to speak of 'The Little Fires,' isn't it? Oh, +I know! Do you remember the camp we made?" + +"Where?" + +"Oh, silly!" + +"Well, I ain't had time to remember this one yet--and this is the first +for us." + +"Lorry, you're awfully practical." + +"I got to be." + +"And I don't believe you know a poem when you see one." + +"I reckon you're right. But I can tell one when I hear it." + +"Very well, then. Shut your eyes tight and listen:-- + +"'Do you remember the camp we made as we nooned on the mesa + floor, + Where the grass rolled down like a running sea in the wind-- + and the world our own? +You laughed as you sat in the cedar shade and said 't was the + ocean shore + Of an island lost in a wizardry of dreams, for ourselves alone. + +"'Our ponies grazed in the idle noon, unsaddled, at ease, and + slow; + The ranges dim were a faëryland; blue hills in a haze of gray. +Hands clasped on knee, you hummed a tune, a melody light and + low; + And do you remember the venture planned in jest--for your + heart was gay?'" + +Dorothy paused. "You may open your eyes. That's all." + +"Well, it's noon," said Lorry, "and there are the ponies, and the hills +are over there. Won't you say the rest of it?" + +"Oh, the rest of it is about a venture planned that never came true. It +couldn't, even in a poem. But I'll tell you about it some day." + +"I could listen right now." + +Dorothy shook her head. "I am afraid it would spoil our real adventure. +But if I were a boy--wouldn't it be fun! We would ride and camp in the +hills at night and find all the little fires along the trail--" + +"We'd make our own," said Lorry. + +"Of course, Mr. Practical Man." + +"Well, I can't help bein' like I am. But sometimes I get lazy and sit +and look at the hills and the cañons and mesas down below, and wonder +what's the good of hustlin'. But somehow I got to quit loafin' after a +spell--and go right to hustlin' again. It's a sure good way to get +rested up; just to sit down and forget everything but the big world +rollin' down to the edge of nothin'. It makes a fella's kickin' and +complainin' look kind of small and ornery." + +"I never heard you complain, Lorry." + +"Huh! You ain't been along with me when I been right up against it and +mebby had to sweat my way out of some darned box cañon or make a ride +through some down timber at night. I've said some lovely things them +times." + +"Oh, I get cross. But, then, I'm a girl. Men shouldn't get cross." + +"I reckon you're right. The sun's comin' through that pine there. +Gettin' too hot?" + +"No, I love it. But I must go. I'll just ride down to the cabin and +unsaddle Chinook and say 'Hello' to father--and that's the end of our +adventure." + +"Won't those city folks be comin' in soon?" + +"Yes. And Alice Weston is lovely. I know you'll like her." + +"Alice who, did you say?" + +"Weston. Alice and her mother are touring overland from Los Angeles. I +know you will admire Alice." + +"Mebby. If she's as pretty as you." + +"Oh, fudge! You like my new suit. And Alice isn't like me at all. She is +nearly as tall as you, and big and strong and really pretty. Bud Shoop +told me I wasn't bigger than a minute." + +"A minute is a whole lot sometimes," said Lorry. + +"You're not so practical as you were, are you?" + +"More. I meant that." + +Dorothy rose and began to roll the Navajo blanket. + +Lorry stepped up and took it from her. "Roll it long and let it hang +down. Then it won't bother you gettin' on or off your horse. That's the +way the Indians roll 'em." + +He jerked the tie-strings tight. "Well, I reckon I'll be goin'," he +said, holding out his hand. + +"Good-bye, ranger man." + +"Good-bye, Dorothy." + +Her slender hand was warm in his. She looked up at him, smiling. He had +never looked at her that way before. She hoped so much that he would say +nothing to spoil the happiness of their idle noon. + +"Lorry, we're great friends, aren't we?" + +"You bet. And I'd do most anything to make you happy." + +"But you don't have to do anything to make me happy. I _am_ happy. +Aren't you?" + +"I aim to be. But what makes you ask?" + +"Oh, you looked so solemn a minute ago. We'll be just friends always, +won't we?" + +"Just friends," he echoed, "always." + +Her brown eyes grew big as he stooped and kissed her. She had not +expected that he would do that. + +"Oh, I thought you liked me!" she said, clasping her hands. + +Lorry bit his lips, and the hot flush died from his face. + +"But I didn't know that you cared--like that! I really don't mind +because you kissed me good-bye--if it was just good-bye and nothing +else." And she smiled a little timidly. + +"I--I reckon I was wrong," he said, "for I was tryin' not to kiss you. +If you say the word, I'll ride back with you and tell your father. I +ain't ashamed of it--only if you say it was wrong." + +Dorothy had recovered herself. A twinkle of fun danced in her eyes. "I +can't scold you now. You're going away. But when you get back--" And she +shook her finger at him and tried to look very grave, which made him +smile. + +"Then I'll keep right on ridin' south," he said. + +"But you'd get lonesome and come back to your hills. I know! And it's +awfully hot in the desert." + +"Would you be wantin' me to come back?" + +"Of course. Father would miss you." + +[Illustration: They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had +prepared] "And that would make you unhappy--him bein' lonesome, so I +reckon I'll come back." + +"I shall be very busy entertaining my guests," she told him with a +charming tilt of her chin. And she straightway swung to the saddle. + +Lorry started the pack-horses up the hill and mounted Gray Leg. She sat +watching him as he rode sideways gazing back at her. + +As he turned to follow the pack-horses up the next ascent she called to +him:-- + +"Perhaps I won't scold you when you come back." + +He laughed, and flung up his arm in farewell. Dorothy reined Chinook +round, and rode slowly down through the silent woodlands. + +Her father came out and took her horse. She told him of their most +wonderful camp at the Big Spring. Bronson smiled. + +"And Lorry kissed me good-bye," she concluded. "Wasn't it silly of him?" + +Bronson glanced at her quickly. "Do you really care for Lorry, Peter +Pan?" + +"Heaps! He's the nicest boy I ever met. Why shouldn't I?" + +"There's no reason in the world why you shouldn't. But I thought you two +were just friends." + +"Why, that's what I said to Lorry. Don't look so mournful, daddy. You +didn't think for a minute that I'd _marry_ him, did you?" + +"Of course not. What would I do without you?" + + + + +Chapter XXVII + + +_Waco_ + +The tramp Waco, drifting south through Prescott, fell in with a quartet +of his kind camped along the railroad track. He stumbled down the +embankment and "sat in" beside their night fire. He was hungry. He had +no money, and he had tramped all that day. They were eating bread and +canned peaches, and had coffee simmering in a pail. They asked no +questions until he had eaten. Then the usual talk began. + +The hobos cursed the country, its people, the railroad, work and the +lack of it, the administration, and themselves. Waco did not agree with +everything they said, but he wished to tramp with them until something +better offered. So he fell in with their humor, but made the mistake of +cursing the trainmen's union. A brakeman had kicked him off a freight +car just outside of Prescott. + +One of the hobos checked Waco sharply. + +"We ain't here to listen to your cussin' any union," he said. "And seem' +you're so mouthy, just show your card." + +"Left it over to the White House," said Waco. + +"That don't go. You got your three letters?" + +"Sure! W.B.Y. Catch onto that?" + +"No. And this ain't no josh." + +"Why, W.B.Y. is for 'What's bitin' you?' Know the answer?" + +"If you can't show your I.W.W., you can beat it," said the tramp. + +"Tryin' to kid me?" + +"Not so as your mother would notice. Got your card?" + +Waco finally realized that they meant business. "No, I ain't got no +I.W.W. card. I'm a bo, same as you fellas. What's bitin' you, anyway?" + +"Let's give him the third, fellas." + +Waco jumped to his feet and backed away. The leader of the group +hesitated wisely, because Waco had a gun in his hand. + +"So that's your game, eh? Collectin' internal revenue. Well, we're union +men. You better sift along." And the leader sat down. + +"I've a dam' good mind to sift you," said Waco, backing toward the +embankment. "Got to have a card to travel with a lousy bunch like you, +eh?" + +He climbed to the top of the embankment, and, turning, ran down the +track. Things were in a fine state when a guy couldn't roll in with a +bunch of willies without showing a card. Workmen often tramped the +country looking for work. But hobos forming a union and calling +themselves workmen! Even Waco could not digest that. + +But he had learned a lesson, and the next group that he overtook +treading the cinders were more genial. One of them gave him some bread +and cold meat. They tramped until nightfall. That evening Waco +industriously "lifted" a chicken from a convenient hencoop. The hen was +old and tough and most probably a grandmother of many years' setting, +but she was a welcome contribution to their evening meal. While they ate +Waco asked them if they belonged to the I.W.W. They did to a man. He had +lost his card. Where could he get a renewal? From headquarters, of +course. But he had been given his card up in Portland; he had cooked in +a lumber camp. In that case he would have to see the "boss" at Phoenix. + +There were three men in the party besides Waco. One of them claimed to +be a carpenter, another an ex-railroad man, and the third an iron +moulder. Waco, to keep up appearances, said that he was a cook; that he +had lost his job in the Northern camps on account of trouble between the +independent lumbermen and the I.W.W. It happened that there had been +some trouble of that kind recently, so his word was taken at its face +value. + +In Phoenix, he was directed to the "headquarters," a disreputable +lounging-room in an abandoned store on the outskirts of the town. There +were papers and magazines scattered about; socialistic journals and many +newspapers printed in German, Russian, and Italian. The place smelled of +stale tobacco smoke and unwashed clothing. But the organization +evidently had money. No one seemed to want for food, tobacco, or +whiskey. + +The "boss," a sharp-featured young man, aggressive and apparently +educated, asked Waco some questions which the tramp answered lamely. The +boss, eager for recruits of Waco's stamp, nevertheless demurred until +Waco reiterated the statement that he could cook, was a good cook and +had earned good money. + +"I'll give you a renewal of your card. What was the number?" queried the +boss. + +"Thirteen," said Waco, grinning. + +"Well, we may be able to use you. We want cooks at Sterling." + +"All right. Nothin' doin' here, anyway." + +The boss smiled to himself. He knew that Waco had never belonged to the +I.W.W., but if the impending strike at the Sterling smelter became a +reality a good cook would do much to hold the I.W.W. camp together. Any +tool that could be used was not overlooked by the boss. He was paid to +hire men for a purpose. + +In groups of from ten to thirty the scattered aggregation made its way +to Sterling and mingled with the workmen after hours. A sinister +restlessness grew and spread insidiously among the smelter hands. Men +laid off before pay-day and were seen drunk in the streets. Others +appeared at the smelter in a like condition. They seemed to have money +with which to pay for drinks and cigars. The heads of the different +departments of the smelter became worried. Local papers began to make +mention of an impending strike when no such word had as yet come to the +smelter operators. Outside papers took it up. Surmises were many and +various. Few of the papers dared charge the origin of the disturbances +to the I.W.W. The law had not been infringed upon, yet lawlessness was +everywhere, conniving in dark corners, boasting openly on the street, +setting men's brains afire with whiskey, playing upon the ignorance of +the foreign element, and defying the intelligence of Americans who +strove to forfend the threatened calamity. + +The straight union workmen were divided in sentiment. Some of them voted +to work; others voted loudly to throw in with the I.W.W., and among +these were many foreigners--Swedes, Hungarians, Germans, Poles, +Italians; the usual and undesirable agglomeration to be found in a +smelter town. + +Left to themselves, they would have continued to work. They were in +reality the cheaper tools of the trouble-makers. There were fewer and +keener tools to be used, and these were selected and turned against +their employers by that irresistible potency, gold; gold that came from +no one knew where, and came in abundance. Finally open threats of a +strike were made. Circulars were distributed throughout town +over-night, cleverly misstating conditions. A grain of truth was +dissolved in the slaver of anarchy into a hundred lies. + +Waco, installed in the main I.W.W. camp just outside the town, cooked +early and late, and received a good wage for his services. More men +appeared, coming casually from nowhere and taking up their abode with +the disturbers. + +A week before the strike began, a committee from the union met with a +committee of townsmen and representatives of the smelter interests. The +argument was long and inconclusive. Aside from this, a special committee +of townsmen, headed by the mayor, interviewed the I.W.W. leaders. + +Arriving at no definite understanding, the citizens finally threatened +to deport the trouble-makers in a body. The I.W.W. members laughed at +them. Socialism, in which many of the better class of workmen believed +sincerely, began to take on the red tinge of anarchy. A notable advocate +of arbitration, a foreman in the smelter, was found one morning beaten +into unconsciousness. And no union man had done this thing, for the +foreman was popular with the union, to a man. The mayor received an +anonymous letter threatening his life. A similar letter was received by +the chief of police. And some few politicians who had won to prominence +through questionable methods were threatened with exposure if they did +not side with the strikers. + +Conditions became deplorable. The papers dared not print everything +they knew for fear of political enmity. And they were not able to print +many things transpiring in that festering underworld for lack of +definite knowledge, even had they dared. + +Noon of an August day the strikers walked out. Mob rule threatened +Sterling. Women dared no longer send their children to school or to the +grocery stores for food. They hardly dared go themselves. A striker was +shot by a companion in a saloon brawl. The killing was immediately +charged to a corporation detective, and our noble press made much of the +incident before it found out the truth. + +Shortly after this a number of citizens representing the business +backbone of the town met quietly and drafted a letter to a score of +citizens whom they thought might be trusted. That was Saturday evening. +On Sunday night there were nearly a hundred men in town who had been +reached by the citizens' committee. They elected a sub-committee of +twelve, with the sheriff as chairman. Driven to desperation by +intolerable conditions, they decided to administer swift and conclusive +justice themselves. To send for troops would be an admission that the +town of Sterling could not handle her own community. + +It became whispered among the I.W.W. that "The Hundred" had organized. +Leaders of the strikers laughed at these rumors, telling the men that +the day of the vigilante was past. + +On the following Wednesday a rabid leader of the disturbers, not a +union man, but a man who had never done a day's work in his life, +mounted a table on a street corner and addressed the crowd which quickly +swelled to a mob. Members of "The Hundred," sprinkled thinly throughout +the mob, listened until the speaker had finished. Among other things, he +had made a statement about the National Government which should have +turned the mob to a tribunal of prompt justice and hanged him. But many +of the men were drunk, and all were inflamed with the poison of the +hour. When the man on the table continued to slander the Government, and +finally named a name, there was silence. A few of the better class of +workmen edged out of the crowd. The scattered members of "The Hundred" +stayed on to the last word. + +Next morning this speaker was found dead, hanging from a bridge a little +way out of town. Not a few of the strikers were startled to a sense of +broad justice in his death, and yet such a hanging was an outrage to any +community. One sin did not blot out another. And the loyal "Hundred" +realized too late that they had put a potent weapon in the hands of +their enemies. + +A secret meeting was called by "The Hundred." Wires were commandeered +and messages sent to several towns in the northern part of the State to +men known personally by members of "The Hundred" as fearless and loyal +to American institutions. Already the mob had begun rioting, but, +meeting with no resistance, it contented itself with insulting those +whom they knew were not sympathizers. Stores were closed, and were +straightway broken into and looted. Drunkenness and street fights were +so common as to evoke no comment. + +Two days later a small band of cowboys rode into town. They were +followed throughout the day by other riders, singly and in small groups. +It became noised about the I.W.W. camp that professional gunmen were +being hired by the authorities; were coming in on horseback and on the +trains. That night the roadbed of the railroad was dynamited on both +sides of town. "The Hundred" immediately dispatched automobiles with +armed guards to meet the trains. + +Later, strangers were seen in town; quiet men who carried themselves +coolly, said nothing, and paid no attention to catcalls and insults. It +was rumored that troops had been sent for. Meanwhile, the town seethed +with anarchy and drunkenness. But, as must ever be the case, anarchy was +slowly weaving a rope with which to hang itself. + +Up in the second story of the court-house a broad-shouldered, +heavy-jawed man sat at a flat-topped desk with a clerk beside him. The +clerk wrote names in a book. In front of the clerk was a cigar-box +filled with numbered brass checks. The rows of chairs from the desk to +the front windows were pretty well filled with men, lean, hard-muscled +men of the ranges in the majority. The room was quiet save for an +occasional word from the big man at the desk. The clerk drew a check +from the cigar-box. A man stepped up to the desk, gave his name, age, +occupation, and address, received the numbered check, and went to his +seat. The clerk drew another check. + +A fat, broad-shouldered man waddled up, smiling. + +"Why, hello, Bud!" said the heavy-jawed man, rising and shaking hands. +"I didn't expect to see you. Wired you thinking you might send one or +two men from your county." + +"I got 'em with me," said Bud. + +"Number thirty-seven," said the clerk. + +Bud stuffed the check in his vest pocket. He would receive ten dollars a +day while in the employ of "The Hundred." He would be known and +addressed while on duty as number thirty-seven. "The Hundred" were not +advertising the names of their supporters for future use by the I.W.W. + +Bud's name and address were entered in a notebook. He waddled back to +his seat. + +"Cow-punch," said someone behind him. + +Bud turned and grinned. "You seen my laigs," he retorted. + +"Number thirty-eight." + +Lorry came forward and received his check. + +"You're pretty young," said the man at the desk. Lorry flushed, but made +no answer. + +"Number thirty-nine." + +The giant sheepman of the high country strode up, nodded, and took his +check. + +"Stacey County is well represented," said the man at the desk. + +When the clerk had finished entering the names, there were forty-eight +numbers in his book. The man at the desk rose. + +"Men," he said grimly, "you know what you are here for. If you haven't +got guns, you will be outfitted downstairs. Some folks think that this +trouble is only local. It isn't. It is national. Providence seems to +have passed the buck to us to stop it. We are here to prove that we can. +Last night our flag--our country's flag--was torn from the halyards +above this building and trampled in the dust of the street. Sit still +and don't make a noise. We're not doing business that way. If there are +any married men here, they had better take their horses and ride home. +This community does not assume responsibility for any man's life. You +are volunteers. There are four ex-Rangers among you. They will tell you +what to do. But I'm going to tell you one thing first; don't shoot high +or low when you have to shoot. Draw plumb center, and don't quit as long +as you can feel to pull a trigger. For any man that isn't outfitted +there's a rifle and fifty rounds of soft-nosed ammunition downstairs." + +The heavy-shouldered man sat down and pulled the notebook toward him. +The men rose and filed quietly downstairs. + +As they gathered in the street and gazed up at the naked halyards, a +shot dropped one of them in his tracks. An eagle-faced cowman whipped +out his gun. With the report came the tinkle of breaking glass from a +window diagonally opposite. Feet clattered down the stairs of the +building, and a woman ran into the street, screaming and calling out +that a man had been murdered. + +"Reckon I got him," said the cowman. "Boys, I guess she's started." + +The men ran for their horses. As they mounted and assembled, the +heavy-shouldered man appeared astride a big bay horse. + +"We're going to clean house," he stated. "And we start right here." + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + + +_A Squared Account_ + +The housecleaning began at the building diagonally opposite the +assembled posse. In a squalid room upstairs they found the man who had +fired upon them. He was dead. Papers found upon him disclosed his +identity as an I.W.W. leader. He had evidently rented the room across +from the court-house that he might watch the movements of "The Hundred." +A cheap, inaccurate revolver was found beside him. Possibly he had +fired, thinking to momentarily disorganize the posse; that they would +not know from where the shot had come until he had had time to make his +escape and warn his fellows. + +The posse moved from building to building. Each tenement, private +rooming-house, and shack was entered and searched. Union men who chanced +to be at home were warned that any man seen on the street that day was +in danger of being killed. Several members of the I.W.W. were routed out +in different parts of the town and taken to the jail. + +Saloons were ordered to close. Saloon-keepers who argued their right to +keep open were promptly arrested. An I.W.W. agitator, defying the posse, +was handcuffed, loaded into a machine, and taken out of town. Groups of +strikers gathered at the street corners and jeered the armed posse. One +group, cornered in a side street, showed fight. + +"We'll burn your dam' town!" cried a voice. + +The sheriff swung from his horse and shouldered through the crowd. As he +did so, a light-haired, weasel-faced youth, with a cigarette dangling +from the corner of his loose mouth, backed away. The sheriff followed +and pressed him against a building. + +"I know you!" said the sheriff. "You never made or spent an honest +dollar in this town. Boys," he continued, turning to the strikers, "are +you proud of this skunk who wants to burn your town?" + +A workman laughed. + +"You said it!" asserted the sheriff. "When somebody tells you what he +is, you laugh. Why don't you laugh at him when he's telling you of the +buildings he has dynamited and how many deaths he is responsible for? +Did he ever sweat alongside of any of you doing a day's work? Do you +know him? Does he know anything about your work or conditions? Not a +damned thing! Just think it over. And, boys, remember he is paid easy +money to get you into trouble. Who pays him? Is there any decent +American paying him to do that sort of thing? Stop and think about it." + +The weasel-faced youth raised his arm and pointed at the sheriff. "Who +pays you to shoot down women and kids?" he snarled. + +"I'm taking orders from the Governor of this State." + +"To hell with the Governor! And there's where he'll wake up one of these +fine days." + +"Because he's enforcing the law and trying to keep the flag from being +insulted by whelps like you, eh?" + +"We'll show you what's law! And we'll show you the right kind of a +flag--" + +"Boys, are you going to stand for this kind of talk?" And the sheriff's +heavy face quivered with anger. "I'd admire to kill you!" he said, +turning on the youth. "But that wouldn't do any good." + +The agitator was taken to the jail. Later it was rumored that a machine +had left the jail that night with three men in it. Two of them were +armed guards. The third was a weasel-faced youth. He was never heard of +again. + +As the cavalcade moved on down the street, workmen gathered on street +corners and in upper rooms and discussed the situation. The strike had +got beyond their control. Many of them were for sending a delegation to +the I.W.W. camp demanding that they disband and leave. Others were +silent, and still others voted loudly to "fight to a finish." + +Out beyond the edge of town lay the I.W.W. camp, a conglomeration of +board shacks hastily erected, brush-covered hovels, and tents. Not +counting the scattered members in town, there were at least two hundred +of the malcontents loafing in camp. When the sheriff's posse appeared it +was met by a deputation. But there was no parley. + +"We'll give you till sundown to clear out," said the sheriff and, +turning, he and his men rode back to the court-house. + +That evening sentinels were posted at the street corners within hail of +each other. In a vacant lot back of the court-house the horses of the +posse were corralled under guard. The town was quiet. Occasionally a +figure crossed the street; some shawl-hooded striker's wife or some +workman heedless of the sheriff's warning. + +Lorry happened to be posted on a corner of the court-house square. +Across the street another sentinel paced back and forth, occasionally +pausing to talk with Lorry. + +This sentinel was halfway up the block when a figure appeared from the +shadow between two buildings. The sentinel challenged. + +"A friend," said the figure. "I was lookin' for young Adams." + +"What do you want with him?" + +"It's private. Know where I can find him?" + +"He's across the street there. Who are you, anyway?" + +"That's my business. He knows me." + +"This guy wants to talk to you," called the sentinel. + +Lorry stepped across the street. He stopped suddenly as he discovered +the man to be Waco, the tramp. + +"Is it all right?" asked the sentinel, addressing Lorry. + +"I guess so. What do you want?" + +"It's about Jim Waring," said Waco. "I seen you when the sheriff rode up +to our camp. I seen by the papers that Jim Waring was your father. I +wanted to tell you that it was High-Chin Bob what killed Pat. I was in +the buckboard with Pat when he done it. The horses went crazy at the +shootin' and ditched me. When I come to I was in Grant." + +"Why didn't you stay and tell what you knew? Nobody would 'a' hurt you." + +"I was takin' no chance of the third, and twenty years." + +"What you doin' in this town?" + +"Cookin' for the camp. But I can't hold that job long. My whole left +side is goin' flooey. The boss give me hallelujah to-day for bein' slow. +I'm sick of the job." + +"Well, you ought to be. Suppose you come over to the sheriff and tell +him what you know about the killin' of Pat." + +"Nope; I was scared you would say that. I'm tellin' _you_ because you +done me a good turn onct. I guess that lets me out." + +"Not if I make you sit in." + +"You can make me sit in all right. But you can't make me talk. Show me +a cop and I freeze. I ain't takin' no chances." + +"You're takin' bigger chances right now." + +"Bigger'n you know, kid. Listen! You and Jim Waring and Pat used me +white. I'm sore at that I.W.W. bunch, but I dassent make a break. They'd +get me. But listen! If the boys knowed I was tellin' you this they'd cut +me in two. Two trucks just came into camp from up north. Them trucks was +loaded to the guards. Every man in camp's got a automatic and fifty +rounds. And they was settin' up a machine gun when I slipped through and +beat it, lookin' for you. You better fan it out of this while you got +the chanct." + +"Did they send you over to push that bluff--or are you talkin' +straight?" + +"S' help me! It's the bleedin' truth!" + +"Well, I'm thankin' you. But get goin' afore I change my mind." + +"Would you shake with a bum?" queried Waco. + +"Why--all right. You're tryin' to play square, I reckon. Wait a minute! +Are you willin' to put in writin' that you seen High-Chin Bob kill Pat? +I got a pencil and a envelope on me. Will you put it down right here, +and me to call my friend and witness your name?" + +"You tryin' to pinch me?" + +"That ain't my style." + +"All right. I'll put it down." + +And in the flickering rays of the arc light Waco scribbled on the back +of the envelope and signed his name. Lorry's companion read the scrawl +and handed it back to Lorry. Waco humped his shoulders and shuffled +away. + +"Why didn't you nail him?" queried the other. + +"I don't know. Mebby because he was trustin' me." + +Shortly afterward Lorry and his companion were relieved from duty. Lorry +immediately reported to the sheriff, who heard him without interrupting, +dismissed him, and turned to the committee, who held night session +discussing the situation. + +"They've called our bluff," he said, twisting his cigar round in his +lips. + +A ballot was taken. The vote was eleven to one for immediate action. The +ballot was secret, but the member who had voted against action rose and +tendered his resignation. + +"It would be plain murder if we were to shoot up their camp. It would +place us on their level." + +Just before daybreak a guard stationed two blocks west of the +court-house noticed a flare of light in the windows of a building +opposite. He glanced toward the east. The dim, ruddy glow in the windows +was not that of dawn. He ran to the building and tried to open the door +to the stairway. As he wrenched at the door a subdued soft roar swelled +and grew louder. Turning, he ran to the next corner, calling to the +guard. The alarm of fire was relayed to the court-house. + +Meanwhile the two cowboys ran back to the building and hammered on the +door. Some one in an upstairs room screamed. Suddenly the door gave +inward. A woman carrying a cheap gilt clock pushed past them and sank in +a heap on the sidewalk. The guards heard some one running down the +street. One of them tied a handkerchief over his face and groped his way +up the narrow stairs. The hall above was thick with smoke. A door sprang +open, and a man carrying a baby and dragging a woman by the hand bumped +into the guard, cursed, and stumbled toward the stairway. + +The cowboy ran from door to door down the long, narrow hall, calling to +the inmates. In one room he found a lamp burning on a dresser and two +children asleep. He dragged them from bed and carried them to the +stairway. From below came the surge and snap of flames. He held his +breath and descended the stairs. A crowd of half-clothed workmen had +gathered. Among them he saw several of the guards. + +"Who belongs to these kids?" he cried. + +A woman ran up. "She's here," she said, pointing to the woman with the +gilt clock, who still lay on the sidewalk. A man was trying to revive +her. The cowboy noticed that the unconscious woman still gripped the +gilt clock. + +He called to a guard. Together they dashed up the stairs and ran from +room to room. Toward the back of the building they found a woman +insanely gathering together a few cheap trinkets and stuffing them into +a pillow-case. She was trying to work a gilt-framed lithograph into the +pillow-case when they seized her and led her toward the stairway. She +fought and cursed and begged them to let her go back and get her things. +A burst of flame swept up the stairway. The cowboys turned and ran back +along the hall. One of them kicked a window out. The other tied a sheet +under the woman's arms and together they lowered her to the ground. + +Suddenly the floor midway down the hall sank softly in a fountain of +flame and sparks. + +"Reckon we jump," said one of the cowboys. + +Lowering himself from the rear window, he dropped. His companion +followed. They limped to the front of the building. A crowd massed in +the street, heedless of the danger that threatened as a section of roof +curled like a piece of paper, writhed, and dropped to the sidewalk. + +A group of guards appeared with a hose-reel. They coupled to a hydrant. +A thin stream gurgled from the hose and subsided. The sheriff ran to the +steps of a building and called to the crowd. + +"Your friends," he cried, "have cut the water-main. There is no water." + +The mass groaned and swayed back and forth. + +From up the street came a cry--the call of a range rider. A score of +cowboys tried to force the crowd back from the burning building. + +"Look out for the front!" cried the guards. "She's coming!" + +The crowd surged back. The front of that flaming shell quivered, curved, +and crashed to the street. + +The sheriff called to his men. An old Texas Ranger touched his arm. +"There's somethin' doin' up yonder, Cap." + +"Keep the boys together," ordered the sheriff; "This fire was started to +draw us out. Tell the boys to get their horses." + +Dawn was breaking when the cowboys gathered in the vacant lot and +mounted their horses. In the clear light they could see a mob in the +distance; a mob that moved from the east toward the court-house. The +sheriff dispatched a man to wire for troops, divided his force in +halves, and, leading one contingent, he rode toward the oncoming mob. +The other half of the posse, led by an old Ranger, swung round to a back +street and halted. + +The shadows of the buildings grew shorter. A cowboy on a restive pony +asked what they were waiting for. Some one laughed. + +The old Ranger turned in his saddle. "It's a right lovely mornin'," he +remarked impersonally, tugging at his silver-gray mustache. + +Suddenly the waiting riders stiffened in their saddles. A ripple of +shots sounded, followed by the shrill cowboy yell. Still the old Ranger +sat his horse, coolly surveying his men. + +"Don't we get a look-in?" queried a cowboy. + +"Poco tiempo," said the Ranger softly. + +The sheriff bunched his men as he approached the invaders. Within fifty +yards of their front he halted and held up his hand. Massed in a solid +wall from curb to curb, the I.W.W. jeered and shouted as he tried to +speak. A parley was impossible. The vagrants were most of them drunk. + +The sheriff turned to the man nearest him. + +"Tell the boys that we'll go through, turn, and ride back. Tell them not +to fire a shot until we turn." + +As he gathered his horse under him, the sheriff's arm dropped. The +shrill "Yip! Yip!" of the range rose above the thunder of hoofs as +twenty ponies jumped to a run. The living thunder-bolt tore through the +mass. The staccato crack of guns sounded sharply above the deeper roar +of the mob. The ragged pathway closed again as the riders swung round, +bunched, and launched at the mass from the rear. Those who had turned to +face the second charge were crowded back as the cowboys, with guns +going, ate into the yelling crowd. The mob turned, and like a great, +black wave swept down the street and into the court-house square. + +The cowboys raced past, and reined in a block below the court-house. As +they paused to reload, a riderless horse, badly wounded, plunged among +them. A cowboy caught the horse and shot it. Another rider, gripping his +shirt above his abdomen, writhed and groaned, begging piteously for some +one to kill him. Before they could get him off his horse he spurred out, +and, pulling his carbine from the scabbard, charged into the mob, in the +square. With the lever going like lightning, he bored into the mob, +fired his last shot in the face of a man that had caught his horse's +bridle, and sank to the ground. Shattered and torn he lay, a red pulp +that the mob trampled into the dust. + +The upper windows of the court-house filled with figures. An irregular +fire drove the cowboys to the shelter of a side street. In the wide +doorway of the court-house several men crouched behind a blue-steel +tripod. Those still in the square crowded past and into the building. +Behind the stone pillars of the entrance, guarded by a machine gun, the +crazy mob cheered drunkenly and defied the guards to dislodge them. + +From a building opposite came a single shot, and the group round the +machine gun lifted one of their fellows and carried him back into the +building. Again came the peremptory snarl of a carbine, and another +figure sank in the doorway. The machine gun was dragged back. Its muzzle +still commanded the square, but its operators were now shielded by an +angle of the entrance. + +Back on the side street, the old ex-Ranger had difficulty in +restraining his men. They knew by the number of shots fired that some of +their companions had gone down. + +The sheriff was about to call for volunteers to capture the machine gun +when a white handkerchief fluttered from an upper window of the +court-house. Almost immediately a man appeared on the court-house steps, +alone and indicating by his gestures that he wished to parley with the +guard. The sheriff dismounted and stepped forward. + +One of his men checked him. "That's a trap, John. They want to get you, +special. Don't you try it." + +"It's up to me," said the sheriff, and shaking off the other's hand he +strode across the square. + +At the foot of the steps he met the man. The guard saw them converse for +a brief minute; saw the sheriff shake his fist in the other's face and +turn to walk back. As he turned, a shot from an upper window dropped him +in his stride. + +The cowboys yelled and charged across the square. The machine gun +stuttered and sprayed a fury of slugs that cut down horses and riders. A +cowboy, his horse shot from under him, sprang up the steps and dragged +the machine gun into the open. A rain of slugs from the upper windows +struck him down. His companions carried him back to cover. The machine +gun stood in the square, no longer a menace, yet no one dared approach +it from either side. + +When the old Ranger, who had orders to hold his men in reserve, heard +that the sheriff had been shot down under a flag of truce, he shook his +head. + +"Three men could 'a' stopped that gun as easy as twenty, and saved more +hosses. Who wants to take a little pasear after that gun?" + +Several of his men volunteered. + +"I only need two," he said, smiling. "I call by guess. Number +twenty-six, number thirty-eight, and number three." + +The last was his own number. + +In the wide hallway and massed on the court-house stairs the mob was +calling out to recover the gun. Beyond control of their leaders, crazed +with drink and killing, they surged forward, quarreling, and shoved from +behind by those above. + +"We're ridin'," said the old Ranger. + +With a man on each side of him he charged across the square. + +Waco, peering from behind a stone column in the entrance, saw that Lorry +was one of the riders. Lorry's lips were drawn tight. His face was pale, +but his gun arm swung up and down with the regularity of a machine as he +threw shot after shot into the black tide that welled from the +court-house doorway. A man near Waco pulled an automatic and leveled it. +Waco swung his arm and brained the man with an empty whiskey bottle. He +threw the bottle at another of his fellows, and, stumbling down the +steps, called to Lorry. The three riders paused for an instant as Waco +ran forward. The riders had won almost to the gun when Waco stooped and +jerked it round and poured a withering volley into the close-packed +doorway. + +Back in the side street the leader of the cowboys addressed his men. + +"We'll leave the horses here," he said. "Tex went after that gun, and I +reckon he's got it. We'll clean up afoot." + +But the I.W.W. had had enough. Their leaders had told them that with the +machine gun they could clean up the town, capture the court-house, and +make their own terms. They had captured the court-house, but they were +themselves trapped. One of their own number had planned that treachery. +And they knew that those lean, bronzed men out there would shoot them +down from room to room as mercilessly as they would kill coyotes. + +They surrendered, shuffling out and down the slippery stone steps. Each +man dropped his gun in the little pile that grew and grew until the old +Ranger shook his head, pondering. That men of this kind should have +access to arms and ammunition of the latest military type--and a machine +gun. What was behind it all? He tried to reason it out in his +old-fashioned way even as the trembling horde filed past, cordoned by +grim, silent cowboys. + +The vagrants were escorted out of town in a body. Fearful of the hate +of the guard, of treachery among themselves and of the townsfolk in +other places, they tramped across the hills, followed closely by the +stern-visaged riders. Several miles north of Sterling they disbanded. + +When a company of infantrymen arrived in Sterling they found several +cowboys sluicing down the court-house steps with water hauled +laboriously from the river. + +The captain stated that he would take charge of things, and suggested +that the cowboys take a rest. + +"That's all right, Cap," said a puncher, pointing toward the naked +flagstaff. "But we-all would admire to see the Stars and Stripes +floatin' up there afore we drift." + +"I'll have the flag run up," said the captain. + +"That's all right, Cap. But you don't sabe the idee. These here steps +got to be _clean_ afore that flag goes up." + + * * * * * + +"And they's some good in bein' fat," said Bud Shoop as he met Lorry next +morning. "The army doc just put a plaster on my arm where one of them +automatic pills nicked me. Now, if I'd been lean like you--" + +"Did you see Waco?" queried Lorry. + +"Waco? What's ailin' you, son?" + +"Nothin'. It was Waco went down, workin' that machine gun against his +own crowd. I didn't sabe that at first." + +"Him? Didn't know he was in town." + +"I didn't, either, till last night. He sneaked in to tell me about the +killin' of Pat. Next I seen him was when he brained a fella that was +shootin' at me. Then somehow he got to the gun--and you know the rest." + +"Looks like he was crazy," suggested Shoop. + +"I don' know about that. I got to him before he cashed in. He pawed +around like he couldn't see. I asked what I could do. He kind of braced +up then. 'That you, kid?' he says. 'They didn't get you?' I told him no. +'Then I reckon we're square,' he says. I thought he was gone, but he +reached out his hand. Seems he couldn't see. 'Would you mind shakin' +hands with a bum?' he says. I did. And then he let go my hand. He was +done." + +"H'm! And him! But you can't always tell. Sometimes it takes a bullet +placed just right, and sometimes religion, and sometimes a woman to make +a man show what's in him. I reckon Waco done you a good turn that +journey. But ain't it hard luck when a fella waits till he's got to +cross over afore he shows white?" + +"He must 'a' had a hunch he was goin' to get his," said Lorry. "Or he +wouldn't chanced sneakin' into town last night. When do we go north?" + +"To-morrow. The doc says the sheriff will pull through. He sure ought to +get the benefit of the big doubt. There's a man that God A'mighty took +some trouble in makin'." + +"Well, I'm mighty glad it's over. I don't want any more like this. I +come through all right, but this ain't fightin'; it's plumb killin' and +murder." + +"And both sides thinks so," said Bud. "And lemme tell you; you can read +your eyes out about peace and equality and fraternity, but they's goin' +to be killin' in this here world just as long as they's fools willin' to +listen to other fools talk. And they's always goin' to be some fools." + +"You ain't strong on socialism, eh, Bud?" + +"Socialism? You mean when all men is born fools and equal? Not this +mawnin', son. I got all I can do figurin' out my own trail." + + + + +Chapter XXIX + + +_Bud's Conscience_ + +Those riders who had come from the northern part of the State to +Sterling were given transportation for themselves and their horses to +The Junction. From there they rode to their respective homes. Among them +were Bud Shoop, the giant sheepman, and Lorry, who seemed more anxious +than did Shoop to stop at Stacey on their way to the reserve. + +"Your maw don't know you been to Sterling," Shoop said as they rode +toward Stacey. + +"But she won't care, now we're back again. She'll find out some time." + +"I'm willin' to wait," said Bud. "I got you into that hocus. But I had +no more idee than a cat that we'd bump into what we did. They was a time +when a outfit like ours could 'a' kep' peace in a town by just bein' +there. Things are changin'--fast. If the Gov'ment don't do somethin' +about allowin' the scum of this country to get hold of guns and +ca'tridges wholesale, they's goin' to be a whole lot of extra +book-keepin' for the recordin' angel. I tell you what, son, allowin' +that I seen enough killin' in my time so as just seein' it don't set too +hard on my chest, that mess down to Sterling made me plumb sick to my +stummick. I'm wonderin' what would 'a' happened if Sterling hadn't made +that fight and the I.W.W. had run loose. It ain't what we did. That had +to be did. But it's the idee that decent folks, livin' under the +American flag, has got to shoot their way back to the law, like we +done." + +"Mebby the law ain't right," suggested Lorry. + +"Don't you get that idee, son. The law is all right. Mebby it ain't +handled right sometimes." + +"But what can anybody do about it?" + +"Trouble is that folks who want to do the right thing ain't always got +the say. Or mebby if they have got the say they leave it to the other +fella. + +"What did the folks in Arizona do long back in eighty, when the sheep +disease got bad. First off they doctored up the sick sheep, tryin' to +save 'em. That didn't work, so they took to killin' 'em to save the good +sheep. But the disease had got into the blood of some of the good sheep. +Then some of the big sheepmen got busy. Arizona made a law that no stock +was to be shipped into any of her territory without bein' inspected. +That helped some. But inspectors is human, and some sick sheep got by. + +"Then one day a fella that had some brains got up in the State House and +spoke for the shuttin' out of all stock until the disease was stomped +out. You see, that disease didn't start in this here country. But who +downed that fella? Why, the sheepmen themselves. It would hurt their +business. And the funny part of it is them sheepmen was willin' enough +to ship sick sheep anywhere they could sell 'em. But some States was +wise. California, she put a inspection tax of twenty-five dollars on +every carload of stock enterin' her State--or on one animal; didn't make +no difference. That inspection tax had to be paid by the shipper of the +stock, as I said, whether he shipped one head or a hundred. And the +stock had to be inspected before loadin'." + +"You mean immigrants?" queried Lorry. + +"The same. The gate is open too wide. If I had the handlin' of them +gates I would shut 'em for ten years and kind of let what we got settle +down and get acquainted. But the man hirin' cheap labor wouldn't. He'll +take anything that will work cheap, and the country pays the difference, +like we done down to Sterling." + +"You mean there can't be cheap labor?" + +"The same. Somebody's got to pay." + +"Well, Sterling paid," said Lorry, "if a man's life is worth anything." + +"Yes, she paid. And the worst part of the whole business is that the men +what paid didn't owe anything to the smelter or to them others. They +just made a present of their lives to this here country. And the country +ain't goin' to even say 'thanks.'" + +"You're pretty sore about it, aren't you, Bud?" + +"I be. And if you had my years you'd be likewise. But what's worryin' me +right now is I'm wonderin' what your maw'll say to me when she finds +out." + +"You can say we been south on business." + +"Yes," grunted Bud, "and I got the receipt right here on my left wing." + +"Hurtin' you much?" + +"Just enough to let me know I'm livin' and ain't ridin' through hell +shootin' down a lot of pore, drunk fools that's tryin' to run the oven. +And them kind would kick if they was ridin' in hell on a free pass and +their hotel bills paid. But over there is the hills, and we can thank +God A'mighty for the high trails and the open country. I ain't got the +smell of that town out of my nose yet." + + * * * * * + +When they arrived at Stacey, Lorry learned that his father had recently +gone to the ranch. After supper that evening, Mrs. Adams mentioned the +strike. The papers printed columns of the awful details; outrages and +killings beyond the thought of possibility. And Mrs. Adams spoke of the +curious circumstance that the men who put down the lawlessness were +unnamed; that all that could be learned of them was that there were +ranchers and cowmen who were known by number alone. + +"And I'm glad that you didn't go riding off down there," she said to +Lorry. "The paper says men from all over the State volunteered." + +"So am I," said Shoop promptly. "I was readin' about that strike when +we was over to The Junction. Lorry and me been over that way on +business. I seen that that young fella, number thirty-eight, was one of +the men who went after that machine gun." + +"How do you know that he was a young man?" queried Mrs. Adams. + +"Why--er--only a young fella would act that foolish, I reckon. You say +Jim is feelin' spry ag'in?" + +"Oh, much better! He's lame yet. But he can ride." + +"That's good." + +"And did you see that the paper says men are volunteering to go to +France? I wonder what will happen next?" + +"I dunno," said Shoop gravely. "I been thinkin' about that." + +"Well, I hope Lorry won't think that he has to go. Some of the boys in +town are talking about it." + +"It's in the air," said Shoop. + +"And his father will need him now. Could you spare him, if Jim finds he +can't get along alone?" + +"I don't know," laughed Bud. "I reckon I need somebody to look after +them campers up to my old place." + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you; the folks that were here last summer stopped +by on their way to Jason. Mrs. Weston and her girl. They said they were +going to visit Mr. Bronson." + +"H'm! Then I reckon I got to keep Lorry. Don't know what three females +would do with just Bronson for comp'ny. He's a-tickin' at that writin' +machine of his most all day, and sometimes nights. It must be like +livin' in a cave." + +"But Dorothy hasn't," said Lorry. + +"That's right! My, but that little gal has built up wonderful since +she's been up there! Did you see my watch?" + +"Why, no!" + +"Some style to that!" And Shoop displayed the new watch with pride. "And +here's the name of the lady what give it to me." + +Lorry's mother examined the watch, and handed it to Lorry, to whom the +news of the gift was a surprise. + +"But she didn't give him a watch," said Shoop, chuckling. + + * * * * * + +Up in their room that night, Lorry helped Bud out of his coat. Shoop's +arm was stiff and sore. + +"And your mother would think it was a mighty queer business, if she +knowed this," said Bud, "or who that number thirty-eight was down +there." + +"You sure made a good bluff, Bud." + +"Mebby. But I was scared to death. When I was talkin' about Sterling so +free and easy, and your maw mighty near ketched me that time, my arm was +itchin' like hell-fire, and I dassen scratch it. I never knowed a +fella's conscience could get to workin' around his system like that. +Now, if it was my laig, I could 'a' scratched it with my other foot +under the table. Say, but you sure showed red in your face when your maw +said them Weston folks was up to the camp." + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, I do. Here, hook onto your Uncle Bud's boot. I'm set: go ahead +and pull. You can't do nothin' but shake the buildin'. Say, what does +Bronson call his gal 'Peter Pan' for?" + +"Why, it's a kind of foreign name," flashed Lorry. "And it sounds all +right when you say it right. You said it like the 'pan' was settin' a +mile off." + +"Well, you needn't to get mad." + + + + +Chapter XXX + + +_In the Hills_ + +Lorry's return to the mountains was somewhat of a disappointment to his +expectations. Dorothy had greeted him quite casually and naturally +enough, in that she knew nothing of his recent venture. He was again +introduced to Mrs. Weston and her daughter. For the first time Dorothy +heard of the automobile accident and Lorry's share in the subsequent +proceedings. She asked Lorry why he had not told her that he knew the +Westons. He had no reply save "Oh, I don't know," which rather piqued +Dorothy. He was usually definite and frank. + +The Westons occupied Bronson's cabin with Dorothy. Bronson pitched a +tent, moved his belongings into it, and declared himself, jokingly, free +from Dorothy's immediate tyranny. + +Dorothy, busy in the kitchen, asked her father to invite Lorry to dinner +that evening. Through a sort of youthful perverseness not unmixed with +bucolic pride, Lorry declined the invitation. He would be busy making +ready for another trip in the hills. He had already planned his own +evening meal. He appreciated the invitation, but they could get along +without him. These excuses satisfied Bronson. Lorry's real reason for +declining was that Dorothy had not invited him in person. He knew it, +and felt ashamed of himself. What reason had he to expect her to invite +him personally, except that she had almost invariably done so +heretofore? And back of this was the subtle jealousy of caste. The +Westons were "her kind of folks." He was not really one of them. +Boyishly he fancied that he would do as a companion when there was no +one else available. He was very much in love with Dorothy and did not +realize it. + +And Dorothy was disappointed in him. She had wanted the Westons to know +what a really fine fellow he was. + +Alice Weston at once recalled Lorry's attitude toward her on a former +occasion when he had been tacitly invited to go with them to the +Horseshoe Hills and he had stayed at the hotel. She told Dorothy that +Mr. Adams was not to be taken too seriously. After all, he was nothing +more than a boy, and perhaps he would feel better, having declined to +risk possible embarrassment at their table. + +Dorothy was inwardly furious on the instant, but she checked herself. +What did Alice Weston know about Lorry? Well, Alice knew that he was a +good-looking young savage who seemed quite satisfied with himself. She +thought that possibly she could tame him if she cared to try. Dorothy, +with feminine graciousness, dared Alice to invite Lorry to the dinner. +Alice was to know nothing of his having declined an earlier invitation. +Greatly to Dorothy's surprise, Alice Weston accepted the challenge. + +She waited until just before the dinner hour. Lorry was mending a +pack-saddle when she came to his cabin. He dropped his work and stood +up. + +"I have been thinking about that tramp you arrested," she began. "And I +think you were right in what you did." + +"Yes, ma'am," stammered Lorry. + +Her manner had been especially gracious. + +"And I didn't have a chance to say good-bye--that time"--and she +smiled--"when you rode off waving your scarf--" + +"It was a leg of lamb," corrected Lorry. + +"Well, you waved it very gracefully. What big, strong arms! They don't +look so big when your sleeves are down." + +Lorry promptly rolled down his sleeves. He felt that he had to do +something. + +"And there is so much to talk about I hardly know where to begin. Oh, +yes! Thank you so much for repairing our car." + +"That was nothin'." + +"It meant a great deal to us. Is that your horse--the one standing alone +over there?" + +"Yes, ma'am. That's Gray Leg." + +"I remember him. I couldn't ever forget that morning--but I don't want +to hinder your work. I see you are mending something." + +"Just fittin' a new pad to this pack-saddle. I was figurin' to light +out to-morrow." + +"So soon? That's too bad. But, then, we can visit at dinner this +evening. Dorothy said she expected you. I believe it is almost ready." + +"I don't know, Miss Weston. It's like this--" + +"And I know Mr. Bronson meant to ask you. He has been quite busy. +Perhaps he forgot." + +"He--" + +"So I am here as ambassador. Will I do?" + +"Why, sure! But--" + +"And mother would be so disappointed if you didn't come. So should I, +especially as you are leaving to-morrow. What is it they say in Mexico, +'Adios'? I must run back." + +She proffered her hand gracefully. Lorry shook hands with her. She gave +his fingers a little, lingering squeeze that set his pulses racing. She +was a mighty pretty girl. + +"We shall expect you," she called, halfway to the cabin. + +And she sure could change a fellow's mind for him without half trying. +She hadn't given him a chance to refuse her invitation. She just knew +that he was coming to supper. And so did he. + +Alice Weston held Lorry's attention from the beginning, as she had +intended. She was gowned in some pale-green material touched here and +there with a film of lace. Lorry was fascinated by her full, rounded +arms, her beautifully strong wrists, and by the way in which she had +arranged her heavy, dark hair. In the daylight that afternoon he had +noticed that her eyes were blue. He had thought them brown. But they +were the color of wood violets untouched by the sun. While she lacked +the positive outdoor coloring of Dorothy, her complexion was radiant +with youth and health. Lorry felt subdued, disinclined to talk despite +Dorothy's obvious attempts to be entertaining. He realized that Dorothy +was being exceedingly nice to him, although he knew that she was a +little high-strung and nervous that evening. + +After dinner Bronson and Lorry smoked out on the veranda. When the +others came out, Bronson suggested that they have some music. Lorry +promptly invited them to his cabin. + +"Alice plays wonderfully," said Dorothy. + +Bronson, talking with Mrs. Weston, enjoyed himself. He had been isolated +so long that news from the "outside" interested him. + +Lorry, gravely attentive to the playing, happened to glance up. Dorothy +was gazing at him with a most peculiar expression. He flushed. He had +not realized that he had been staring at Alice Weston; at her round, +white throat and graceful arms. But just then she ceased playing. + +"Have you any music that you would like?" she asked Lorry. + +"There's some here. I don't know what it's like. Some songs and dances +the boys fetched up for Bud." + +"What fun!" said Alice. "And what an assortment! Shall we try this?" + +And she began to play a flimsy tune printed on a flimsy sheet that +doubled and slid to the keys. Lorry jumped up, spread it out, and stood +holding a corner of it while she played. Close to her, he was sensible +of a desire to caress her hair, to kiss her vivid lips as she glanced up +at him and smiled. He had no idea then that she was deliberately +enthralling him with every grace she possessed. + +The fact that she rather liked him made her subtleties all the more +potent. It flattered her to see the frank admiration in his gray eyes. +She knew he was anything but "soft," which made the game all the more +alluring. He was to leave soon--to-morrow. Meanwhile, she determined +that he should remember her. + +Late that evening Bronson and the others said good-night. Alice, not +Dorothy, asked Lorry when he was to leave. His "some time to-morrow" +sounded unnaturally indefinite. + +He was standing in the doorway of his camp as the others entered +Bronson's cabin. Alice Weston was the last to enter. For an instant she +stood in the lamplight that floated through the doorway, looking back +toward him. Impulsively he waved good-night. Her attitude had seemed to +call for it. He saw her fingers flash to her lips. She tilted her chin +and threw him a kiss. + +"Dog-gone the luck!" he growled as he entered his cabin. And with the +brief expletive he condemned his disloyalty to the sprightly, slender +Dorothy; the Peter Pan of the Blue Mesa; the dream girl of that idle +noon at the Big Spring. The other girl--well, she was just playing with +him. + + * * * * * + +In view of Lorry's training and natural carefulness it was especially +significant that he decided next day that he had forgotten to lay in +enough supplies for his journey south. He would ride to Jason and pack +in what he needed. He had a fair excuse. Bronson had recently borrowed +some of his canned provisions. He was well on his way to Jason that +morning before the others had arisen. + +He was back at the camp shortly after nine that night. As he passed +Bronson's cabin he saw a light in the window. Mrs. Weston was talking +with Dorothy. Lorry had hoped to catch a glimpse of Alice Weston. He had +been hoping all that day that he would see her again before he left. +Perhaps she was asleep. + +As he passed the corral a greeting came from the darkness:-- + +"Good-evening! I thought you had gone." + +"I--I didn't see you," he stammered. + +Alice Weston laughed softly. "Oh, I was just out here looking at the +stars. It's cooler out here. Then you changed your mind about going?" + +"Nope. I had to go to Jason for grub. I'm going to-morrow." + +"Oh, I see! We thought you had gone." + +"Got a headache?" queried Lorry. + +Her voice had been so unnaturally low, almost sad. + +"No. I just wanted to be alone." + +Lorry fumbled in his pockets. "I got the mail," he stated. + +"I'll give it to Mr. Bronson." + +Lorry leaned down and gave her the packet of letters and papers. + +"Good-bye. I won't see you in the mornin'" + +"We'll miss you." + +"Honest?" + +"Of course!" And she gave him her hand. + +He drew his foot from the stirrup. "Put your foot in there," he said, +still holding her hand. + +"But why?" + +"'Cause I'm goin' to ride off with you, like in books." He laughed, but +his laughter was tense and unnatural. + +It was dark. The stars shone faintly. The air was soft with a subtle +fragrance; the fragrance of sun-warmed pine that the night had stolen +from the slumbering woodlands. She slipped her foot in the wide stirrup. +Half laughing, she allowed him to draw her up. She felt the hard +strength of his arm, and was thrilled. She had not meant to do anything +like this. + +"You been playin' with me," he told her, whispering, "and I take my +pay." + +She turned her face away, but he found her lips and crushed her to him. + +"Oh!" she whispered as he kissed her again and again. + +Slowly his arm relaxed. White-faced and trembling, she slid to the +ground and stood looking up at him. + +"I hate you!" she said. + +"No, you don't," said Lorry quite cheerfully. + +And he reached out his hand as though to take her hand again. + +She stood still, making no effort to avoid him. Then--"No, please!" she +begged. + +Lorry sat for a moment looking down at her. There had been no +make-believe on her part when he held her in his arms. He knew that. And +now? She had said that she hated him. Perhaps she did for having made +her do that which she had never dreamed of doing. But he told himself +that he could stand a whole lot of that kind of hate. And did he really +care for her? Could a girl give what she had given and forget on the +morrow? He would never forget. + +She had told herself that he should have reason to remember her. + +After he had gone she stood gazing across the starlit mesa. She heard +Lorry whistling cheerily as he unsaddled his pony. A falling star flamed +and faded across the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +_In the Pines_ + +Alice Weston pleaded headache next morning. She did not get up until +noon. Meanwhile Dorothy came, bringing hot coffee and toast. + +"Does it really hurt?" queried Dorothy. "Or is it one of those headaches +that is always going to hurt, but never does?" + +Alice smiled and sipped her coffee. "Oh, it's not bad. I want to rest. +Perhaps it's the altitude." + +"Perhaps," said Dorothy. "I'm sorry, Alice." + +They chatted awhile. Suddenly Alice thought of the letters Lorry had +given her. She had carried them to her room, and had forgotten them. + +"Mr. Adams left some mail with me last night. I happened to be outside +when he rode past." + +"Why, I thought he had gone!" + +"He said he had to go to Jason for something or other. He left early +this morning, I think." + +Dorothy glanced at the mail. "All for daddy--except this circular. H'm! +'Intelligent clothing for Intelligent People.' Isn't that awful? How in +the world do such firms get one's address when one lives 'way up here +in the sky. Do you ever get advertisements like this?" + +"Oh, yes; heaps of them." + +"Well, _your_ gowns are beautiful," sighed Dorothy. + +"You are a darling," said Alice, caressing Dorothy's cheek. + +"So are you, dear." And Dorothy kissed her. "And you coaxed Lorry to +come to dinner, after all! I don't know what made him so grumpy, though. +I would have been sorry if he hadn't come to dinner, even if he was +grumpy." + +"Do you like him?" queried Alice. + +"Of course; he has been so nice to us. Don't you?" + +Alice's lips trembled. Suddenly she hid her face in her hands and burst +into tears. + +"Why, Alice, what _is_ the matter?" + +"Nothing," she sobbed. "I'm just tired--of everything." + +"It must be the altitude," said Dorothy gravely. "Father says it does +make some persons nervous. Just rest, Allie, and I'll come in again." + +Without telling her father anything further than that she was going for +a ride, Dorothy saddled Chinook. + +Dorothy was exceedingly trustful, but she was not at all stupid. She +thought she understood Alice's headache. And while Dorothy did not dream +that her friend cared anything for Lorry, she was not so sure that +Lorry did not care for Alice. Perhaps he had said something to her. +Perhaps they had become rather well acquainted in Stacey last summer. + +Dorothy rode toward the Big Spring. She had no definite object in view +other than to be alone. She was hurt by Lorry's incomprehensible manner +of leaving. What had she done to cause him to act so strangely? And why +had he refused her invitation and accepted it again through Alice? "But +I'll never, never let him know that I care about that," she thought. +"And when he comes back everything will be all right again." + +Just before she reached the Big Spring her pony nickered. She imagined +she could see a horse standing back of the trees round the spring. Some +ranger returning to Jason or some cattle outfit from the south was +camped at the spring. But when Chinook nickered again and the other pony +answered, she knew at once that Lorry was there. Why had he stopped at +the spring? He had started early enough to have made a camp farther on. + +Lorry saw her coming, and busied himself adjusting one of the packs. As +she rode up he turned and took off his hat. His face was flushed. His +eyes did not meet hers as she greeted him. + +"I didn't look for you to ride up here," he said lamely. + +"And I didn't expect to find you here," she said as she dismounted. She +walked straight to him. "Lorry, what is the matter? You're not like my +ranger man at all! Are you in trouble?" + +Her question, so frank and sincere, and the deep solicitude in her +troubled eyes hurt him, and yet he was glad to feel that hot pain in his +throat. He knew now that he cared for her more than for any living +being; beyond all thought of passion or of selfishness. She looked and +seemed like a beautiful boy, with all the frankness of true comradeship +in her attitude and manner. And she was troubled because of him--and not +for herself. Lorry thought of the other girl. He had taken his pay. His +lips burned dry as he recalled that moment when he had held her in his +arms. + +Dorothy saw the dull pain in his eyes, a sort of dumb pleading for +forgiveness for something he had done; she could not imagine what. He +dropped to his knee, and taking her slender hand in his kissed her +fingers. + +"Don't be silly," she said, yet her free hand caressed his hair. "What +is it, ranger man?" + +"I been a regular dam' fool, Dorothy." + +"But, Lorry! You know--if there is anything, anything in the world that +I can do--Please, _please_ don't cry. If you were to do that I think I +should die. I couldn't stand it. You make me afraid. What is it? Surely +it is not--Alice?" + +He crushed her fingers. Suddenly he stood up and stepped back. The +sunlight shone on his bared head. He looked very boyish as he shrugged +his shoulders as though to free himself from an invisible hand that +oppressed and irritated him. His sense of fair play in so far as Alice +Weston was concerned would not allow him to actually regret that affair. +To him that had been a sort of conquest. But shame and repentance for +having been disloyal to Dorothy were stamped so clearly upon his +features that she understood. She knew what he was about to say, and +checked him. + +"Don't tell me," she said gently. "You have told me. I know Alice is +attractive; she can't help that. If you care for her--" + +"Care for her! She was playin' with me. When I found out that--" + +Dorothy caught her breath. Her eyes grew big. She had not thought that +Alice Weston--But then that did not matter now. Lorry was so abjectly +sorry about something or other. He felt her hand on his sleeve. She was +smiling. "You're just a great big, silly boy, ranger man. I'm really +years older than you. Please don't tell me anything. I don't want to +know. I just want you to be happy." + +"Happy? And you say that!" + +"Of course!" + +"Well, mebby I could be happy if you was to set to and walk all over +me." + +"Oh, but that wouldn't do any good. Tell me why you stopped here at the +spring. You didn't expect to meet any one, did you?" + +"I--stopped here--because we camped here that time." + +"Well, Lorry, it's really foolish of you to feel so badly when there's +nothing the matter. If you wanted to kiss Alice and she let you--why, +that isn't wrong. A boy kissed me once when I was going to school in the +East. I just boxed his ears and laughed at him. It is only when you act +grumpy or feel badly that I worry about you. I just want to be your +little mother then--and try to help you." + +"You make me feel like I wasn't fit to ever touch your hand again," he +told her. + +"But you mustn't feel that way," she said cheerily. "I want you to be +brave and strong and happy; just as you were that day we camped here. +And you will, won't you?" + +"Yes, ma'am. I'm takin' orders from you." + +"But you mustn't wait for me to tell you. Just be yourself, and then I +know you will never be ashamed of anything you do. I must go now. +Good-bye, Lorry." + +She gave her hand, and he drew her to him. But she turned her face away +as he bent his head above her. + +"No; not now, Lorry. I--can't. Please don't." + +"I--guess you're right. I reckon you showed me just where I stand. Yes, +you're plumb right about it, Dorothy. But I'm comin' back--" + +"I'll wait for you," she said softly. + +He turned briskly to the ponies. The pack-horses plodded up the trail as +he mounted Gray Leg and rode over to her. + +She reached up and patted Gray Leg's nose. "Good-bye, everybody!" she +chirruped. And she kissed Gray Leg's nose. + +Back in the ranges, far from the Big Spring, Lorry made his camp that +night. As he hobbled the horses he talked to them affectionately after +his manner when alone with them. + +"And you, you old trail-hitter," he said to Gray Leg, "I reckon you +think you're some ladies' man, don't you? Well, you got a right to be +proud. Step along there, and 'tend to your grazin' and don't go to +rubbin' noses with the other horses. You're a fool if you do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +_Politics_ + +The week following Lorry's departure the Westons left for the East. As +for Dorothy, she confessed to herself that she was not sorry. While +Alice had been unusually nice to every one, Dorothy felt that Alice was +forcing herself to appear natural and happy. Mrs. Weston knew this, and +wondered what the cause could be. Mrs. Weston had found Dorothy +delightful and Bronson interesting, but she had been so long in the West +that its novelty had worn thin. She did not regret it when they shipped +their machine from Stacey and took the Overland for New York. + +A few days after they had gone, Bud Shoop rode up to the Blue Mesa. It +was evident that he wanted to talk with Bronson, so Dorothy coaxed +Bondsman to her favorite tree, and sat stroking his shaggy head as she +read from a new book that Shoop had brought with the mail. + +The genial Bud was in a fix. Perhaps Bronson, who had been a newspaper +man and knew something about politics, could help him out. Bronson +disclaimed any special keenness of political intelligence, but said he +would be glad to do anything he could for Shoop. + +"It's like this," Bud began, seating himself on the edge of the +veranda; "John Torrance, who was supervisor before you came in, got me +this job and put it up to me to stick. Now, I like John, and I figure +John ain't scared of me. But here's where I lose the trail. A ole +friend, the biggest shipper of sheep in this State, goes and gets it +into his head that they's a State Senator over there drawin' down pay +that ought to come to me. Recollec', I said he was a sheepman--and I +been for the longhorns all my days. And he's got the nerve to tell me +that all the sheepmen in this here county are strong for me if I run for +the job. If I didn't know him like I know this here right hand, I would +say he was gettin' hardenin' of the brain in his ole aige. But he's a +long ways from havin' his head examined yet. + +"Then along comes a representative of the Cattlemen's Association and +says they want me to run for State Senator. Then along comes a committee +of hay-tossers from up around St. Johns and says, polite, that they are +waitin' my pleasure in the matter of framin' up their ticket for +senatorial candidate from this mesa country. They say that the present +encumbrance in the senatorial chair is such a dog-gone thief that he +steals from hisself just to keep in practice. I don't say so. 'Course, +if I can get to a chair that looks big and easy, without stompin' on +anybody--why, I'm like to set down. But if I can't, I figure to set +where I be. + +"Now, this here war talk is gettin' folks excited. And ridin' +excitement down the trail of politics is like tryin' to ride white +lightnin' bareback. It's like to leave you so your friends can't tell +what you looked like. And somebody that ain't got brains enough to plug +the hole in a watch-key has been talkin' around that Bud Shoop is a +fighter, with a record for gettin' what he goes after. And that this +same Bud Shoop is as honest as the day is long. Now, I've seen some +mighty short days when I was tradin' hosses. And then this here stingin' +lizard goes to work and digs up my deputy number over to Sterling and +sets the papers to printin' as how it was me, with the help of a few +parties whose names are of no special int'rest, settled that strike." + +"So you were at Sterling?" + +"Uh-uh. Between you and me, I was. And it wa'n't what you'd call a +girl's school for boys, neither. But that's done. What I'm gettin' at +is: If I resign here, after givin' my word to Torrance to stick, it +looks like I been playin' with one hand under the table. The papers will +lie like hell boostin' me, and if I don't lie like hell, boostin' +myself, folks'll think I'm a liar, anyhow. Now, takin' such folks one at +a time, out back of the store, mebby, where they ain't no wimmin-folks, +I reckon I could make 'em think different. But I can't lick the county. +I ain't no angel. I never found that tellin' the truth kep' me awake +nights. And I sleep pretty good. Now, I writ to Torrance, tellin' him +just how things was headed. What do you think he writ back?" + +"Why, he told you to go ahead and win, didn't he?" + +"Yep. And he said that it was apparent that the State needed my services +more than the Service did. That's somethin' like a train with a engine +on each end. You don't know which way it's headed." + +"I'd take it as a sincere compliment." + +"Well, I did swell up some. Then I says to myself: 'Bud, you ain't no +fancy office man, and even if you are doin' good work here, you can't +put it in writin' for them big bugs at Washington.' Mebby John is so +dog-gone busy--like the fella with both bands full and his suspenders +broke--- that he'd be glad to get behind 'most anything to get shut of +me." + +"I think you're mistaken. You know you can't keep a born politician out +of politics." + +"Meanin' me?" + +"You're the type." + +"By gravy, Bronson! I never seen you hidin' your watch when I come up to +visit you before." + +"See here, Shoop. Why don't you write to Torrance and ask him +point-blank if he has had a hand in getting you nominated for Senator? +Torrance is a big man in his line, and he probably knows what he is +doing." + +Shoop grinned. "You win the pot!" he exclaimed. "That's just what I been +thinkin' right along. I kind of wanted somebody who wasn't interested in +this deal to say it. Well, I reckon I bothered you long enough. You got +your alfalfa to--I--you got your writin' to do. But they's one thing. If +I get roped in and got to run, and some new supervisor comes botherin' +around up here, puttin' some ranger in my camp that ain't like Lorry, +all you got to do is to move over into my cabin and tell 'em to keep off +the grass. That there four hundred and eighty is mine. I homesteaded it, +and I got the papers. It ain't on the reserve." + +"I thought it was." + +"So do some yet. Nope. I'm just east of the reservation line; outside +the reserve. I aimed to know what I was doin' when I homesteaded that +piece of sky farm." + +"And yet you took exception to my calling you a born politician." + +Shoop chuckled. "Speakin' personal, I been thinkin' about that job of +State Senator for quite a spell. Now, I reckon you got sense enough not +to get mad when I tell you that I just been tryin' out a little speech I +framed up for my constituents. Just a kind of little alfalfa-seed talk. +Outside of ijuts and Mexicans, it's about what I aim to hand to the +voters of this here district, puttin' it up to them that I was roped +into this hocus and been settin' back on the rope right along. And +that's a fact. But you got to rub some folks' noses in a fact afore they +can even smell it." + +"And you have the nerve to tell me that you framed up all that stuff to +get my sympathy? Shoop, you are wasting time in Arizona. Go East. And +forgive me for falling for your most natural appeal." + +The genial Bud chuckled and wiped his eyes. "But it's true from the +start to the wire." + +"I must congratulate you." And, "Dorothy!" called Bronson. "Come and +shake hands with our next Senator from the mesa country." + +"Really?" exclaimed Dorothy. "But we will lose our supervisor. Still, I +think Mr. Shoop will make a lovely Senator. You are just the right +size--and--everything." + +"I reckon you're right, missy. Half of the game is lookin' the part +afore election. The other half is not sayin' too much after election. If +any man gets a promise out of me afore election, it'll have to be did +with a stump-puller." + +"But we won't see you any more," said Dorothy. "You will be so busy and +so important. Senator Shoop will speak here. And Senator Shoop will +speak there. And--let me see! Oh, yes! The Senate adjourned after a +stormy session in which the Senator from Mesa County, supported by an +intelligent majority, passed his bill for the appropriation of twenty +thousand dollars to build a road from Jason to the Blue Mesa. What fun!" + +Bud polished his bald head. "Now, I reckon that ain't such a joke. We'll +build a road plumb through to the old Apache Trail and ketch them +tourists goin' into Phoenix." + +"You see," said Dorothy, turning to her father, "I know something about +politics. I read the local papers. Mr. Shoop's name is in every one of +them. I read that article about the Sterling strike. I have been +wondering--" + +Shoop immediately called attention to Bondsman, who was gently tugging +at the supervisor's pants leg. + +"Now, look at that! Do you know what he's tellin' me? He's tellin' me I +got a piano in that there cabin and we ain't had a duet for quite a +spell. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Bondsman slipped from beneath Dorothy's hand as she stooped to pat him. +He trotted to Shoop's cabin, and stood looking up at the door. + +"Would you be playin' 'Annie Laurie' for us?" queried Shoop. + +Dorothy played for them, unaccompanied by Bondsman. Shoop shook his +head. Either the tune had lost its charm for the Airedale or else +Dorothy's interpretation differed from Bud's own. + +"Thanks, missy," said Shoop when she had finished playing. "Guess I'll +be movin' along." + +"Oh, no! You'll stay to-night. I'll play for you. Make him stay, +father." + +"I wish you would, Shoop. I'd like to talk with you about the election." + +"Well, now, that's right neighborly of you folks. I was aimin' to ride +back this evening. But I reckon we'll stay. Bondsman and me ain't so +spry as we was." + +After supper Dorothy played for them again, with no light except the +dancing red shadows from the pine logs that flamed in the fireplace. + +Shoop thanked her. "I'll be livin' in town,"--and he sighed +heavily,--"where my kind of piano-playin' would bring the law on me, +most-like. Now, that ole piano is hacked up some outside, but she's got +all her innards yet and her heart's right. If you would be takin' it as +a kind of birthday present, it's yours." + +"You don't mean _me_?" + +"I sure do." + +"But I couldn't accept such a big present. And then, when we go away +this winter--" + +"Listen to your Uncle Bud, missy. A little lady give me a watch onct. 'T +wa'n't a big watch, but it was a big thing. 'Cause why? 'Cause that +little lady was the first lady to give me a present in my life. I was +raised up by men-folks. My mammy she wa'n't there long after I come. +Reckon that's why I never was much of a hand with wimmin-folks. I wa'n't +used to 'em. And I don't care how old and ornery a man is; the first +time he gets a present from a gal, it kind of hits him where he +breathes. And if it don't make him feel warm inside and mighty proud of +bein' who he is, why, it's because he's so dog-gone old he can't think. +I ain't tellin' no secret when I say that the little lady put her name +in that watch alongside of mine. And her name bein' there is what makes +that present a big thing--bigger than any piano that was ever built. + +"Why, just a spell ago I was settin' in my office, madder'n a cat what +had tore his Sunday pants, 'cause at twelve o'clock I was goin' over to +the saloon to fire that young ranger, Lusk, for gettin' drunk. I pulled +out this here watch, and I says to myself: 'Bud, it was clost around +twelve o'clock by a young fella's watch onct when he was filled up on +liquor and rampin' round town when he ought to been to work. And it was +the ole foreman's gal that begged that boy's job back for him, askin' +her daddy to give him another chanct.' And the boy he come through all +right. I know--for I owned the watch. And so I give Lusk another +chanct." + +Dorothy stepped to Shoop's chair, and, stooping quickly, kissed his +cheek. Bondsman, not to be outdone, leaped jealously into Bud's lap and +licked the supervisor's face. Shoop spluttered, and thrust Bondsman +down. + +"Things is comin' too fast!" he cried, wiping his face. "I was just +goin' to say something when that dog just up and took the words right +out of my mouth. Oh, yes! I was just wishin' I owned a piano factory." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +_The Fires of Home_ + + +Bud Shoop read the newspaper notice twice before he realized fully its +import. The Adams House at Stacey was for sale. "Then Jim and Annie's +patched it up," he soliloquized. And the genial Bud did not refer to the +Adams House. + +Because his master seemed pleased, Bondsman waited to hear the rest of +it with head cocked sideways and tail at a stiff angle. + +"That's all they is to it," said Shoop. + +Bondsman lay down and yawned. He was growing old. It was only Bud's +voice that could key the big Airedale up to his earlier alertness. The +office was quiet. The clerk had gone out for his noon meal. The fall +sunshine slanted lazily through the front-office windows. The room was +warm, but there was a tang of autumn in the air. Shoop glanced at the +paper again. He became absorbed in an article proposing conscription. He +shook his head and muttered to himself. He turned the page, and glanced +at the livestock reports, the copper market, railroad stocks, and passed +on to an article having to do with local politics. + +Bondsman, who constituted himself the guard of Shoop's leisure, rapped +the floor with his tail. Shoop glanced over the top of his paper as +light footsteps sounded in the outer office. Dorothy tapped on the +lintel and stepped in. Shoop crumpled the paper and rose. Bondsman was +at her side as she shook hands with the supervisor. + +"My new saddle came," she said, patting Bondsman. "And father's latest +book. Why don't you cheer?" + +"Goodness, missy! I started cheerin' inside the minute I seen you. Now, +I reckon you just had to have that new saddle." + +"It's at the store. Father is over there talking politics and war with +Mr. Handley." + +"Then you just set down and tell your Uncle Bud the news while you're +waitin'." + +"But I am not _waiting_. I am visiting _you_. And I told you the news." + +"And to think a new saddle could make your eyes shine like that! Ain't +you 'shamed to fool your Uncle Bud?" + +"I haven't--if you say you know I have." + +"'Course. Most any little gal can get the best of me." + +"Well, because you are so curious--Lorry is back." + +"I reckoned that was it." + +"He rode part-way down with us. He has gone to see his father." + +"And forgot to repo't here first." + +"No. He gave me the reports to give to you. Here they are. One of Mr. +Waring's men, that young Mexican, rode up to the mesa last week and left +word that Lorry's father wanted to see him." + +"I aim to know about that," chuckled Shoop. And he smoothed out the +paper and pointed to the Adams House sale notice. + +"The Adams House for sale? Why--" + +"Jim and Annie--that's Jim Waring and Mrs. Waring now--are goin' to run +the ranch. I'm mighty glad." + +"Oh, I see! And Lorry is really Laurence Waring?" + +"You bet! And I reckon Lorry'll be fo'man of that ranch one of these +days. Cattle is sky-high and goin' up. I don't blame him." + +"He didn't say a word about that to me." + +"'Course not. He's not one to say anything till he's plumb sure." + +"He might have said _something_" asserted Dorothy. + +"Didn't he?" chuckled Shoop. + +Dorothy's face grew rosy. "Your master is very inquisitive," she told +Bondsman. + +"And your little missy is right beautiful this mawnin'," said Shoop. +"Now, if I was a bow-legged young cow-puncher with curly hair, and +looked fierce and noble and could make a gal's eyes shine like stars in +the evenin', I reckon I wouldn't be sittin' here signin' letters." + +"He _isn't_ bow-legged!" flashed Dorothy. She was very definite about +that. "And he's not a cowboy. He is a ranger." + +"My goodness! I done put my foot in a gopher hole that shake. I sure am +standin' on my head, waitin' for somebody to set me up straight ag'in. +You ain't mad at your Uncle Bud, be you?" + +Dorothy tossed her head, but her eyes twinkled, and suddenly she +laughed. "You know I like you--heaps! You're just jealous." + +"Reckon you said it! But I only got one ear laid back yet. Wait till I +see that boy." + +"Oh, pshaw! You can't help being nice to him." + +"And I got comp'ny." + +"But really I want to talk seriously, if you will let me. Lorry has been +talking about enlisting. He didn't say that he was going to enlist, but +he has been talking about it so much. Do you think he will?" + +"Well, now, missy that's a right peart question. I know if I was his age +I'd go. Most any fella that can read would. I been readin' the papers +for two years, and b'ilin' inside. I reckon Lorry's just woke up to +what's goin' on. We been kind of slow wakin' up out here. Folks livin' +off in this neck of the woods gets to thinkin' that the sun rises on +their east-line fence and sets on their west line. It takes somethin' +strong to make 'em recollec' the sun's got a bigger job'n that. But I +admire to say that when them kind of folks gets started onct they's +nothin' ever built that'll stop 'em. If I get elected I aim to tell some +folks over to the State House about this here war. And I'm goin' to +start by talkin' about what we got to set straight right here to home +first. They can _feel_ what's goin' on to home. It ain't all print. And +they got to feel what's goin' on over there afore they do anything." + +"It's all too terrible to talk about," said Dorothy. "But we must do our +share, if only to keep our self-respect, mustn't we?" + +"You said it--providin' we got any self-respect to keep." + +"But why don't our young men volunteer. They are not cowards." + +"It ain't that. Suppose you ask Lorry why." + +"I shouldn't want to know him if he didn't go," said Dorothy. + +"Missy, I'm lovin' you for sayin' that! If all the mothers and sisters +and sweethearts was like that, they wouldn't be no conscription. But +they ain't. I'm no hand at understandin' wimmin-folks, but I know the +mother of a strappin' young fella in this town that says she would +sooner see her boy dead in her front yard than for him to go off and +fight for foreigners. She don't know what this country's got to fight +for pretty quick or she wouldn't talk like that. And she ain't the only +one. Now, when wimmin talks that way, what do you expect of men? I +reckon the big trouble is that most folks got to see somethin' to fight +afore they get goin'. Fightin' for a principle looks just like poundin' +air to some folks. I don't believe in shootin' in the dark. How come, +I've plugged a rattlesnake by just shootin' at the sound when he was +coiled down where I couldn't see him. But this ain't no kind of talk for +you to listen to, missy." + +"I--you won't say that I spoke of Lorry?" + +"Bless your heart, no! And he'll figure it out hisself. But don't you +get disap'inted if he don't go right away. It's mighty easy to set back +and say 'Go!' to the other fella; and listen to the band and cheer the +flag. It makes a fella feel so durned patriotic he is like to forget he +ain't doin' nothin' hisself. + +"Now, missy, suppose you was a sprightin' kind of a boy 'bout nineteen +or twenty, and mebby some gal thought you was good-lookin' enough to +talk to after church on a Sunday; and suppose you had rustled like a +little nigger when you was a kid, helpin' your ma wash dishes in a hotel +and chop wood and sweep out and pack heavy valises for tourists and fill +the lamps and run to the store for groceries and milk a cow every night +and mornin'. + +"And say you growed up without breakin' your laig and went to punchin' +cattle and earnin' your own money, and then mebby you got a job in the +Ranger Service, ridin' the high trails and livin' free and independent; +and suppose a mighty pretty gal was to come along and kind of let you +take a shine to her, and you was doin' your plumb durndest to put by a +little money, aimin' to trot in double harness some day; and then +suppose your daddy was to offer you a half-interest in a growin' cattle +business, where you could be your own boss and put by a couple of +thousand a year. And you only nineteen or twenty. + +"Suppose you had been doin' all that when along comes word from 'way off +somewhere that folks was killin' each other and it was up to you to stop +'em. Wouldn't you do some hard thinkin' afore you jumped into your +fightin' clothes?" + +"But this war means more than that." + +"It sure does. But some of us ain't got the idee yet. 'Course all you +got to do to some folks is to say 'Fight' and they come a-runnin'. And +some of that kind make mighty good soldier boys. But the fella I'm +leavin' alone is the one what cinches up slow afore he climbs into the +saddle. When he goes into a fight it's like his day's work, and he don't +waste no talk or elbow action when he's workin'." + +"I wish I were a man!" + +"Well, some of us is right glad you ain't. A good woman can do just as +much for this country right now as any man. And I don't mean by dressin' +up in fancy clothes and givin' dances and shellin' out mebby four per +cent of the gate receipts to buy a ambulance with her name on it. + +"And I don't mean by payin' ten dollars for a outfit of gold-plated +knittin'-needles to make two-bit socks for the boys. What I mean is that +a good woman does her best work to home; mebby just by sayin' the right +word, or mebby by keepin' still or by smilin' cheerful when her heart is +breakin' account of her man goin' to war. + +"You can say all you like about patriotism, but patriotism ain't just +marchin' off to fight for your country. It's usin' your neighbors and +your country right every day in the week, includin' Sunday. Some folks +think patriotism is buildin' a big bonfire once a year and lettin' her +blaze up. But the real thing is keepin' your own little fire a-goin' +steady, right here where you live. And it's thinkin' of that little fire +to home that makes the best soldier. + +"He's got a big job to do. He's goin' to get it done so he can go back +to that there home and find the little fire a-burning bright. What do +some of our boys do fightin' alongside of them Frenchmen and under the +French flag, when they get wounded and get a furlough? Set around and +wait to go back to fightin'? I reckon not. Some of 'em pack up and come +four, five thousand miles just to see their folks for mebby two, three +days. And when they see them little fires to home a-burnin' bright, why, +they say: 'This here is what we're fighting for.' And they go back, +askin' God A'mighty to keep 'em facin' straight to the front till the +job is done." + +Dorothy, her chin in her hand, gazed at Bud. She had never known him to +be so intense, so earnest. + +"Oh, I know it is so!" she cried. "But what can I do? I have only a +little money in the bank, and father makes just enough to keep us +comfortable. You see, we spent such lots of money for those horrid old +doctors in the East, who didn't do me a bit of good." + +"You been doin' your share just gettin' well and strong, which is savin' +money. But seein' you asked me, you can do a whole lot if Lorry was to +say anything to you about goin'. And you know how better'n I can tell +you or your daddy or anybody." + +"But Lorry must do as he thinks best. We--we are not engaged." + +"'Course. And it ain't no time for a young fella to get engaged to a gal +and tie up her feelin's and march off with her heart in his pocket. +Mebby some day she's goin' to want it back ag'in, when he ain't livin' +to fetch it back to her. I see, by the Eastern papers Torrance has been +sendin' me, that some young fellas is marryin' just afore they go to +jine the Frenchmen on the front. Now, what are some of them gals goin' +to do if their boys don't come back? Or mebby come back crippled for +life? Some of them gals is goin' to pay a mighty high price for just a +few days of bein' married. It riles me to think of it." + +"I hadn't thought of it--as you do," said Dorothy. + +"Well, I hope you'll forgive your Uncle Bud for ragin' and rampin' +around like this. I can't talk what's in my heart to folks around here. +They're mostly narrow-gauge. I reckon I said enough. Let's go look at +that new saddle." + +"Isn't it strange," said Dorothy, "that I couldn't talk with father like +this? He'd be nice, of course, but he would be thinking of just me." + +"I reckon he would. And mebby some of Lorry." + +"If Lorry should ask me about his going--" + +"Just you tell him that you think one volunteer is worth four conscripts +any time and any place. And if that ain't a hint to him they's somethin' +wrong with his ears." + +Shoop rose and plodded out after Dorothy. Bondsman trailed lazily +behind. Because Shoop had not picked up his hat the big dog knew that +his master's errand, whatever it was, would be brief. Yet Bondsman +followed, stopping to yawn and stretch the stiffness of age from his +shaggy legs. There was really no sense in trotting across the street +with his master just to trot back again in a few minutes. But Bondsman's +unwavering loyalty to his master's every mood and every movement had +become such a matter of course that the fine example was lost in the +monotony of repetition. + +A dog's loyalty is so often taken for granted that it ceases to be +noticeable until in an unlooked-for hazard it shines forth in some act +of quick heroism or tireless faithfulness worthy of a greater tribute +than has yet been written. + +Bondsman was a good soldier. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +_Young Life_ + + +Ramon was busy that afternoon transferring mattresses and blankets from +the ranch-house to the new, low-roofed bunk-house that Waring had built. +Ramon fitted up three beds--one for the cook, one for an old range-rider +that Waring had hired when his men had left to enlist, and one for +himself. + +The partitions of the ranch-house had been taken down, the interior +rearranged, and the large living-room furnished in a plain, comfortable +way. + +As Ramon worked he sang softly. He was happy. The señora was coming to +live with them, and perhaps Señor Jim's son. Señor Jim had been more +active of late. His lameness was not so bad as it had been. It was true +the Señor Jim did not often smile, but his eyes were kindly. + +Ramon worked rapidly. There was much to do in the other house. The bale +of Navajo blankets was still unopened. Perhaps the Señor Jim would help +to arrange them in the big room with the stone fireplace. The señora +would not arrive until to-morrow, but then the home must be made ready, +that she would find it beautiful. And Ramon, accustomed to the meagerly +furnished adobes of old Mexico, thought that the ranch-house was +beautiful indeed. + +Waring ate with the men in the new bunk-house that evening. After supper +he went over to the larger building and sat alone in the living-room, +gazing out of the western window. His wounds ached, and in the memory of +almost forgotten trails he grew young again. Again in Old Mexico, the +land he loved, he saw the blue crest of the Sierras rise as in a dream, +and below the ranges a tiny Mexican village of adobe huts gold in the +setting sun. Between him and the village lay the outlands, ever +mysterious, ever calling to him. Across the desert ran a thin trail to +the village. And down the trail the light feet of Romance ran swiftly as +he followed. He could even recall the positions of the different adobes; +the strings of chiles dark red in the twilight; the old black-shawled +señora who had spoken a guttural word of greeting as he had ridden up. + +Back in Sonora men had said, "Waring has made his last ride." They had +told each other that a white man was a fool to go alone into that +country. Perhaps he had been a fool. But the thrill of those early days, +when he rode alone and free and men sang of him from Sonora to the +Sweetgrass Hills! And on that occasion he had found the fugitive he +sought, yet he had ridden back to Sonora alone. He had never forgotten +the face of the young Mexican woman who had pleaded with him to let her +lover go. Her eyes were big and velvet black. Her mouth was the mouth +of a Madonna. + +Waring had told her that it was useless to plead. He remembered how her +eyes had grown dull and sullen at his word. He told her that he was +simply doing his duty. She had turned on him like a panther, her little +knife glittering in the dusk as she drove it at his breast. The Mexican +lover had jerked free and was running toward the foothills. Waring +recalled his first surprise at the wiry strength of her wrist as he had +twisted the knife from her. If the Mexican lover had not turned and shot +at him--The black figure of the Mexican had dropped just where the road +entered the foothills. The light had almost gone. The vague bulk of the +Sierras wavered. Outlines vanished, leaving a sense of something +gigantic, invisible, that slumbered in the night. The stars were big and +softly brilliant as he had ridden north. + +The old wound in his shoulder ached. The Mexican had made a good +shot--for a Mexican. + +Out on the Arizona mesa, against the half disk of gold, was the black +silhouette of a horseman. Waring stepped to the doorway. Ramon was +seated just outside the door, smoking a cigarette. The southern stars +were almost visible. Each star seemed to have found its place, and yet +no star could be seen. + +"It is Lorry," said Ramon. "He has ridden far." + +Waring smiled. Fifty miles had not been considered a big day's ride in +his time. _In his time!_ But his day was past. The goddess he had +followed had left him older than his years, crippled, unable to ride +more than a few hours at a time; had left him fettered to the monotony +of the far mesa levels and the changeless hills. Was this his +punishment, or simply a black trick of fate, that the tang of life had +evaporated, leaving a stagnant pool wherein he gazed to meet the blurred +reflection of a face weary with waiting for--what end? + +Unused to physical inactivity, Waring had grown somber of mind these +latter days. Despite the promise of more comfortable years, he had never +felt more lonely. With the coming of Lorry the old order would change. +Young blood, new life would have its way. + +The sound of pattering hoofs grew louder. Waring heard the old familiar, +"Hi! Yippy! Yip!" of the range rider. Young blood? New life? It was his +own blood, his own life reincarnate in the cheery rider that swung down +and grasped his hand. Nothing had changed. Life was going on as it +always had. + +"Hello, dad! How's the leg?" + +Waring smiled in the dusk. "Pretty fair, Lorry. You didn't waste any +time getting here." + +"Well, not much. I rode down with Bronson and Dorothy." + +"Do you call her 'Dorothy'?" + +"Ever since she calls me 'Lorry.'" + +"Had anything to eat?" + +"Nope. I cut across. How's mother?" + +"She will be here to-morrow. We have been getting things ready. Let +Ramon take your horse--" + +"Thanks. I'll fix him in two shakes." + +And in two shakes bridle and saddle were off, and Gray Leg was rolling +in the corral. + +While Lorry ate, Ramon laid a fire in the big stone fireplace. Alter +supper Lorry and his father sat gazing at the flames. Lorry knew why he +had been sent for, but waited for his father to speak. + +Presently Waring turned to him. "I sent for you because I need some one +to help. And your mother wants you here. I won't urge you, but I can +offer you Pat's share in the ranch. I bought his share last week. You'll +have a working interest besides that. You know something about cattle. +Think it over." + +"That's a dandy offer," said Lorry. "I'm right obliged, dad. But there's +something else. You put your proposition straight, and I'm going to put +mine straight. Now, if you was in my boots, and she liked you enough, +would you marry her?" + +"You haven't told me who she is." + +"Why--Dorothy Bronson. I thought you knew." + +Waring smiled. "You're pretty young, Lorry." + +"But you married young, dad." + +"Yes. And I married the best woman in the world. But I can't say that I +made your mother happy." + +"I guess ma never cared for anybody but you," said Lorry. + +"It isn't just the caring for a person, Lorry." + +"Well, I thought it was. But I reckon you know. And Dorothy is the +prettiest and lovin'est kind of a girl _you_ ever seen. I was wishin' +you was acquainted." + +"I should like to meet her. Are you sure she is your kind of girl, +Lorry? Now, wait a minute; I know how you feel. A girl can be +good-looking and mighty nice and think a lot of a man, and yet not be +the right girl for him." + +"But how is he goin' to find that out?" + +"If he must find out--by marrying her." + +"Then I aim to find out, if she is willin'. But I wanted to tell +you--because you made me that offer. I was askin' your advice because +you been through a lot." + +"I wish I could advise you. But you're a man grown, so far as taking +care of yourself is concerned. And when a man thinks of getting married +he isn't looking for advice against it. Why don't you wait a year or +two?" + +"Well, mebbe I got to. Because--well, I didn't ask Dorothy yet. Then +there's somethin' else. A lot of the fellas up in the high country have +enlisted in the regulars, and some have gone over to Canada to join the +Foreign Legion. Now, I don't want to be the last hombre on this mesa to +go." + +"There has been no call for men by the Nation." + +"But it's comin', dad. Any fella can see that. I kind of hate to wait +till Uncle Sam says I got to go. I don't like going that way." + +"What do you think your mother will say?" + +"Gosh! I know! That's why I wanted to talk to you first. If I'm goin', I +want to know it so I can say to her that I _am_ goin' and not that I aim +to go." + +"Well, you will have to decide that." + +"Well, I'm goin' to--before ma comes. Dog-gone it! You know how it is +tryin' to explain things to a woman. Wimmin don't understand them kind +of things." + +"I don't know about that, Lorry." + +Lorry nodded. "I tell you, dad--you kind of set a pace for me. And I +figure I don't want folks to say: 'There goes Jim Waring's boy.' If +they're goin' to say anything, I want it to be: 'There goes Lorry +Waring.'" + +Waring knew that kind of pride if he knew anything. He was proud of his +son. And Waring's most difficult task was to keep from influencing him +in any way. He wanted the boy to feel free to do as he thought best. + +"You were in that fight at Sterling," said Waring, gesturing toward the +south. + +"But that was different," said Lorry. "Them coyotes was pluggin' at us, +and we just nacherally had to let 'em have it. And besides we was +workin' for the law." + +"I understand there wasn't any law in Sterling About that time." + +"Well, we made some," asserted Lorry. + +"And that's just what this war means. It's being fought to make law." + +"Then I'm for the law every time, big or little. I seen enough of that +other thing." + +"Think it over, Lorry. Remember, you're free to do as you want to. I +have made my offer. Then there is your mother--and the girl. It looks as +though you had your hands full." + +"You bet! Business and war and--and Dorothy is a right big order. I'm +gettin' a headache thinkin' of it!" + +Waring rose. "I'm going to turn in. I have to live pretty close to the +clock these days." + +"See you in the mornin'," said Lorry, giving his hand. "Good-night, +dad." + +"Good-night, boy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +_The High Trail_ + + +Black-edged against the silvery light of early dawn the rim of the world +lay dotted with far buttes and faint ranges fading into the spaces of +the north and south. The light deepened and spread to a great crimson +pool, tideless round the bases of magic citadels and mighty towers. +Golden minarets thrust their slender, fiery shafts athwart the wide +pathway of the ascending sun. The ruddy glow palpitated like a live +ember naked to the wind. The nearer buttes grew boldly beautiful. Slowly +their molten outlines hardened to rigid bronze. Like ancient castles of +some forgotten land, isolated in the vast mesa, empty of life, they +seemed to await the coming of a host that would reshape their fallen +arches and their wind-worn towers to old-time splendor, and perfect +their imageries. + +But the marching sun knew no such sentiment. Pitilessly he pierced their +enchanted walls, discovering their pretense, burning away their shadowy +glory, baring them for what they were--masses of jumbled rock and +splintered spires; rain-gutted wraiths of clay, volcanic rock, the +tumbled malpais and the tufa of the land. + +Black shadows shifted. That which had been the high-arched entrance to +a mighty fortress was now a shallow hollow in a hill. Here and there on +the western slope of the mounds cattle grazed in the chill morning air. +Enchantments of the dawn reshaped themselves to local landmarks. + +From his window Lorry could discern the distant peak of Mount Baldy +glimmering above the purple sea of forest. Not far below the peak lay +the viewless level of the Blue Mesa. The trail ran just below that patch +of quaking asp. + +The hills had never seemed so beautiful, nor had the still mesas, +carpeted with the brown stubble of the close-cropped bunch-grass. + +Arizona was his country--his home. And yet he had heard folk say that +Arizona was a desert, But then such folk had been interested chiefly in +guide-posts of the highways or the Overland dining-car menu. + +And he had been offered a fair holding in this land--twenty thousand +acres under fence on a long-term lease; a half-interest in the cattle +and their increase. He would be his own man, with a voice in the +management and sale of the stock. A year or two and he could afford to +marry--if Dorothy would have him. He thought she would. And to keep in +good health she must always live in the West. What better land than +Arizona, on the high mesa where the air was clean and clear; where the +keen August rains refreshed the sunburned grasses; where the light +snows of winter fell but to vanish in the retrieving sun? If Dorothy +loved this land, why should she leave it? Surely health meant more to +her than the streets and homes of the East? + +And Lorry had asked nothing of fortune save a chance to make good. And +fortune had been more than kind to him. He realized that it was through +no deliberate effort of his own that he had acquired the opportunity +which offered. Why not take advantage of it? It would give him prestige +with Bronson. A good living, a good home for her. Such luck didn't come +to a man's door every day. + +He had slept soundly that night, despite his intent to reason with +himself. It was morning, and he had made no decision--or so he thought. +There was the question of enlisting. Many of his friends had already +gone. Older men were now riding the ranges. Even the clerk in the +general store at Stacey's had volunteered. And Lorry had considered him +anything but physically competent to "make a fight." But it wasn't all +in making a fight. It was setting an example of loyalty and +unselfishness to those fellows who needed such an impulse to stir them +to action. Lorry thought clearly. And because he thought clearly and for +himself, he realized that he, as an individual soldier in the Great War, +would amount to little; but he knew that his going would affect others; +that the mere news of his having gone would react as a sort of endless +chain reaching to no one knew what sequestered home. + +And this, he argued, was his real value: the spirit ever more potent +than the flesh. Why, he had heard men joke about this war! It was a long +way from home. What difference did it make to them if those people over +there were being starved, outraged, murdered? That was their own +lookout. Friends of his had said that they were willing to fight to a +finish if America were threatened with invasion, but that could never +happen. America was the biggest and richest country in the world. She +attended to her own business and asked nothing but that the other +nations do likewise. + +And those countries over there were attending to their own business. If +our ships were blown up, it was our own fault. We had been warned. +Anyway, the men who owned those ships were out to make money and willing +to take a chance. It wasn't our business to mix in. We had troubles +enough at home. As Lorry pondered the shallow truths a great light came +to him. "_Troubles enough at home_," that was it! America had already +been invaded, yet men slumbered in fancied security. He had been at +Sterling-- + +Lorry could hear Ramon stirring about in the kitchen. The rhythmically +muffled sound suggested the mixing of flapjacks. Lorry could smell the +thin, appetizing fragrance of coffee. + +With characteristic abruptness, he made his decision, but with no +spoken word, no gesture, no emotion. He saw a long day's work before +him. He would tackle it like a workman. + +And immediately he felt buoyantly himself again. The matter was settled. + +He washed vigorously. The cold water brought a ruddy glow to his face. +He whistled as he strode to the kitchen. He slapped the gentle-eyed +Ramon on the shoulder. Pancake batter hissed as it slopped over on the +stove. + +"Cheer up, amigo!" he cried! "Had a good look at the sun this mornin'?" + +"No, señor. I have made the breakfast, si." + +"Well, she's out there, shinin' right down on Arizona." + +"The señora?" queried Ramon, puzzled. + +"No; the sun. Don't a mornin' like this make you feel like jumpin' clean +out of your boots and over the fence?" + +"Not until I have made the flapcake, Señor Lorry." + +"Well, go the limit. Guess I'll roust out dad." + + * * * * * + +Bud Shoop scowled, perspired, and swore. Bondsman, close to Shoop's +chair, blinked and lay very still. His master was evidently beyond any +proffer of sympathy or advice. Yet he had had no argument with any one +lately. And he had eaten a good breakfast. Bondsman knew that. Whatever +the trouble might be, his master had not consulted him about it. It was +evidently a matter that dogs could not understand, and hence, very +grave. Bondsman licked his chops nervously. He wanted to go out and lie +in the sunshine, but he could not do that while his master suffered such +tribulation of soul. His place was close to his master now, if ever. + +Around Shoop were scattered pieces of paper; bits of letters written and +torn up. + +"It's a dam' sight worse resignin' than makin' out my application--and +that was bad enough," growled Shoop. "But I got to do this personal. +This here pen is like a rabbit gone loco. Now, here I set like a bag of +beans, tryin' to tell John Torrance why I'm quittin' this here job +without makin' him think I'm glad to quit--which I am, and I ain't. It's +like tryin' to split a flea's ear with a axe; it can't be did without +mashin' the flea. Now, if John was here I could tell him in three jumps. +The man that invented writin' must 'a' been tongue-tied or had sore +throat some time when he wanted to talk awful bad. My langwidge ain't +broke to pull no city rig--or no hearse. She's got to have the road and +plenty room to sidestep. + +"Now, how would I say it if John were here? Would I start off with 'Dear +John' or 'Dear Old Friend'? I reckon not. I'd just say: 'John, I'm goin' +to quit. I tried to do by you what I said I would. I got a chanct to +bust into the State House, and I got a good reason for bustin' in. I +been nominated for Senator, and I got to live up to the name. I'm +a-goin' to run for Senator--and mebby I'll keep on when I get started, +and end up somewhere in Mexico. I can't jine the reg'lars account of my +physical expansibility and my aige, so I got to do my fightin' to home. +I'm willin' to stick by this job if you say the word. Mebby some folks +would be dissap'inted, but I can stand that if they can. What do you +reckon I better do?' + +"Now, that's what I'd say if John was here. Why in tarnation can't I say +it on paper? Lemme see." + +Bud filled a sheet with his large, outdoor script. When he had finished, +he tucked the letter in an envelope hurriedly. He might reconsider his +attempt if he re-read the letter. + +He was carefully directing the envelope when Lorry strode in. + +'"Bout time you showed up," said Shoop. + +Lorry dropped his hat on the floor and pulled up a chair. He was a bit +nervous. Preamble would make him more so. He spoke up quickly. + +"Bud, I want to resign." + +"Uh-uh. You tired of this job?" + +"Nope; I like it." + +"Want more pay?" + +"No; I get all I'm worth." + +"Ain't you feelin' well?" + +"Bully! I'm going to enlist." + +"Might 'a' knowed it," said Bud, leaning back and gazing at the newly +addressed envelope on his desk. "Got your reports all in?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, seem' you're quittin' for the best reason I know, I'm right glad. +You done your work like I expected. Your mother knows you're goin' to +jine the army?" + +"I told her yesterday. I've been at the ranch." + +"Uh-uh. How's your dad?" + +"He ain't so spry. But he is better." + +"Uh-uh. That young Mexican stayin' at the ranch with him?" + +"You couldn't chase Ramon away with a gun." + +"Uh-uh. Well, Lorry, I just been sweatin' out a letter tellin' John +Torrance that I've quit. I'm goin' to run for State Senator." + +"I knew they would land you. Everybody knew it." + +"So we're both leavin' the Service. And we're leavin' a mighty good job; +mebby not such big pay, but a man's job, that has been the makin' of +some no-account boys. For no fella can work for the Service without +settin' up and ridin' straight. Now, when I was a young buster chasin' +cow-tails over the country I kind of thought the Forestry Service was a +joke. It ain't. It's a mighty big thing. You're leaving it with a clean +record. Mebby some day you'll want to get back in it. Were you goin' on +up?" + +"I figured to straighten up things at the cabin." + +"All right. When you come down you can get your check. Give my regards +to Bronson and the little missy." + +"You bet I will!" + +Bud rose and proffered his hand. Lorry, rather embarrassed, shook hands +and turned to go. "See you later," he said. + +"I was going over to Stacey," said Shoop. "Mebby I'll be out when you +get back. But your check'll be here all right. You sure look like you +was walkin' on sunshine this mawnin'. Gosh, what a whoopin' fine place +this here world is when you are young--and--kind of slim! Now, Bondsman +and me--we was young onct. When it comes to bein' young or State +Senator--you can have the politics and give me back my ridin' legs. +You're ridin' the High Trail these days. + +"If I could just set a hoss onct, with twenty years under my hide, and +look down on this here country, and the sage a-smellin' like it used to +and the sunshine a-creepin' across my back easy and warm, with a sniff +of the timber comin' down the mawnin' breeze; and 'way off the cattle +a-lookin' no bigger'n flies on a office map--why, I wouldn't trade that +there seat in the saddle for a million in gold. But I reckon I would 'a' +done it, them days. Sometimes I set back and say 'Arizona' just to +myself. I'm a-lovin' that name. Accordin' to law, I'm livin' single, and +if I ain't married to Arizona, she's my best gal, speakin' general. +'Course, a little lady give me a watch onct. And say, boy, if she sets a +lot of store by you--why, you--why, git out of this here office afore I +make a dam' fool of myself!" + +And the genial Bud waved his arm, blustering and swearing heartily. + +Bondsman leaped up. A ridge of hair rose along his neck. For some +unknown reason his master had ordered Lorry to leave the office--and at +once. But Lorry was gone, and Bud was patting the big Airedale. It was +all right. Nothing was going to happen. And wasn't it about time for the +stage to arrive? + +Bondsman trotted to the doorway, gazed up and down the street, and came +back to Shoop. The stage had arrived, and Bondsman was telling Shoop so +by the manner in which he waited for his master to follow him into the +sunlight. Bud grinned. + +"You're tellin' me the stage is in--and I got a letter to send." + +Bud picked up his hat. Bondsman had already preceded him to the doorway, +and stood waiting. His attitude expressed the extreme patience of age, +but that the matter should be attended to without unreasonable delay. +Shoop sighed heavily. + +"That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Halfway across the Blue Mesa, Dorothy met her ranger man. She had been +watching the trail. Lorry dismounted and walked with her to the cabin. +Bronson was glad to see him. They chatted for a while. Lorry would have +spoken of his father's offer--of his plans, of many things he wished +Bronson to know, yet he could not speak of these things until he had +talked with Dorothy. He would see Bronson again. Meanwhile-- + +A little later Lorry went to his cabin to take stock of the implements +and make his final report. He swept the cabin, picked up the loose odds +and ends, closed the battered piano gently, and sat down to think. + +He had made his decision, and yet--he had seen Dorothy again; touched +her hand, talked with her, and watched her brown eyes while he talked. +The Great War seemed very far away. And here he was at home. This was +his country. But he had set his face toward the High Trail. He could not +turn back. + +Dorothy stood in the doorway, her finger at her lips. Bronson was busy +writing. Lorry rose and stepped out. He stooped and lifted her to Gray +Leg. She sat sideways in the saddle as he led the pony across the mesa +to the veritable rim of the world. + +Far below lay the open country, veiled by the soft haze of distance. He +gave her his hand, and she slipped to the ground and stood beside him. +For the first time the tremendous sweep of space appalled her. She drew +close to him and touched his arm. + +"What is it, Lorry?" + +"You said--once--that you would wait for me." + +"Yes. And now you are here, I'll never be lonesome again." + +"Were you lonesome?" + +"A little. I had never really waited--like that--before." + +He frowned and gazed into the distances. It had been easy to +decide--when alone. Then he faced her, his gray eyes clear and +untroubled. + +"I'm going to enlist," he said simply. + +She had hoped that he would. She wanted to think that of him. And yet, +now that he had spoken, now that he was actually going--Her eyes grew +big. She wanted to say that she was glad. Her lips trembled. + +He held out his arms. She felt their warm strength round her. On the +instant she thought of begging him not to go. But his eyes were shining +with a high purpose, that shamed her momentary indecision. She pressed +her cheek to his. + +"I will wait for you," she whispered, and her face was wet with tears of +happiness. + +She was no longer the little mother and he her boy, for in that moment +he became to her the man strength of the race, his arms her refuge and +his eyes her courage for the coming years. + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, by Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JIM WARING OF SONORA-TOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 12189-8.txt or 12189-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/1/8/12189/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Gene Smethers and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12189-8.zip b/old/12189-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..246c519 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12189-8.zip diff --git a/old/12189.txt b/old/12189.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18d3eaf --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12189.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11709 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, by Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Jim Waring of Sonora-Town + Tang of Life + +Author: Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +Release Date: April 28, 2004 [EBook #12189] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JIM WARING OF SONORA-TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Gene Smethers and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +JIM WARING + +OF SONORA-TOWN + +OR, TANG OF LIFE + +BY + +HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + +AUTHOR OF OVERLAND RED, ETC. + + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +E. BOYD SMITH + + +August 1918 + + +To + +Robert Frothingham + + + +[Illustration: Waring of Sonora-Town] + + + +Waring of Sonora-Town + +_The heat acrost the desert was a-swimmin' in the sun, + When Waring of Sonora-Town, + Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, +From Salvador come ridin' down, a-rollin' of his gun. + +He was singin' low and easy to his pony's steady feet, + But his eye was live and driftin' + Round the scenery and siftin' +All the crawlin' shadows shiftin' in the tremblin' gray mesquite. + +Eyes was watchin' from a hollow where a outlaw Chola lay; + Two black, snaky eyes a-yearnin' + For Jim's hoss to make the turnin', +Then to send a bullet burnin' through his back--the Chola way. + +And Jim Waring's gaze, a-rovin' round the desert as he rode, + Settled quick--without him seemin' + To get wise and quit his dreamin'-- +On a shiny ring a-gleamin' where no ring had ever growed. + +The lightnin' don't give warnin'; just a lick and she is through; + Waring set his gun to smokin' + Playful like, like he was jokin', +And--a Chola lay a-chokin' ... and a buzzard cut the blue._ + +Contents + + I. The Canon + + II. Jose Vaca + + III. Donovan's Hand + + IV. The Silver Crucifix + + V. The Tang of Life + + VI. Arizona + + VII. The Return of Waring + + VIII. Lorry + + IX. High-Chin Bob + + X. East and West + + XI. Spring Lamb + + XII. Bud Shoop and Bondsman + + XIII. The Horse Trade + + XIV. Bondsman's Decision + + XV. John and Demijohn + + XVI. Play + + XVII. Down the Wind + + XVIII. A Piece of Paper + + XIX. The Fight in the Open + + XX. City Folks + + XXI. A Slim Whip of a Girl + + XXII. A Tune for Uncle Bud + + XXIII. Like One Who Sleeps + + XXIV. The Genial Bud + + XXV. The Little Fires + + XXVI. Idle Noon + + XXVII. Waco + +XXVIII. A Squared Account + + XXIX. Bud's Conscience + + XXX. In the Hills + + XXXI. In the Pines + + XXXII. Politics + +XXXIII. The Fires of Home + + XXXIV. Young Life + + XXXV. The High Trail + + + +Illustrations + + +Waring of Sonora-Town + +A huddled shape near a boulder + +"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun" + +They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had prepared + + +_From drawings by E. Boyd Smith_ + + + +TANG OF LIFE + + + + +Chapter I + + +_The Canon_ + +Waring picketed his horse in a dim angle of the Agua Fria Canon, spread +his saddle-blanket to dry in the afternoon sun, and, climbing to a +narrow ledge, surveyed the canon from end to end with a pair of +high-power glasses. He knew the men he sought would ride south. He was +reasonably certain that they would not ride through the canon in +daylight. The natural trail through the Agua Fria was along the western +wall; a trail that he had avoided, working his toilsome way down the +eastern side through a labyrinth of brush and rock that had concealed +him from view. A few hundred yards below his hasty camp a sandy arroyo +crossed the canon's mouth. + +He had planned to intercept the men where the trail crossed this arroyo, +or, should the trail show pony tracks, to follow them into the desert +beyond, where, sooner or later, he would overtake them. They had a start +of twelve hours, but Waring reasoned that they would not do much riding +in daylight. The trail at the northern end of the canon had shown no +fresh tracks that morning. His problem was simple. The answer would be +definite. He returned to the shelter of the brush, dropped the glasses +into a saddle-pocket, and stretched himself wearily. + +A few yards below him, on a brush-dotted level, his horse, Dexter, +slowly circled his picket and nibbled at the scant bunch-grass. The +western sun trailed long shadows across the canon; shadows that drifted +imperceptibly farther and farther, spreading, commingling, softening the +broken outlines of ledge and brush until the walled solitude was brimmed +with dusk, save where a red shaft cleft the fast-fading twilight, +burning like a great spotlight on a picketed horse and a man asleep, his +head pillowed on a saddle. + +As the dusk drew down, the horse ceased grazing, sniffed the coming +night, and nickered softly. Waring rose and led the horse to water, and, +returning, emptied half the grain in the morral on a blanket. Dex +munched contentedly. When the horse had finished eating the grain, +Waring picketed him in a fresh spot and climbed back to the ledge, where +he sat watching the western wall of the canon, occasionally glancing up +as some dim star burned through the deepening dusk and bloomed to a +silvery maturity. + +Presently a faint pallor overspread the canon till it lay like a ghostly +sea dotted with strange islands of brush and rock; islands that seemed +to waver and shift in a sort of vague restlessness, as though trying to +evade the ever-brightening tide of moonlight that burned away their +shrouds of dusk and fixed them in still, tangible shapes upon the canon +floor. + +Across the canon the farther trail ran past a broad, blank wall of rock. +No horseman could cross that open space unseen. Waring, seated upon the +ledge, leaned back against the wall, watching the angling shadows +shorten as the moon drew overhead. Toward morning he became drowsy. As +the white radiance paled to gray, he rose and paced back and forth upon +the narrow ledge to keep himself awake. In a few minutes the moon would +disappear behind the farther rim of the world; the canon would sink back +into its own night, all its moonlit imageries melting, vanishing. In the +hour before dawn Waring would be unable to see anything of the farther +wall save a wavering blur. + +Just below him he could discern the outline of his horse, with head +lowered, evidently dozing. Having in mind the keenness of desert-bred +stock, he watched the horse. The minutes drifted by. The horse seemed +more distinct. Waring thought he could discern the picket rope. He +endeavored to trace it from horse to picket. Foot by foot his eyes +followed its slack outline across the ground. The head of the metal +picket glimmered faintly. Waring closed his eyes, nodded, and caught +himself. This time he traced the rope from picket to horse. It seemed a +childish thing to do, yet it kept him awake. Did he imagine it, or had +the rope moved? + +Dex had lifted his head. He was sniffing the cool morning air. Slowly +the tawny-golden shape of the big buckskin turned, head up and nostrils +rounded in tense rings. Waring glanced across the canon. The farther +wall was still dim in the half-light. In a few minutes the trail would +become distinct. Dropping from the ledge, he stepped to his saddle. Dex +evidently heard him, for he twitched back one ear, but maintained his +attitude of keen interest in an invisible something--a something that +had drawn him from drowsy inanition to a quietly tense statue of +alertness. The ash gray of the farther wall, now visible, slowly changed +to a faint rose tint that deepened and spread. + +Waring stooped and straightened up, with his glasses held on the far +trail. A tiny rider appeared in the clear blue circle of the binoculars, +and another, who led two horses without saddles or packs. The men were +headed south. Presently they disappeared behind a wall of brush. Waring +saddled Dex, and, keeping close to the eastern wall, rode toward the +arroyo. + +The morning sun traced clean, black shadows of the chaparral on the +sand. The bloom of cacti burned in red and yellow blotches of flame +against its own dull background of grayish-green. At the mouth of the +arroyo, Waring dismounted and dropped the reins. Dex nosed him +inquiringly. He patted the horse, and, turning, strode swiftly down the +dry river-bed. He walked upright, knowing that he could not be seen from +the trail. He could even have ridden down the arroyo unseen, and perhaps +it was a senseless risk to hunt men afoot in this land. The men he +hunted were Mexicans of Sonora; fugitives. They would fight blindly, +spurred by fear. Waring's very name terrorized them. And were they to +come upon the gringo mounted, Waring knew that there was more than a +chance his horse would be shot. He had a peculiar aversion to running +such a risk when there was half a chance of doing his work on foot. + +Moreover, certain Americans in Sonora who disliked Waring had said +recently that no man was quick enough to get an even break with the +gunman, which tentatively placed him as a "killer," whereas he had never +given a thought to the hazard when going into a fight. He had always +played the game to win, odds either way. The men he sought would be +mounted. He would be on foot. This time the fugitives would have more +than a fair chance. They would blunder down the pitch into the arroyo, +perhaps glancing back, fearful of pursuit, but apprehending no +ambushment. + +Waring knew they would kill him if they could. He knew that not even a +fighting chance would have been his were they in his place and he in +theirs. He was deputized and paid to do just what he was doing. The men +were bandits who had robbed the paymaster of the Ortez Mines. To Waring +there was nothing complicated about the matter. It was his day's work. +The morning sun would be in their faces, but that was not his fault. + +As Waring waited in the arroyo the faint clatter of shod hoofs came from +above. He drew close to a cutbank, leaning his shoulder against it +easily. With a slither of sand, the first horse took the pitch, legs +angled awkwardly as he worked down. The second rider followed, the led +horses pulling back. + +At the bottom of the arroyo, the Mexicans reined up. The elder, squat, +broad of back, a black handkerchief tied round his thick neck, reached +into his pocket and drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. The other, +hardly more than a boy, urged that they hasten. Fear vibrated in his +voice. The squat Mexican laughed and began to roll a cigarette. + +None had overtaken them, he said. And were they not now in the Land +Where No Man Lived? + +"Si!" said Waring softly. + +The half-rolled cigarette fluttered to the ground. The Mexican's heavy +lip sagged, showing broken teeth. His companion dropped the lead-rope +and turned to gaze at Waring with eyes wide, wondering, curious. The led +horses plunged up the back trail. Waring made no movement toward his +gun, but he eyed the elder Mexican sharply, paying little attention to +the youth. The horse of the squat Mexican grew restless, sidling toward +the other. + +Waring's lips tightened. The bandit was spurring his horse on the off +side to get behind his companion. Evidently the numbness of surprise had +given way to fear, and fear meant action. Waring knew that the elder +Mexican would sacrifice his companion for the sake of a chance of +killing the gringo. + +Waring held out his left hand. "Give me your gun," he said to the youth. +"And hand it down butt first." + +The youth, as though hypnotized, pulled out his gun and handed it to +Waring. Waring knew that if the other Mexican meant to fight it would be +at that instant. Even as the butt of the gun touched Waring's hand it +jumped. Two shattering reports blended and died echoless in the +close-walled arroyo. + +The Mexican's gun slipped slowly from his fingers. He rocked in the +saddle, grasped the horn, and slid to the ground. Waring saw him reach +for the gun where it lay on the sand. He kicked it aside. The Mexican +youth leaped from the saddle and stood between Waring and the fallen +man. Waring stepped back. For an instant his eyes drew fine. He was +tempted to make an end of it right there. The youth dropped to his +knees. A drift of wind fluttered the bandanna at his throat. Waring saw +a little silver crucifix gleaming against the smooth brown of his chest. + +"If it is that I am to die, I am not afraid," said the youth. "I have +this!" And his fingers touched the crucifix. "But you will not kill my +uncle!" + +Waring hesitated. He seemed to be listening. And as though in a dream, +yet distinct--clear as though he had spoken himself came the words: "It +is enough!" + +"Not this journey," said Waring. + +The Mexican youth gazed at him wonderingly. Was the gringo mad? + +Waring holstered his gun with a jerk. "Get up on your hind legs and quit +that glory stuff! We ride north," he growled. + + + + +Chapter II + + +_Jose Vaca_ + +The young Mexican's face was beaded with sweat as he rose and stared +down at the wounded man. Clumsily he attempted to help Waring, who +washed and bandaged the shattered shoulder. Waring had shot to kill, but +the gun was not his own, and he had fired almost as it had touched his +hand. + +"Get your uncle on his horse," he told the youth. "Don't make a break. +We're due at Juan Armigo's ranchito about sundown." + +So far as he was concerned, that was all there was to it for the time +being. He had wounded and captured Jose Vaca, notorious in Sonora as +leader in outlawry. That there were no others of Vaca's kind with him +puzzled Waring. The young Ramon, Vaca's nephew, did not count. + +Ramon helped his uncle to mount. They glanced at each other, Vaca's eyes +blinking. The gringo was afoot. They were mounted. Waring, observing +their attitude, smiled, and, crooking his finger, whistled shrilly. The +young Ramon trembled. Other gringos were hidden in the arroyo; perhaps +the very man that his uncle had robbed! Even now he could hear the click +of hoofs on the gravel. The gunman had been merciful for the moment, +only to turn his captives over to the merciless men of the mines; men +who held a Mexican's life worth no more than a dog's. The wounded man, +stiff in the saddle, turned his head. Round a bend in the dry river-bed, +his neck held sideways that the reins might drag free, came Waring's big +buckskin horse, Dexter. The horse stopped as he saw the group. Waring +spoke to him. The big buckskin stepped forward and nosed Waring, who +swung to the saddle and gestured toward the back trail. + +They rode in silence, the Mexicans with bowed heads, dull-eyed, +listless, resigned to their certain fate. For some strange reason the +gringo had not killed them in the arroyo. He had had excuse enough. + +Would he take them to Sonora--to the prison? Or would he wait until they +were in some hidden fastness of the Agua Fria, and there kill them and +leave them to the coyotes? The youth Ramon knew that the two little +canvas sacks of gold were cleverly tied in the huge tapaderas of his +uncle's saddle. Who would think to look for them there? + +The gringo had said that they would ride to the ranchito of Juan Armigo. +How easily the gringo had tricked them at the very moment when they +thought they were safe! Yet he had not asked about the stolen money. The +ways of this gringo were past comprehension. + +Waring paid scant attention to the Mexicans, but he glanced continuously +from side to side of the canon, alert for a surprise. The wounded man, +Vaca, was known to him. He was but one of the bandits. Ramon, Vaca's +nephew, was not of their kind, but had been led into this journey by +Vaca that the bandit might ride wide when approaching the ranchos and +send his nephew in for supplies. + +The pack on Ramon's saddle rode too lightly to contain anything heavier +than food. There was nothing tied to Vaca's saddle but a frayed and +faded blanket. Yet Waring was certain that they had not cached the gold; +that they carried it with them. + +At noon they watered the horses midway up the canon. As they rode on +again, Waring noticed that Vaca did not thrust his foot clear home in +the stirrup, but he attributed this to the other's condition. The +Mexican was a sick man. His swarthy face had gone yellow, and he leaned +forward, clutching the horn. The heat was stagnant, unwavering. The pace +was desperately slow. + +Despite his vigilance, Waring's mind grew heavy with the monotony. He +rolled a cigarette. The smoke tasted bitter. He flung the cigarette +away. The hunting of men had lost its old-time thrill. A clean break and +a hard fight; that was well enough. But the bowed figures riding ahead +of him: ignorant, superstitious, brutal; numb to any sense of honor. Was +the game worth while? Yet they were men--human in that they feared, +hoped, felt hunger, thirst, pain, and even dreamed of vague successes to +be attained how or when the Fates would decide. And was this squalid +victory a recompense for the risks he ran and the hardships he endured? + +Again Waring heard the Voice, as though from a distance, and yet the +voice was his own: "You will turn back from the hunting of men." + +"Like hell I will!" muttered Waring. + +Ramon, who rode immediately ahead of him, turned in the saddle. Waring +gestured to him to ride on. + +The heat grew less intense as an occasional, vagrant breeze stirred in +the brush and fluttered the handkerchief round Waring's throat. Ahead, +the canon broadened to the mesa lands, where the distant green of a line +of trees marked the boundary of the Armigo rancho. + +Presently Vaca began to sing; softly at first, then with insane +vehemence as the fever mounted to his brain. Waring smiled with dry +lips. The Mexican had stood the journey well. A white man in Vaca's +condition would have gone to pieces hours ago. He called to Ramon, who +gave Vaca water. The Mexican drank greedily, and threw the empty canteen +into the bushes. + +Waring listened for some hint, some crazy boast as to the whereabouts of +the stolen money. But Vaca rode on, occasionally breaking into a wild +song, half Yaqui, half Mexican. The youth Ramon trembled, fearing that +the gringo would lose patience. + +Across the northern end of the canon the winnowing heat waves died to +the level of the ground. Brown shadows shot from the western wall and +spread across the widening outlet. The horses stepped briskly, knowing +that they were near water. + +Waring became more alert as they approached the adobe buildings of the +rancho. Vaca had drifted into a dull silence. Gray with suffering and +grim with hate for the gringo, he rode stolidly, praying incoherently +that the gunman might be stricken dead as he rode. + +The raw edge of the disappearing sun leveled a long flame of crimson +across the mesa. The crimson melted to gold. The gold paled to a brief +twilight. A faint star twinkled in the north. + +Dogs crowded forward in the dusk, challenging the strange riders. A +figure filled the lighted doorway of the Armigo ranch-house. The dogs +drew back. + +Ramon dismounted and helped his uncle down. Waring sat his horse until +Juan Armigo stepped from the doorway and asked who came. Waring answered +with his name. + +"Si! Si!" exclaimed Armigo. "The senor is welcome." + +Waring dismounted. "Juan, I have two of your friends here; Jose Vaca and +Ramon Ortego." + +Armigo seemed surprised. "Jose Vaca is wounded?" he queried +hesitatingly. + +Waring nodded. + +"And the horses; they shall have feed, water, everything--I myself--" + +"Thanks. But I'll look after the horses, Juan. I'm taking Vaca and Ramon +to Sonora. See what you can do for Vaca. He's pretty sick." + +"It shall be as the senor says. And the senor has made a fight?" + +"With those hombres? Not this journey! Jose Vaca made a mistake; that's +all." + +Armigo, perturbed, shuffled to the house. Waring unsaddled the horses +and turned them into the corral. As he lifted the saddle from Vaca's +horse, he hesitated. It was a big stock saddle and heavy; yet it seemed +too heavy. On his knees he turned it over, examining it. He smiled +grimly as he untied the little canvas sacks and drew them from the +tapaderas. + +"Thought he showed too much boot for a hard-riding chola," muttered +Waring. + +He rose and threw some hay to the horses. He could hear Ramon and Armigo +talking in the ranch-house. Taking his empty canteen from his own +saddle, he untied the sacks and slipped the gold-pieces, one by one, +into the canteen. He scooped up sand and filled the canteen half full. +The gold no longer jingled as he shook it. + +While Waring had no fear that either of the men would attempt to escape, +he knew Mexicans too well to trust Armigo explicitly. A thousand +dollars was a great temptation to a poor rancher. And while Armigo had +always professed to be Waring's friend, sympathy of blood and the appeal +of money easily come by might change the placid face of things +considerably. + +Waring strode to the house, washed and ate with Juan in the kitchen; +then he invited the Mexican out to the corral. + +"Jose and Ramon are your countrymen, Juan." + +"Si, senor. I am sorry for Ramon. This thing was not of his doing. He is +but a boy--" + +Waring touched the other's arm. "There will be no trouble, Juan. Only +keep better track of your horses while I ride this part of the country." + +"But--senor--" + +"I've had business with you before. Two of your cayuses are astray down +the Agua Fria. One of them is dragging a maguey lead-rope." + +"Senor, it is impossible!" + +"No, it isn't! I know your brand. See here, Juan. You knew that Vaca was +trying to get away. You knew I'd be sent to get him. Why did you let him +take two spare horses?" + +"But, senor, I swear I did not!" + +"All right. Then when Ramon rode in here two days ago and asked you for +two horses, why didn't you refuse him? Why did you tell him you would +sell them, but that you would not lend them to him?" + +"If Ramon says that, he lies. I told Ramon--" + +"Thanks. That's all I want to know. I don't care what you told Ramon. +You let him take the horses. Now, I'm going to tell you something that +will be worth more to you than gold. Don't try to rope any stock grazing +round here to-night. I might wake up quick and make a mistake. Men look +alike in the moonlight--and we'll have a moon." + +"It shall be as the senor says. It is fate." + +"All right, amigo. But it isn't fate. It's making fool mistakes when you +or your countrymen tackle a job like Vaca tackled. Just get me a couple +of blankets. I'll sleep out here to-night." + +Juan Armigo plodded to the adobe. The lamplight showed his face beaded +with sweat. He shuffled to an inner room, and came out with blankets on +his arm. Vaca lay on a bed-roll in the corner of the larger room, and +near him stood Ramon. + +"The senor sleeps with the horses," said Armigo significantly. + +Ramon bent his head and muttered a prayer. + +"And if you pray," said Armigo, shifting the blankets from one arm to +the other, "pray then that the two horses that you borrowed may return. +As for your Uncle Jose, he will not die." + +"And we shall be taken to the prison," said Ramon." + +"You should have killed the gringo." And Armigo's tone was +matter-of-fact. "Or perhaps told him where you had hidden the gold. He +might have let you go, then." + +Ramon shook his head. Armigo's suggestion was too obviously a question +as to the whereabouts of the stolen money. + +The wounded man opened his eyes. "I have heard," he said faintly. "Tell +the gringo that I will say where the money is hidden if he will let me +go." + +"It shall be as you wish," said Armigo, curious to learn more of the +matter. + +At the corral he delivered Vaca's message to Waring, who feigned delight +at the other's information. + +"If that is so, Tio Juan," he laughed, "you shall have your share--a +hundred pesos. Leave the blankets there by my saddle. We will go to the +house." + +From the coolness of night, with its dim radiance of stars, to the +accumulated heat of the interior of the adobe was an unpleasant change. +The walls were whitewashed and clean enough, but the place smelled +strongly of cooking. A lamp burned on the oilcloth-covered table. Ramon, +wide-eyed with trepidation, stood by his uncle, who had braced himself +on his elbow as Waring approached. Waring nodded pleasantly and rolled a +cigarette. Jose Vaca glared up at him hungrily. The lower lip, +pendulous, showed his broken teeth. Waring thought of a trapped wolf. +Juan glanced from one to the other. + +But the gringo seemed incurious, merely gazing at the pictures on the +walls; a flaming print of the Madonna, one of the Christ, a cheap +photograph of Juan and his senora taken on their wedding day, an abalone +shell on which was painted something resembling a horse and rider-- + +"The gold is hidden in the house of Pedro Salazar, of Sonora. It is +buried in the earth beneath his bed." + +Jose Vaca had spoken, but Waring was watching Ramon's eyes. + +"All right, hombre. Muchas gracias." + +"And now you will let me go?" queried Vaca. + +"I haven't said so." Waring's tone was pleasant, almost indifferent. + +Ramon's face was troubled. Of what use was it to try and deceive the +gringo? But Waring was smiling. Did he, then, believe such an obvious +lie? + +"Bueno!" Waring exclaimed. "That lets _you_ out. Now, what about you, +Ramon?" + +"My uncle has spoken," said Ramon. "I have nothing to say." + +"Then you will ride with me to Sonora." + +"As you say, senor." + +"All right. Don't sit up all night praying. That won't do any good. Get +some sleep. And you, too, Juan." And Waring turned quickly to Armigo. +"Sleep all you can. You'll feel better in the morning." + +Waring turned and strode out. In the corral he spread his blankets. With +his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars. + +The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one +corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground +was new to them. + +For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged +as he rested. Just before Waring slept he felt a gentle nosing of his +blankets. The big horse sniffed curiously. + +"Strange blankets, eh?" queried Waring drowsily. "But it's the same old +partner, Dex." + +The horse walked slowly away, nosing along the fence. Waring knew that +he was well sentineled. The big buckskin would resent the approach of a +stranger by snorting. Waring turned on his side and slept. His day's +work was done. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +_Donovan's Hand_ + +Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to the +horses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over the +kitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. The +Mexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifix +on the wall, where he had knelt in prayer most of the night. + +Waring drew back quietly. + +"Let them sleep," he told Juan in the kitchen. + +After frijoles and coffee, the gunman rose and gestured to Juan to +follow him. + +Out near the corral, Waring turned suddenly. "You say that young Ramon +is straight?" + +"Si, senor. He is a good boy." + +"Well, he's in dam' bad company. How about Vaca?" + +Juan Armigo shrugged his shoulders. + +"Are you afraid of him, Juan?" + +"No. But if he were to ask me for anything, it would be well to let him +have it." + +"I see. So he sent young Ramon in here for two extra horses, and you +were afraid to refuse. I had thought you were an honest man. After I +have gone, go hunt up those horses in the canon. And if any one from +Sonora rides in here and asks about Ramon or Vaca or me, you don't know +anything about us. Sabe? If your horses are found before you get to +them, some one stole them. Do these things. I don't want to come back to +see if you have done them." + +Juan Armigo nodded, gazing at Waring with crafty eyes. So the gringo was +tempted by the gold. He would ride back to Sonora, find the stolen money +in the house of Pedro Salazar, and keep it. It would be a very simple +thing to do. Young Ramon would be afraid to speak and Jose Vaca would +have disappeared. The gringo could swear that he had not found the +bandits or the gold. So reasoned Juan, his erstwhile respect for the +gunman wavering as the idea became fixed. He grinned at Waring. It would +be a good trick; to steal the gold from the stealers. Of a certainty the +gringo was becoming almost as subtle as a Mexican. + +Waring was not pleased as he read the other's eyes, but he said nothing. +Turning abruptly, he entered the corral and saddled Ramon's horse and +his own. + +"Get Jose Vaca out of here as soon as he can travel," he told Armigo. +"You may have to explain if he is found here." And Waring strode to the +adobe. + +Ramon was awake and talking with his uncle. Waring told him to get +something to eat. Then he turned to Vaca. + +"Jose," he began pleasantly, "you tried to get me yesterday, but you +only spoiled a good Stetson. See? You shot high. When you go for a man +again, start in at his belt-buckle and get him low. We'll let that go +this time. When you can ride, take your cayuse and fan it anywhere--_but +don't ride back to Sonora_. I'll be there. I'm going to herd young Ramon +back home. He is isn't your kind. You are free. Don't jabber. Just tell +all that to your saints. And if you get caught, don't say that you saw +me. Sabe?" + +The wounded man raised himself on his elbow, glaring up at Waring with +feverish eyes. "You give me my life. I shall not speak." + +"Bueno! And you said in the house of Pedro Salazar?" + +"Si! Near the acequia." + +"The Placeta Burro. I know the place. You'll find your horse and a +saddle when you are able to ride." + +The bandit's eyes glistened as he watched Waring depart. If the gringo +entered the house of Pedro Salazar, he would not find the gold and he +would not come out alive. The gringo gunman had killed the brother of +Pedro Salazar down in the desert country years ago. And Salazar had had +nothing to do with the Ortez Mine robbery. Vaca thought that the gold +was still safe in his tapaderas. The gringo was a fool. + +Waring led the two saddled horses to the house. Ramon, coming from the +kitchen, blinked in the sunlight. + +"It is my horse, but not my saddle, senor." + +"You are an honest man," laughed Waring. "But we won't change saddles. +Come on!" + +Ramon mounted and rode beside Waring until they were out of sight of the +ranch-house, when Waring reined up. + +"Where is that money?" he asked suddenly. + +"I do not know, senor." + +"Did you know where it was yesterday?" + +Ramon hesitated. Was this a trap? Waring's level gaze held the young +Mexican to a straight answer. + +"Si, senor. I knew--yesterday." + +"You knew; but you didn't talk up when your uncle tried to run me into +Pedro Salazar." + +"I--he is of my family." + +"Well, I don't blame you. I see that you can keep from talking when you +have to. And now is your chance to do a lot of keeping still. I'm going +to ride into Sonora ahead of you. When you get in, go home and forget +that you made this journey. If your folks ask where your uncle is, tell +them that he rode south and that you turned back. Because you did didn't +lie to me, and because you did didn't show yellow, I'm going to give you +a chance to get out of this. I let your uncle go because he would have +given you away to save himself the minute I jailed him in Sonora. It's +up to you to keep out of trouble. You've had a scare that ought to last +you. Take your time and hit Sonora about sundown. Adios." + +"But--senor!" + +Waring whirled his horse. "A good rider shoves his foot clear home," he +called as he loped away. + +Ramon sat his horse, gazing at the little puffs of dust that shot from +the hoofs of the big buckskin. Surely the gringo was mad! Yet he was a +man of big heart. Perplexed, stunned by the realization that he was +alone and free, the young Mexican gazed about him. Waring was a tiny +figure in the distance. Ramon dismounted and examined the empty +tapaderas. + +Heretofore he had considered subtlety, trickery, qualities to be +desired, and not incompatible with honor. In a flash he realized the +difference, the distinction between trickery and keenness of mind. He +had been awed by his uncle's reputation and proud to name him of this +family. Now he saw him for what he was. "My Uncle Jose is a bad man," he +said to himself. "The other,--the gringo whom men call 'The Killer,'--he +is a hard man, but assuredly he is not bad." + +When Ramon spoke to his horse his voice trembled. His hand drifted up to +the little silver crucifix on his breast. A vague glimmer of +understanding, a sense of the real significance of the emblem heartened +him to face the journey homeward and the questions of his kin. And, +above all, he felt an admiration for the gringo that grew by degrees as +he rode on. He could follow such a man to the end of the world, even +across the border of the Great Unknown, for surely such a leader would +not lose the way. + + * * * * * + +Three men sat in the office of the Ortez Mines, smoking and saying +little. Donovan, the manager; the paymaster, Quigley; and the assistant +manager, a young American fresh from the East. Waring's name was +mentioned. Three days ago he had ridden south after the bandits. He +might return. He might not. + +"I'd like to see him ride in," said Donovan, turning to the paymaster. + +"And you hate him at that," said Quigley. + +"I don't say so. But if he was paymaster here, he'd put the fear of God +into some of those greasers." + +Quigley flushed. "You didn't hire me to chase greasers, Donovan. I'm no +gunman." + +"No," said Donovan slowly. "I had you sized up." + +"Oh, cut out that stuff!" said the assistant manager, smiling. "That +won't balance the pay-roll." + +"No. But I'm going to cut down expenses." And Donovan eyed Quigley. "Jim +Waring is too dam' high and mighty to suit me. Every time he tackles a +job he is the big boss till it's done. If he comes back, all right. If +he don't--we'll charge it up to profit and loss. But his name goes off +the pay-roll to-day." + +Quigley grinned. He knew that Donovan was afraid of Waring. Waring was +the one man in Donovan's employ that he could not bully. Moreover, the +big Irishman hated to pay Waring's price, which was stiff. + +"How about a raise of twenty-five a month, then?" queried Quigley. + +To his surprise, Donovan nodded genially. "You're on, Jack. And that +goes the minute Waring shows up with the money. If he doesn't show +up--why, that raise can wait." + +"Then I'll just date the change to-day," said Quigley. "Take a look down +the street." + +Donovan rose heavily and stepped to the window. "By God, it's Waring, +all right! He's afoot. What's that he's packing?" + +"A canteen," said the assistant manager. "This is a dry country." + +Donovan returned to his desk. "Get busy, at something. We don't want to +sit here like a lot of stuffed buzzards. We're glad to see Waring back, +of course. You two can drift out when I get to talking business with +him." + +Quigley nodded and took up his pen. The assistant manager studied a map. + +Waring strode in briskly. The paymaster glanced up and nodded, expecting +Donovan to speak. But Donovan sat with his back toward Waring, his head +wreathed in tobacco smoke. He was apparently absorbed in a letter. + +The gunman paused halfway across the office. Quigley fidgeted. The +assistant superintendent stole a glance at Donovan's broad back and +smiled. All three seemed waiting for Waring to speak. Quigley rather +enjoyed the situation. The assistant superintendent's scalp prickled +with restrained excitement. + +He rose and stepped to Donovan. "Mr. Donovan, Mr. Waring is here." + +"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant. + +Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you come +in." + +Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze. +Still the gunman did not speak. + +"Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan. + +Waring shook his head. + +"Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?" + +"Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!" + +Quigley laughed. The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate +handkerchief. The room was hot. + +"Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth +a damn." + +Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?" + +Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet. + +"Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's +got something on his mind. I knew it the minute I came in. I want you +fellows to hear it." + +Donovan flung his half-smoked cigar to the floor and lighted a fresh +one. Waring's attitude irritated him. Officially, Donovan was Waring's +superior. Man to man, the Sonora gunman was Donovan's master, and the +Irishman knew and resented it. + +He tried a new tack. "Glad to see you back, Jim." And he rose and stuck +out a sweating hand. + +Waring swung the canteen from his shoulder and carefully hung the strap +over Donovan's wrist. "There's your money, Bill. Count it--and give me a +receipt." + +Donovan, with the dusty canteen dangling from his arm, looked +exceedingly foolish. + +Waring turned to Quigley. "Bill's got a stroke," he said, smiling. +"Quigley, give me a receipt for a thousand dollars." + +"Sure!" said Quigley, relieved. The money had been stolen from him. + +Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigley +unscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map. +The assistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and poured +out a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted them +from the sand and counted them. + +"One thousand even. Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?" + +"Did I?" queried Waring. + +"Well, you got the mazuma," said Quigley. "And that's good enough for +me." + +Donovan stepped to the table. "Williams, I won't need you any more +to-day." + +The assistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair. +"Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waring +returned the money. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular." + +"No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll," said Waring. + +Donovan laughed. "Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you your +own price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I got +a letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdup +will make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on the +pay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. Nobody knows +you recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigley +and you and I will split it--three hundred apiece." + +"Suppose I stay out of the deal," said Waring. + +"Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along." + +Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insult +intended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal from +the service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to the +suggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level. + +Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said, turning +to Quigley. + +Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been +easy enough. + +Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the +paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed the +check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands. + +As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm. +"Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were +unreadable. + +The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it, +he relinquished the sack. + +Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you +before, you can't bluff worth a damn." + +Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest, +the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving in +his hand. + +"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Never +throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill." + +The door clicked shut. + +Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamed +suddenly. "I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzer +like that on me!" + +"I'd go slow," said Quigley. "You don't know what kind of a game Waring +will play." + +Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police. + + + + +Chapter IV + + +_The Silver Crucifix_ + +When in Sonora, Waring frequented the Plaza Hotel. He had arranged with +the management that his room should always be ready for him, day or +night. The location was advantageous. Nearly all the Americans visiting +Sonora and many resident Americans stopped at the Plaza. Waring +frequently picked up valuable bits of news as he lounged in the lobby. +Quietly garbed when in town, he passed for a well-to-do rancher or +mining man. His manner invited no confidences. He was left much to +himself. Men who knew him deemed him unaccountable in that he never +drank with them and seldom spoke unless spoken to. The employees of the +hotel had grown accustomed to his comings and goings, though they seldom +knew where he went or definitely when he would return. His mildness of +manner was a source of comment among those who knew him for what he was. +And his very mildness of manner was one of his greatest assets in +gaining information. Essentially a man of action, silent as to his plans +and surmises, yet he could talk well when occasion demanded. + +It was rumored that he was in the employ of the American Government; +that he had been disappointed in a love affair; that he had a wife and +son living somewhere in the States; that for very good reasons he could +not return to the States; that he was a dangerous man, well paid by the +Mexican Government to handle political matters that would not bear +public inspection. These rumors came to him from time to time, and +because he paid no attention to them they were accepted as facts. + +About an hour after he had left Donovan's office, Waring entered the +Plaza Hotel, nodded to the clerk, and passed on down the hallway. He +knocked at a door, and was answered by the appearance of a stout, +smooth-shaven man in shirt-sleeves. They chatted for a minute or two. +Waring stepped into the room. Presently he reappeared, smiling. + +After dinner he strolled out and down the street. At a corner he edged +through the crowd, and was striding on when some one touched his arm. He +turned to confront the Mexican youth, Ramon. Waring gestured to Ramon to +follow, and they passed on down the street until near the edge of the +town. In the shadow of an adobe, Waring stopped. + +Ramon glanced up and down the street. "The police--they have asked me +where is my Uncle Jose. I have told them that I do not know. The police +they asked me that." + +"Well?" + +"But it is not that why I come. They told me to go to my home. It was +when I was in the prison that the policia talked in the telephone. He +spoke your name and the name of Senor Bill Donovan of the Ortez Mine. I +heard only your name and his, but I was afraid. You will not tell them +that I was with my Uncle Jose?" + +"No. And thanks, Ramon. I think I know what they were talking about. Go +back home, pronto. If you were to be seen with me--" + +"The senor is gracious. He has given me my life. I have nothing to +give--but this." And Ramon drew the little silver crucifix from his +shirt and pressed it in Waring's hand. + +"Oh, here, muchacho--" + +But Ramon was already hastening down a side street. Waring smiled and +shook his head. For a moment he stood looking at the little crucifix +shining on the palm of his hand. He slipped it into his pocket and +strode back up the street. For an hour or more he walked about, +listening casually to this or that bit of conversation. Occasionally he +heard Mexicans discussing the Ortez robbery. Donovan's name, Waring's +own name, Vaca's, and even Ramon's were mentioned. It seemed strange to +him that news should breed so fast. Few knew that he had returned. +Possibly Donovan had spread the report that the bandits had made their +escape with the money. That would mean that Waring had been outwitted. +And Donovan would like nothing better than to injure Waring's +reputation. + +Finding himself opposite the hotel, Waring glanced about and strode in. +As he entered the hallway leading to his room three men rose from the +leather chairs near the lobby window and followed him. Waring's door +closed. He undressed and went to bed. He had been asleep but a few +minutes when some one rapped on the door. He asked who it was. He was +told to open in the name of the city of Sonora. He rose and dressed +quickly. + +When he opened the door two Sonora policemen told him to put up his +hands. Donovan stood back of them, chewing a cigar. One of the policemen +took Waring's gun. The other searched the room. Evidently he did not +find what he sought. + +"When you get through," said Waring, eyeing Donovan grimly, "you might +tell me what you're after." + +"I'm after that thousand," said Donovan. + +"Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? Just call in Stanley, of the bank. His +room is opposite." + +Donovan hesitated. "Stanley's got nothing to do with this." + +"Hasn't he?" queried Waring. "Call him in and see." + +One of the police knocked at Stanley's door. + +The bank cashier appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Hello, Bill! Hello, Jim! +What's the fuss?" + +"Stanley, did I deposit a thousand dollars in gold to the credit of the +Ortez Mine this afternoon?" + +"You did." + +"Just show Donovan here the receipt I asked you to keep for me." + +"All right. I'll get it." + +Donovan glanced at the receipt. "Pretty smooth," he muttered. + +Waring smiled. His silence enraged Donovan, who motioned to the police +to leave the room. + +Waring interrupted. "My gun?" he queried mildly. + +One of the police handed the gun to Waring. + +Their eyes met. "Why, hello, Pedro!" And Waring's voice expressed +innocent surprise. "When did you enroll as a policeman?" + +Donovan was about to interrupt when the policeman spoke: "That is my +business." + +"Which means Bill here has had you sworn in to-day. Knew you would like +to get a crack at me, eh? You ought to know better, Salazar." + +"Come on!" called Donovan. + +The Mexicans followed him down the hallway. + +Waring thanked Stanley. "It was a frame-up to get me, Frank," he +concluded. "Pedro Salazar would like the chance, and as a policeman he +could work it. You know that old game--resisting arrest." + +"Doesn't seem to worry you," said Stanley. + +"No. I'm leaving town. I'm through with this game." + +"Getting too hot?" + +"No. I'm getting cold feet," said Waring, laughing. "And say, Stanley, +I may need a little money to-morrow." + +"Any time, Jim." + +Waring nodded. Back in his room he sat for a while on the edge of the +bed, gazing at the curtained window. Life had gone stale. He was sick of +hunting men and of being hunted. Pedro Salazar was now a member of the +Sonora police through Donovan's efforts. Eventually Salazar would find +an excuse to shoot Waring. And the gunman had made up his mind to do no +more killing. For that reason he had spared Vaca and had befriended +Ramon. He decided to leave Sonora. + +Presently he rose and dressed in his desert clothes. As he went through +his pockets he came upon the little silver crucifix and transferred it, +with some loose change, to his riding-breeches. He turned out the light, +locked the room from the outside, and strode out of the hotel. + +At the livery-stable, he asked for his horse. The man in charge told him +that Dex had been taken by the police. That the Senor Bill Donovan and +Pedro Salazar had come and shown him a paper,--he could not read,--but +he knew the big seal. It was Pedro Salazar who had ridden the horse. + +The streets were still lighted, although the crowd was thinning. Waring +turned a corner and drifted through the shadows toward the edge of town. +As he passed open doorways he was greeted in Mexican, and returned each +greeting pleasantly. The adobe at the end of the side street he was on +was dark. + +Waring paused. Pedro Salazar's house was the only unlighted house in the +district. The circumstance hinted of an ambushment. Waring crossed to +the deeper shadows and whistled. The call was peculiarly low and +cajoling. He was answered by a muffled nickering. His horse Dex was +evidently corralled at the back of the adobe. + +Pedro Salazar knew that Waring would come for the horse sooner or later, +so he waited, crouching behind the adobe wall of the enclosure. + +Waring knocked loudly on Salazar's door and called his name. Then he +turned and ran to the corner, dodged round it, and crept along the +breast-high adobe wall. He whistled again. A rope snapped, and there +came the sound of quick trampling. A rush and the great, tawny shape of +Dexter reared in the moonlight and swept over the wall. With head up, +the horse snorted a challenge. Waring called softly. The horse wheeled +toward him. Waring caught the broken neck-rope and swung up. A flash cut +the darkness behind him. Instinctively he turned and threw two shots. A +figure crumpled to a dim blur in the corral. + +Waring raced down the alley and out into the street. At the +livery-stable he asked for his saddle and bridle. The Mexican, +chattering, brought them. Waring tugged the cinchas tight and mounted. +Far down the street some one called. + +Waring rode to the hotel, dismounted, and strode in casually, pausing at +Stanley's door. The cashier answered his knock. + +"I'm off," said Waring. "And I'll need some money." + +"All right, Jim. What's up? How much?" + +"A couple of hundred. Charge it back to my account. Got it?" + +"No. I'll get it at the desk." + +"All right. Settle my bill for me to-morrow. Don't stop to dress. +Rustle!" + +A belated lounger glanced up in surprise as Waring, booted and spurred, +entered the lobby with a man in pajamas. They talked with the clerk a +moment, shook hands, and Waring strode to the doorway. + +"Any word for the Ortez people?" queried Stanley as Waring mounted. + +"I left a little notice for Donovan--at Pedro Salazar's house," said +Waring. "Donovan will understand." And Waring was gone. + +The lounger accosted Stanley. "What's the row, Stanley?" + +"I don't know. Jim Waring is in a hurry--first time since I've known +him. Figure it out yourself." + +Back in Pedro Salazar's corral a man lay huddled in a dim corner, his +sightless eyes open to the soft radiance of the Sonora moon. A group of +Mexicans stood about, jabbering. Among them was Ramon Ortego. Ramon +listened and said nothing. Pedro Salazar was dead. No one knew who had +killed him. And only that day he had become one of the police! It would +go hard with the man who did this thing. There were many surmises. +Pedro's brother had been killed by the gringo Waring down in the desert. +As for Pedro, his name had been none too good. They shrugged their +shoulders and crossed themselves. + +Ramon slipped from the group and climbed the adobe wall. As he +straightened up on the other side, he saw something gleaming in the +moonlight. He stooped and picked up a little silver crucifix. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +_The Tang of Life_ + +Waring rode until dawn, when he picketed Dex in a clump of chaparral and +lay down to rest. He had purposely passed the water-hole, a half-mile +south, after having watered the horse and refilled his canteen. + +There was a distinction, even in Sonora, between Pedro Salazar, the +citizen, and Pedro Salazar, of the Sonora police. The rurales might get +busy. Nogales and the Arizona line were still a long ride ahead. + +Slowly the desert sun drew overhead and swept the scant shadows from the +brush-walled enclosure. Waring slept. Finally the big buckskin became +restless, circling his picket and lifting his head to peer over the +brush. Long before Waring could have been aware of it, had he been +awake, the horse saw a moving something on the southern horizon. Trained +to the game by years of association with his master, Dex walked to where +Waring lay and nosed his arm. The gunman rolled to his side and peered +through the chaparral. + +Far in the south a moving dot wavered in the sun. Waring swept the +southern arc with his glasses. The moving dot was a Mexican, a horseman +riding alone. He rode fast. Waring could see the rise and fall of a +quirt. "Some one killing a horse to get somewhere," he muttered, and he +saddled Dex and waited. The tiny figure drew nearer. Dex grew restless. +Waring quieted him with a word. + +To the west of the chaparral lay the trail, paralleled at a distance of +a half-mile by the railroad. The glasses discovered the lone horseman to +be Ramon, of Sonora. The boy swayed in the saddle as the horse lunged +on. Waring knew that something of grave import had sent the boy out into +the noon desert. He was at first inclined to let him pass and then ride +east toward the Sierra Madre. If the rurales were following, they would +trail Dex to the water-hole. And if Ramon rode on north, some of them +would trail the Mexican. This would split up the band--decrease the odds +by perhaps one half. + +But the idea faded from Waring's mind as he saw the boy fling past +desperately. Waring swung to the saddle and rode out. Ramon's horse +plunged to a stop, and stood trembling. The boy all but fell as he +dismounted. Stumbling toward Waring, he held out both hands. + +"Senor, the rurales!" he gasped. + +"How far behind?" + +"The railroad! They are ahead! They have shipped their horses to +Magdalena, to Nogales!" + +"How do you know that?" + +"Pedro Salazar is dead. You were gone. They say it was you." + +"So they shipped their horses ahead to cut me off, eh? You're a good +boy, Ramon, but I don't know what in hell to do with you. Your cayuse is +played out. You made a good ride." + +"Si, senor. I have not stopped once." + +"You look it. You can't go back now. They would shoot you." + +"I will ride with the senor." + +Waring shook his head. + +Ramon's eyes grew desperate. "Senor," he pleaded, "take me with you! I +cannot go back. I will be your man--follow you, even into the Great +Beyond. You will not lose the way." + +And as Ramon spoke he touched the little crucifix on his breast. + +"Where did you find _that?_" asked Waring. + +"In the Placeta Burro; near the house of Pedro Salazar." + +Waring nodded. "Has your horse had water?" + +"No, senor. I did not stop." + +"Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up. +You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse." + +When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his +back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his +boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up. + +Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to +the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks. +Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward the +chaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round the +brush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills, +rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jackets +shimmering in the sun. + + * * * * * + +"I will ride back," said Ramon. "My horse is too weak to follow. The +senor rides slowly that I may keep up with him." + +Waring turned in the saddle. Ahead lay the shadowy foothills of the +mother range, vague masses in the starlight. Some thirty miles behind +was the railroad and the trail north. There was no chance of picking up +a fresh horse. The country was uninhabited. Alone, the gunman would have +ridden swiftly to the hill country, where his trail would have been lost +in the rocky ground of the ranges and where he would have had the +advantage of an unobstructed outlook from the high trails. + +Ramon had said the rurales had entrained; were ahead of him to intercept +him. But Waring, wise in his craft, knew that the man-hunters would +search for tracks at every water-hole on the long northern trail. And if +they found his tracks they would follow him to the hills. They were as +keen on the trail as Yaquis and as relentless as wolves. Their horses, +raw-hide tough, could stand a forced ride that would kill an ordinary +horse. And Ramon's wiry little cayuse, though willing to go on until he +dropped, could not last much longer. + +But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring's mind. "We'll keep +on, amigo," he said, "and in a few hours we'll know whether it's to be a +ride or a fight." + +"I shall pray," whispered Ramon. + +"For a fresh horse, then." + +"No, senor. That would be of no use. I shall pray that you may escape. +As for me--" + +"We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off, +it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora." + +Ramon sighed. The senor was a strange man. Even now he hummed a song in +the starlight. Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing in +the very shadow of its wings? + +"You've got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail," said Waring, as +they rode on. + +"It is so, senor." + +"How do you know?" + +"I cannot say. But it is so. They have left the railroad and are +following us." + +Waring smiled in the dark. "Dex, here, has been trying to tell me that +for an hour." + +"And still the senor does not hasten!" + +"I am giving your cayuse a chance to make the grade. We'll ride an hour +longer." + +Ramon bowed his head. The horses plodded on, working up the first +gentle slope of the foothills. The brush loomed heavier. A hill star +faded on the edge of the higher range. Ramon's lips moved and he crossed +himself. + +Waring hummed a song. He was not unhappy. The tang of life was his +again. Again he followed a trail down which the light feet of Romance +ran swiftly. The past, with its red flare of life, its keen memories and +dulled regrets, was swept away by the promise of dawn and the unknown. +"A clean break and a hard fight," he murmured, as he reined up to rest +his horse. Turning, he could distinguish Ramon, who fingered the +crucifix at his throat. Waring's face grew grim. He felt suddenly +accountable for the boy's life. + +The half-moon glowed against the edge of the world. About to ride on +again, Waring saw a tiny group of horsemen silhouetted against the +half-disk of burning silver. He spoke to his horse. Slowly they climbed +the ridge, dropped down the eastern slope, and climbed again. + +In a shallow valley, Waring reined up, unsaddled Dex, and turned him +loose. Ramon questioned this. "Turn your horse loose," said Waring. +"They'll keep together and find water." + +Ramon shook his head, but did as he was told. Wearily he followed Waring +as he climbed back to a rocky depression on the crest. Without a word +Waring stretched behind a rock and was soon asleep. Ramon wondered at +the other's indifference to danger, but fatigue finally overcame him and +he slept. + +Just before dawn Ramon awakened and touched + +Waring. "They are coming!" he whispered. + +Waring shook his head. "You hear our horses. The rurales won't ride into +this pocket before daylight. Stay right here till I come back." + +He rose and worked cautiously down the eastern slope, searching for Dex +in the valley. In the gray gloom he saw the outline of his horse grazing +alone. He stepped down to him. The big horse raised its head. Waring +spoke. Reassured, Dex plodded to his master, who turned and tracked back +to the pocket in the rocks. "I think your cayuse has drifted south," he +told Ramon. + +The young Mexican showed no surprise. He seemed resigned to the +situation. "I knew when the senor said to turn my horse loose that he +would seek the horses of his kind. He has gone back to the horses of +those who follow us." + +"You said it" said Waring. "And that's going to bother them. It tells me +that the rurales are not far behind. They'll figure that I put you out +of business to get rid of you. They'll look for a dead Mexican, and a +live gringo riding north, alone. But they're too wise to ride up here. +They'll trail up afoot and out of sight. That's your one chance." + +"My chance, senor?" + +"Yes. Here's some grub. You've got your gun. Drift down the slope, get +back of the next ridge, and strike south. Locate their horses and wait +till they leave them to come up here. Get a horse. Pick a good one. I'll +keep them busy till you get back." + +Ramon rose and climbed to the edge of the pocket. "I go," he said sadly. +"And I shall never see the senor again." + +"Don't bet all you've got on that," said Waring. + +When Ramon had disappeared, Waring led Dex back from the pocket, and, +saddling him, left him concealed in the brush. Then the gunman crept +back to the rim and lay waiting, a handful of rifle shells loose on a +flat rock in front of him. He munched some dried meat and drank from the +canteen. + +The red dawn faded quickly to a keen white light. Heat waves ran over +the rocks and danced down the hillside. Waring lighted a match and +blackened the front sight of his carbine. The sun rolled up and struck +at him, burning into the pocket of rock where he lay motionless gazing +down the slope. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his nose. +Scattered boulders seemed to move gently. He closed his eyes for an +instant. When he opened them he thought he saw a movement in the brush +below. The heat burned into his back, and he shrugged his shoulders. A +tiny bird flitted past and perched on the dry, dead stalk of a yucca. +Again Waring thought he saw a movement in the brush. + +Then, as if by magic, the figure of a rural stood clear and straight +against the distant background of brownish-green. Waring smiled. He knew +that if he were to fire, the rurales would rush him. They suspected some +kind of a trap. Waring's one chance was to wait until they had given up +every ruse to draw his fire. They were not certain of his whereabouts, +but were suspicious of that natural fortress of rock. There was not a +rural in Old Mexico who did not know him either personally or by +reputation. The fact that one of them had offered himself as a possible +target proved that they knew they had to deal with a man as crafty as +themselves. + +The standing figure, shimmering in the glare, drew back and disappeared. + +Waring eased his tense muscles. "Now they'll go back for their horses," +he said to himself. "They'll ride up to the next ridge, where they can +look down on this pocket, but I won't be here." + +Waring planned every move with that care and instinct which marks a good +chess-player. And because he had to count upon possibilities far ahead +he drew Ramon's saddle to him and cut the stirrup-leathers, cinchas, and +latigos. If Ramon got one of their horses, his own jaded animal would be +left. Eventually the rurales would find the saddle and Ramon's horse. +And every rural out of the riding would be a factor in their escape. + +The sun blazed down until the pocket of rock was a pit of stagnant +heat. The silence seemed like an ocean rolling in soundless waves across +the hills; a silence that became disturbed by a faint sound as of one +approaching cautiously. Waring thought Ramon had shown cleverness in +working up to him so quietly. He raised on his elbow and turned his +head. On the eastern edge of the pocket stood a rural, and the rural +smiled. + + + + +Chapter VI + + +_Arizona_ + +Waring, who had known the man in Sonora, called him by name. The other's +smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. Waring thrust up his hands and +jokingly offered to toss up a coin to decide the issue. He knew his man; +knew that at the first false move the rural would kill him. He rose and +turned sideways that the other might take his gun. "You win the throw," +he said. The Mexican jerked Waring's gun from the holster and cocked it. +Then he whistled. + +From below came the faint clatter of hoofs. The rural seemed puzzled +that his call should have been answered so promptly. He knew that his +companions had gone for their horses, picketed some distance from the +pocket. He had volunteered to surprise the gunman single-handed. + +Waring, gazing beyond the rural, saw the head of a horse top the rise. +In the saddle sat Ramon, hatless, his black hair flung back from his +forehead, a gun in his hand. Waring drew a deep breath. Would Ramon +bungle it by calling out, or would he have nerve enough to make an end +of it on the instant? + +Although Waring was unarmed, the rural dared not turn. The gringo had +been known to slip out of as tight a place despite the threat of a gun +almost against his chest. With a despondent shrug, Waring lowered his +arms. + +"You win the throw," he said hopelessly. + +Still the Mexican dared not take his eyes from Waring. He would wait +until his companions appeared. + +A few yards behind the rural, Ramon reined up. Slowly he lowered the +muzzle of his gun. The rural called the name of one of his fellows. The +answer came in a blunt crash, which rippled its harsh echoes across the +sounding hills. The rural flung up his arms and pitched forward, rolling +to Waring's feet. The gunman leaped up, and, snatching his carbine from +the rock, swung round and took his six-gun from the rural's limp +fingers. Plunging to the brush beyond the pocket, he swung to the saddle +and shot down the slope. Behind him he could hear Ramon's horse +scattering the loose rock of the hillside. A bullet struck ahead of him +and whined across the silence. A shrill call told him that the pursuers +had discovered the body of their fellow. + +Dex, with ears laid back, took the ragged grade in great, uneven leaps +that shortened to a regular stride as they gained the level of the +valley. Glancing back, Waring saw Ramon but a few yards behind. He +signaled to him to ride closer. Together they swung down the valley, +dodging the low brush--and leaping rocks at top speed. + +Finally Waring reined in. "We'll make for that ridge,"--and he +indicated the range west. Under cover of the brush they angled across +the valley and began the ascent of the range which hid the western +desert. + +Halfway up, Waring dismounted. "Lead my horse on up," he told Ramon. +"I'll argue it out with 'em here." + +"Senor, I have killed a man!" gasped Ramon. + +Waring flung the reins to his companion. "All right! This isn't a +fiesta, hombre; this is business." + +Ramon turned and put his horse up the slope, Dex following. Waring +curled behind a rock and swept the valley with his glass. The heads of +several rurales were visible in the brush. They had halted and were +looking for tracks. Finally one of them raised his arm and pointed +toward the hill. They had caught sight of Ramon on the slope above. +Presently three riders appeared at the foot of the grade. It was a long +shot from where Waring lay. He centered on the leading rural, allowed +for a chance of overshooting, and pressed the trigger. The carbine +snarled. An echo ripped the shimmering heat. A horse reared and plunged +up the valley, the saddle empty. + +Waring rose, and plodded up the slope. + +"Three would have trailed us. Two will ride back to the railroad and +report. I wonder how many of them are bushed along the trail between +here and Nogales?" + +In the American custom-house at Nogales sat a lean, lank man gazing out +of a window facing the south. His chair was tilted back, and his large +feet were crossed on the desk in front of him. He was in his +shirt-sleeves, and he puffed indolently at a cigar and blew smoke-rings +toward the ceiling. Incidentally his name was known throughout the +country and beyond its southern borders. But if this distinction +affected him in any way it was not evident. He seemed submerged in a +lassitude which he neither invited nor struggled against. + +A group of riders appeared down the road. The lean man brushed a cloud +of smoke away and gazed at them with indifference. They drew nearer. He +saw that they were Mexicans--rurales. Without turning his head, he +called to an invisible somebody in the next room. + +"Jack, drift over to the cantina and get a drink." + +A chair clumped to the floor, and a stocky, dark-faced man appeared, +rubbing his eyes. "On who?" he queried, grinning. + +"On old man Diaz," replied the lean man. + +"All right, Pat. But mebby his credit ain't good on our side of the +line." + +The lean man said nothing. He continued to gaze out of the window. The +white road ran south and south into the very haze of the beyond. His +assistant picked up a hat and strolled out. A few doors down the street +stood several excellent saddle animals tied to the hitching-rail in +front of the cantina. He didn't need to be told that they were the +picked horses of the rurales, and that for some strange reason his +superior had sent him to find out just why these same rurales were in +town. + +He entered the cantina and called for a drink. The lithe, dark riders of +the south, grouped round a table in one corner of the room, glanced up, +answered his general nod of salutation indifferently, and turned to talk +among themselves. Catering to authority, the Mexican proprietor +proffered a second drink to the Americano. The assistant collector toyed +with his glass, and began a lazy conversation about the weather. The +proprietor, his fat, oily face in his hands and his elbows on the bar, +grunted monosyllables, occasionally nodding as the Americano forced his +acknowledgment of a highly obvious platitude. + +And the assistant collector, listening for a chance word that would +explain the presence of armed Mexico on American soil, knew that the +proprietor was also listening for that same word that might explain +their unprecedented visit. Presently the assistant collector of customs +began a tirade against Nogales, its climate, institutions, and citizens +collectively and singly. The proprietor awoke to argument. Their talk +grew loud. The assistant collector thumped the bar with his fist, and +ceased talking suddenly. A subdued buzz came from the corner where the +rurales sat, and he caught the name "Waring." + +"And the whole town ain't worth the matches to burn it up," he +continued. "If it wasn't for Pat, I'd quit right now." And he emptied +his glass and strode from the room. + +Back in the office, he flung his hat on the table and rumpled his hair. +"Those coyotes," he said casually, "are after some one called Waring. +Pablo's whiskey is rotten." + +The collector's long legs unfolded, and he sat up, yawning. "Jim Waring +isn't in town," he said as though to himself. + +"Pat, you give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. + +"Got one myself," said the collector unsmilingly. "Cucumbers." + +"You're the sweetest liar for a thousand miles either side of the line. +There isn't even the picture of a cucumber in this sun-blasted town." + +"Isn't, eh? Look here!" And the lank man pulled open a drawer in the +desk. The collector fumbled among some papers and drew out a bulky seed +catalogue, illustrated in glowing tints. + +"Oh, I'll buy," laughed the assistant. "I reckon if I asked for a +picture of this man Waring that's wanted by those nickel-plated coyotes, +you'd fish it up and never sweat a hair." + +"I could," said the collector, closing the drawer. + +"Here, smoke one of mine for a change. About that picture. I met Jim +Waring in Las Cruces. He was a kid then, but a comer. Had kind of +light, curly hair. His face was as smooth as a girl's. He wasn't what +you'd call a dude, but his clothes always looked good on him. Wimmin +kind of liked him, but he never paid much attention to them. He worked +for me as deputy a spell, and I never hired a better man. But he +wouldn't stay with one job long. When Las Cruces got quiet he pulled his +freight. Next I heard of him he was married and living in Sonora. It +didn't take Diaz long to find out that he could use him. Waring was a +wizard with a gun--and he had the nerve back of it. But Waring quit +Diaz, for Jim wasn't that kind of a killer. I guess he found plenty of +work down there. He never was one to lay around living on his reputation +and waiting for nothing to happen. He kept his reputation sprouting new +shoots right along--and that ain't all joke, neither." + +"Speakin' in general, could he beat you to it with a gun, Pat?" + +"Speaking in general--I reckon he could." + +"Them rurales are kind of careless--ridin' over the line and not +stoppin' by to make a little explanation." + +The lank man nodded. "There's a time coming when they'll do more than +that. That old man down south is losing his grip. I don't say this for +general information. And if Jim Waring happens to ride into town, just +tell him who you are and pinch him for smuggling; unless I see him +first." + +"What did I ever do to you?" + +Pat laughed silently. "Oh, he ain't a fool. It's only a fool that'll +throw away a chance to play safe." + +"You got me interested in that Waring hombre. I'll sure nail him like +you said; but if he goes for his gun I don't want you plantin' no +cucumber seed on my restin'-place. Guess I'll finish those reports." + +The lank man yawned, and, rising, strode to the window. The assistant +sauntered to the inner office and drew up to his desk. "Pablo's whiskey +is rotten!" he called over his shoulder. The lank collector smiled. + +The talk about Waring and Las Cruces had stirred slumbering memories; +memories of night rides in New Mexico, of the cattle war, of blazing +noons on the high mesas and black nights in huddled adobe towns; Las +Cruces, Albuquerque, Caliente, Santa Fe--and weary ponies at the +hitching-rails. + +Once, on an afternoon like this, he had ridden into town with a prisoner +beside him, a youth whose lightning-swift hand had snuffed out a score +of lives to avenge the killing of a friend. The collector recalled that +on that day he had ridden his favorite horse, a deep-chested buckskin, +slender legged, and swift, with a strain of thoroughbred. + +Beyond the little square of window through which he gazed lay the same +kind of a road--dusty, sun-white, edged with low brush. And down the +road, pace for pace with his thoughts, strode a buckskin horse, ridden +by a man road-weary, gray with dust. Beside him rode a youth, his head +bowed and his hands clasped on the saddle-horn as though manacled. + +"Jack!" + +The assistant shoved back his chair and came to the window. + +"There's the rest of your picture," said the collector. + +As the assistant gazed at the riders, the collector stepped to his desk +and buckled on a gun. + +"Want to meet Waring?" he queried. + +"I'm on for the next dance, Pat." + +The collector stepped out. Waring reined up. A stray breeze fluttered +the flag above the custom-house. Waring gravely lifted his sombrero. + +"You're under arrest," said the collector. + +Waring gestured toward Ramon. + +"You, too," nodded Pat. "Get the kid and his horse out of sight," he +told the assistant. + +Ramon, too weary to expostulate, followed the assistant to a corral back +of the building. + +The collector turned to Waring. "And now, Jim, what's the row?" + +"Down the street--and coming," said Waring, as the rurales boiled from +the cantina. + +"We'll meet 'em halfway," said the collector. + +And midway between the custom-house and the cantina the two cool-eyed, +deliberate men of the North faced the hot-blooded Southern haste that +demanded Waring as prisoner. The collector, addressing the leader of the +rurales, suggested that they talk it over in the cantina. "And don't +forget you're on the wrong side of the line," he added. + +The Captain of rurales and one of his men dismounted and followed the +Americans into the cantina. The leader of the rurales immediately +exhibited a warrant for the arrest of Waring, signed by a high official +and sealed with the great seal of Mexico. The collector returned the +warrant to the captain. + +"That's all right, amigo, but this man is already under arrest." + +"By whose authority?" + +"Mine--representing the United States." + +"The warrant of the Presidente antedates your action," said the captain. + +"Correct, Senor Capitan. But my action, being just about two jumps ahead +of your warrant, wins the race, I reckon." + +"It is a trick!" + +"Si! You must have guessed it." + +"I shall report to my Government. And I also demand that you surrender +to me one Ramon Ortego, of Sonora, who aided this man to escape, and who +is reported to have killed one of my men and stolen one of my horses." + +"He ought to make a darned good rural, if that's so," said the +collector. "But he is under arrest for smuggling. He rode a horse +across the line without declaring valuation." + +"Juan," said the captain, "seize the horse of the Americano." + +"Juan," echoed Waring softly, "I have heard that Pedro Salazar seized +the horse of an Americano--in Sonora." + +The rural stopped short and turned as though awaiting further +instructions from his chief. The collector of customs rose and sauntered +to the doorway. Leaning against the lintel, he lighted a cigar and +smoked, gazing at Waring's horse with an appreciative eye. The captain +of rurales, seated opposite Waring, rolled a cigarette carefully; too +carefully, thought Waring, for a Mexican who had been daring enough to +ride across the line with armed men. Outside in the fading sunlight, the +horses of the rurales stamped and fretted. The cantina was strangely +silent. In the doorway stood the collector, smoking and toying with his +watch-charm. + +Presently the assistant collector appeared, glanced in, and grinned. +"The kid is asleep--in the office," he whispered to the collector. + +Waring knew that the flicker of an eyelid, an intonation, a gesture, +might precipitate trouble. He also knew that diplomacy was out of the +question. He glanced round the room, pushed back his chair, and, rising, +stepped to the bar. With his back against it, he faced the captain. + +"Miguel," he said quietly, "you're too far over the line. Go home!" + +The captain rose. "Your Government shall hear of this!" + +"Yes. Wire 'em to-night. And where do you get off? You'll get turned +back to the ranks." + +"I?" + +"Si, Senor Capitan, and because--_you didn't get your man_." + +The collector of customs stood with his cigar carefully poised in his +left hand. The assistant pushed back his hat and rumpled his black hair. + +All official significance set aside, Waring and the captain of rurales +faced each other with the blunt challenge between them: "You didn't get +your man!" + +The captain glanced at the two quiet figures in the doorway. Beyond them +were his own men, but between him and his command were two of the +fastest guns in the Southwest. He was on alien ground. This gringo had +insulted him. + +Waring waited for the word that burned in the other's eyes. + +The collector of customs drew a big silver watch from his waistband. +"It's about time--to go feed the horses," he said. + +With the sound of his voice the tension relaxed. Waring eyed the captain +as though waiting for him to depart. "You'll find that horse in the +corral--back of the customs office," he said. + +The Mexican swung round and strode out, followed by his man. + +The rurales mounted and rode down the street. The three Americans +followed a few paces behind. Opposite the office, they paused. + +"Go along with 'em and see that they get the right horse," said the +collector. + +The assistant hesitated. + +The collector laughed. "Shake hands with Jim Waring, Jack." + +When the assistant had gone, the collector turned to Waring. "That's +Jack every time. Stubborn as a tight boot, but good leather every time. +Know why he wanted to shake hands? Well, that's his way of tellin' you +he thinks you're some smooth for not pullin' a fight when it looked like +nothing else was on the bill." + +Waring smiled. "I've met you before, haven't I?" + +Pat pretended to ignore the question. "Say, stranger," he began with +slow emphasis, "you're makin' mighty free and familiar for a prisoner +arrested for smuggling. Mebby you're all right personal, but officially +I got a case against you. What do you know about raising cucumbers? I +got a catalogue in the office, and me and Jack has been aiming to raise +cucumbers from it for three months. I like 'em. Jack says you can't do +it down here without water every day. Now--" + +"Where have you planted them, Pat?" + +"Oh, hell! They ain't _planted_ yet. We're just figuring. Now, up Las +Cruces way--" + +"Let's go back to the cantina and talk it out. There goes Mexico leading +a horse with an empty saddle. I guess the boy will be all right in the +office." + +"Was the kid mixed up in your getaway?" + +"Yes. And he's a good boy." + +"Well, he's in dam' bad company. Now, Jack says you got to plant 'em in +hills and irrigate. I aim to just drill 'em in and let the A'mighty do +the rest. What do you think?" + +"I think you're getting worse as you grow older, Pat. Say, did you ever +get track of that roan mare you lost up at Las Cruces?" + +"Yes, I got her back." + +"Speaking of horses, I saw a pinto down in Sonora--" + +Just then the assistant joined them, and they sauntered to the cantina. +Dex, tied at the rail, turned and gazed at them. Waring took the morral +of grain from the saddle, and, slipping Dex's bridle, adjusted it. + +The rugged, lean face of the collector beamed. "I wondered if you +thought as much of 'em as you used to. I aimed to see if I could make +you forget to feed that cayuse." + +"How about those goats in your own corral?" laughed Waring. + +"Kind of a complimentary cuss, ain't he?" queried Pat, turning to his +assistant. "And he don't know a dam' thing about cucumbers." + +"You old-timers give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. + +"That's right! Because you can't set down to a meal without both your +hands and feet agoing and one ear laid back, you call us old because we +chew slow. But you're right. Jim and I are getting kind of gray around +the ears." + +"Well, you fellas can fight it out. I came over to say that them rurales +got their hoss. But one of 'em let it slip, in Mexican, that they +weren't through yet." + +"So?" said Pat. "Well, you go ahead and feed the stock. We'll be over to +the house poco tiempo." + +Waring and the collector entered the cantina. For a long time they sat +in silence, gazing at the peculiar half-lights as the sun drew down. +Finally the collector turned to Waring. + +"Has the game gone stale, Jim?" + +Waring nodded. "I'm through. I am going to settle down. I've had my +share of trouble." + +"Here, too," said the collector. "I've put by enough to get a little +place up north--cattle--and take it easy. That's why I stuck it out down +here. Had any word from your folks recent?" + +"Not for ten years." + +"And that boy trailing with you?" + +"Oh, he's just a kid I picked up in Sonora. No, my own boy is straight +American, if he's living now." + +"You might stop by at Stacey, on the Santa Fe," said the collector +casually. "There's some folks running a hotel up there that you used to +know." + +Waring thanked him with a glance. "We don't need a drink and the sun is +down. Where do you eat?" + +"We'll get Jack to rustle some grub. You and the boy can bunk in the +office. I'll take care of your horse." + +"Thanks, Pat. But you spoke of going north. I wouldn't if I were you. +They'll get you." + +"I had thought of that. But I'm going to take that same chance. I'm +plumb sick of the border." + +"If they do--" And Waring rose. + +The collector's hard-lined face softened for an instant. He thrust out +his bony hand. "I'll leave that to you, Jim." + +And that night, because each was a gunman unsurpassed in his grim +profession, they laughed and talked about things trivial, leaving the +deeper currents undisturbed. And the assistant collector, eating with +them in the adobe back of the office, wondered that two such men found +nothing more serious to talk about than the breeding of horses and the +growing of garden truck. + +Late that night the assistant awoke to find that the collector was not +in bed. He rose and stalked to the window. Across from the adobe he saw +the grim face of the collector framed in the office window. He was +smoking a cigar and gazing toward the south, his long arm resting on the +sill and his chin in his hand. + +"Ole fool!" muttered the assistant affectionately. "That there Jim +Waring must sure be some hombre to make Pat lose any sleep." + + + + +Chapter VII + + +_The Return of Waring_ + +The interior of the little desert hotel at Stacey, Arizona, atoned for +its bleached and weather-worn exterior by a refreshing neatness that was +almost startling in contrast to the warped board front with its painted +sign scaled by the sun. + +The proprietress, Mrs. Adams, a rosy, dark-haired woman, had heard the +Overland arrive and depart. Through habit she listened until the distant +rumble of the train diminished to a faint purr. No guests had arrived on +the Overland. Stacey was not much of a town, and tourists seldom stopped +there. Mrs. Adams stepped from the small office to the dining-room and +arranged some flowers in the center of the long table. She happened to +be the only woman in the desert town who grew flowers. + +The Overland had come and gone. Another day! Mrs. Adams sighed, patted +her smooth black hair, and glanced down at her simple and neat attire. + +She rearranged the flowers, and was stepping back to view the effect +when something caused her to turn and glance toward the office. There +had been no sound, yet in the doorway stood a man--evidently a rider. He +was looking at the calendar on the office wall. Mrs. Adams stepped +toward him. The man turned and smiled. She gazed with awakening +astonishment at the dusty, khaki-clad figure, the cool gray eyes beneath +the high-crowned sombrero, and last at the extended hand. Without +meeting the man's eyes, she shook hands. + +"Jim! How did you know?" she queried, her voice trembling. + +"I heard of you at Nogales. I wasn't looking for you--then. You have a +right pleasant place here. Yours?" + +She nodded. + +"I came to see the boy," he said. "I'm not here for long." + +"Oh, Jim! Lorry is so big and strong--and--and he's working for the +Starr outfit over west of here." + +"Cattle, eh? Is he a good boy?" + +"A nice question for you to ask! Lorry rides a straighter trail than his +father did." + +The man laughed and patted her shoulder affectionately. "You needn't +have said that, Annie. You knew what I was when I married you. And no +man ever said I wasn't straight. Just what made you leave Sonora without +saying a word? Didn't I always treat you well?" + +"I must say that you did, Jim. You never spoke a rough word to me in +your life. I wish you had. You'd be away for weeks, and then come back +and tell me it was all right, which meant that you'd 'got your man,' as +they say down there. At first I was too happy to care. And when the baby +came and I tried to get you to give up hiring out to men who wanted +killing done,--for that's what it was,--you kept telling me that some +day you would quit. Maybe they did pay big, but you could have been +anything else you wanted to. You came of good folks and had education. +But you couldn't live happy without that excitement. And you thought I +was happy because you were. Why, even up here in Arizona they sing +'Waring of Sonora-Town.' Our boy sings it, and I have to listen, knowing +that it is you he sings about. I was afraid of you, Jim, and afraid our +boy would grow up to be like you." + +Waring nodded. "I'm not blaming you, Annie. I asked why you left +me--without a word or an address. Do you think that was square?" + +Mrs. Adams, flushed, and the tears came to her eyes. "I didn't dare +think about that part of it. I was afraid of you. I got so I couldn't +sleep, worrying about what might happen to you when you were away. And +you always came back, but you never said where you'd been or what you'd +done. I couldn't stand it. If you had only told me--even about the +men--that you were paid to kill, I might have stood it. But you never +said a word. The wives of the American folks down there wouldn't speak +to me. And the Mexican women hated me. I was the wife of Jim Waring, +'the killer.' I think I went crazy." + +"Well, I never did believe in talking shop, Annie." + +"That's just it. You were always polite--and calling what you did, +'shop'! I don't believe you ever cared for a single person on this +earth!" + +"You ought to know, Annie. But we won't argue that. Don't act as though +you had to defend yourself. I am not blaming you--now. You have +explained. I did miss the boy, though. Are you doing well here?" + +"It was hard work at first. But I never did write to father to help me." + +"You might have written to me. When did the boy go to work? He's +eighteen, isn't he?" + +Mrs. Adams smiled despite herself. "Yes, this fall. He started in with +the Starr people at the spring round-up." + +"Couldn't he help you here?" + +"He did. But he's not the kind to hang round a hotel. He's all man--if I +do say it." And Mrs. Adams glanced at her husband. In his lithe, +well-set-up figure she saw what her son would be at forty. "Yes, Jim, +he's man size--and I've raised him to go straight." + +Waring laughed. "Of course you have! What name will I sign, Annie?" + +"Folks here call me Mrs. Adams." + +"So you're Annie Adams again! Well, here's your husband's name, if you +don't mind." And he signed the register, "James Waring, Sonora, Mexico." + +"Isn't that risky?" she queried. + +"No one knows me up here. And I don't intend to stay long. I'd like to +see the boy." + +"Jim, you won't take him away!" + +"You know me better than that. You quit me down there, and I won't say +that I liked it. I wondered how you'd get along. You left no word. When +I realized that you must have wanted to leave me, that settled it. +Following you would have done no good, even if I had known where you had +gone. I was free. And a gunman has no business with a family." + +"You might have thought about that before you came courting me." + +"I did. Didn't you?" + +"You're hard, Jim. I was just a girl. Any woman would have been glad to +marry you then. But when I got sense enough to see how you earned your +money--I just had to leave. I was afraid to tell you--" + +"There, now, Annie; we'll let that go. I won't say that I don't care, +but I've been mighty busy since you left. I didn't know where you were +until I hit Nogales. I wanted to see you and the boy. And I'm as hungry +as a grizzly." + +"Anita is getting supper. Some of the folks in town board here. They'll +be coming in soon." + +"All right. I'm a stranger. I rode over. I'd like to wash up." + +"You _rode_ over?" + +"Yes. Why not? I know the country." + +Mrs. Adams turned and gestured toward the stairway. She followed him and +showed him to a room. So he hadn't come in on the Overland, but had +ridden up from Sonora. Why had he undertaken such a long, weary ride? +Surely he could have taken the train! She had never known him to be +without money. But he had always been unaccountable, coming and going +when he pleased, saying little, always serene. And now he had not said +why he had ridden up from Sonora. "Why not?" was all that he had said in +explanation. + +He swung out of his coat and washed vigorously, thrusting his fingers +through his short, curly hair and shaking his head in boyish enjoyment +that was refreshing to watch. She noticed that he had not aged much. He +seemed too cool, too self-possessed always, to show even the ordinary +trace of years. She could not understand him; yet she was surprised by a +glow of affection for him now that he had returned. As he dried his head +she saw that his hair was tinged with gray, although his face was lined +but little and his gray eyes were as keen and quick as ever. If he had +only shared even that part of his life with her--down there! + +"Jim!" she whispered. + +He turned as he took up his coat. "Yes, Annie?" + +"If you would only promise--" + +He shook his head. "I won't do that. I didn't come to ask anything of +you except to see the boy But if you need money--" + +"No. Not that kind of money." + +"All right, girl." And his voice was cheery. "I didn't come here to make +you feel bad. And I won't be here long. Can't we be friends while I'm +here? Of course the boy will know. But no one else need know. And--you +better see to the folks downstairs. Some one just came in." + +She turned and walked down the hall, wondering if he had ever cared for +her, and wondering if her boy, Lorry, would ever come to possess that +almost unhuman quality of intense alertness, that incomprehensible +coolness that never allowed him to forget what he was for an instant. + +When Waring came down she did not introduce him to the boarders, a fact +that sheriff Buck Hardy, who dined at the hotel, noted with some +interest. The men ate hastily, rose, and departed, leaving Hardy and +Waring, who called for a second cup of coffee and rolled a cigarette +while waiting. + +Hardy had seen the stranger ride into town on the big buckskin. The +horse bore a Mexican brand. The hotel register told Hardy who the +stranger was. And the sheriff of Stacey County was curious to know just +what the Sonora gunman was doing in town. + +Waring sat with his unlighted cigarette between his fingers. The sheriff +proffered a match. Their eyes met. Waring nodded his thanks and blew a +smoke-ring. + +"How are things down in Sonora?" queried Hardy. + +"Quiet." + +Mrs. Adams questioned Waring with her eyes. He nodded. "This is Mr. +Waring," she said, rising. "This is Mr. Hardy, our sheriff." + +The men shook hands. "Mrs. Adams is a good cook," said Waring. + +A clatter of hoofs and the sound of a cheery voice broke the silence. + +A young cowboy jingled into the room. "Hello, Buck! Hello, mother!" And +Lorry Adams strode up and kissed his mother heartily. "Got a runnin' +chance to come to town and I came--runnin'. How's everything?" + +Mrs. Adams murmured a reply. Buck Hardy was watching Waring as he +glanced up at the boy. The sheriff pulled a cigar from his vest and +lighted it. In the street he paused in his stride, gazing at the end of +his cigar. Lorry Adams looked mighty like Jim Waring, of Sonora. Hardy +had heard that Waring had been killed down in the southern country. Some +one had made a mistake. + +Waring had risen. He stood with one hand touching the table, the tips of +his fingers drumming the rhythm of a song he hummed to himself. The +boy's back was toward him. Waring's gaze traveled from his son's head to +his boot-heel. + +Lorry noticed that his mother seemed perturbed. He turned to Waring +with a questioning challenge in his gray eyes. + +Mrs. Adams touched the boy's arm. "This is your father, Lorry." + +Lorry glanced from one to the other. + +Waring made no movement, offered no greeting, but stood politely +impassive. + +Mrs. Adams spoke gently: "Lorry!" + +"Why, hello, dad!" And the boy shook hands with his father. + +Waring gestured toward a chair. Lorry sat down. His eyes were warm with +mild astonishment. + +"Smoke?" said Waring, proffering tobacco and papers. + +Lorry's gaze never left his father's face as he rolled a cigarette and +lighted it. Mrs. Adams realized that Waring's attitude of cool +indifference appealed to the boy. + +Lorry remembered his father dimly. He was curious to know just what kind +of man he was. He didn't talk much; that was certain. The boy remembered +that his mother had not said much about her husband, answering Lorry's +childish questionings with a promise to tell him some day. He recalled a +long journey on the train, their arrival at Stacey, and the taking over +of the run-down hotel that his mother had refurnished and made a place +of neatness and comfort. And his mother had told him that she would be +known "Mrs. Adams." Lorry had been so filled with the newness of things +that the changing of their name was accepted without question. Slowly +his recollection of Sonora and the details of their life there came back +to him. These things he had all but forgotten, as he had grown to love +Arizona, its men, its horses, its wide ranges and magic hills. + +Mrs. Adams remembered that her husband had once told her he could find +out more about a man by watching his hands than by asking questions. She +noticed that Waring was watching his son's hands with that old, +deliberate coldness of attitude. He was trying to find out just what +sort of a man his boy had grown to be. + +Lorry suddenly straightened in his chair. Mrs. Adams, anticipating his +question, nodded to Waring. + +"Yes," said Waring; "I am the Waring of Sonora that you are thinking +about." + +Lorry flushed. "I--I guess you are," he stammered. "Mother, you never +told me _that_." + +"You were too young to understand, Lorry." + +"And is that why you left him?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, maybe you were right. But dad sure looks like a pretty decent +hombre to me." + +They laughed in a kind of relief. The occasion had seemed rather +strained. + +"Ask your mother, Lorry. I am out of it." And, rising Waring strode to +the doorway. + +Lorry rose. + +"I'll see you again," said Waring. And he stepped to the street, humming +his song of "Sonora and the Silver Strings." + +Mrs. Adams put her arm about her son's shoulders. "Your father is a hard +man," she told him. + +"Was he mean to you, mother?" + +"No--never that." + +"Well, I don't understand it. He looks like a real man to me. Why did he +come back?" + +"He said he came back to see you." + +"Well, he's my father, anyway," said Lorry. + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +_Lorry_ + +In the low hills west of Stacey, Lorry was looking for strays. He worked +alone, whistling as he rode, swinging his glasses on this and that +arroyo and singling out the infrequent clumps of greasewood for a touch +of brighter color in their shadows. He urged his pony from crest to +crest, carelessly easy in the saddle, alive to his work, and quietly +happy in the lone freedom of thought and action. + +He felt a bit proud of himself that morning. Only last night he had +learned that he was the son of Waring of Sonora; a name to live up to, +if Western standards meant anything, and he thought they did. + +The fact that he was the son of James Waring overcame for the time being +the vague disquietude of mind attending his knowledge that his mother +and father had become estranged. He thought he understood now why his +mother had made him promise to go unarmed upon the range. His +companions, to the last man, "packed a gun." + +Heretofore their joshing had not bothered him. In fact, he had rather +enjoyed the distinction of going unarmed, and he had added to this +distinction by acquiring a skill with the rope that occasioned much +natural jealousy among his fellows. To be top-hand with a rope among +such men as Blaze Andrews, Slim Trivet, Red Bender, and High-Chin Bob, +the foreman, was worth all the patient hours he had given to persistent +practice with the reata. + +But to-day he questioned himself. His mother had made him promise to go +unarmed because she feared he would become like his father. Why hadn't +she told him more about it all? He felt that she had taken a kind of +mean advantage of his unwavering affection for her. He was a man, so far +as earning his wage was concerned. And she was the best woman in the +world--but then women didn't understand the unwritten customs of the +range. + +On a sandy ridge he reined up and gazed at the desert below. The bleak +flats wavered in the white light of noon. The farthest hills to the +south seemed but a few miles away. + +For some time he focused his gaze at the Notch, from which the road +sprang and flowed in slow undulations to a vanishing point in the blank +spaces of the west. His pony, Gray Leg, head up and nostrils working, +twitched back one ear as Lorry spoke: "You see it, too?" + +Gray Leg continued to gaze into the distance, occasionally stamping an +impatient forefoot, as though anxious to be off. Lorry lowered his glass +and raised it again. In the circle of the binoculars he saw a tiny, +distant figure dismount from a black horse and walk back and forth +across the road directly below the Notch. Lorry wiped his glasses and +centered them on the Notch again. The horseman had led his horse to a +clump of brush. Presently the twinkling front of an automobile +appeared--a miniature machine that wormed slowly through the Notch and +descended the short pitch beyond. Suddenly the car swerved and stopped. +Lorry saw a flutter of white near the machine. Then the concealed +horseman appeared on foot. Lorry slipped the glass in his shirt. + +"We'll just mosey over and get a closer look," he told his pony. "Things +don't look just right over there." + +Gray Leg, scenting a new interest, tucked himself together. The sand +sprayed to little puffs of dust as he swung to a lope. + +Lorry was curious--and a bit elated at the promise of a break in the +monotony of hunting stray cattle. Probably some Eastern tourist had +taken the grade below the Notch too fast and ditched his machine. Lorry +would ride over and help him to right the car and set the pilgrim on his +way rejoicing. He had helped to right cars before. Last month, for +instance; that big car with the uniformed driver and the wonderfully +gowned women. He recalled the fact that one of them had been absolutely +beautiful, despite her strange mufflings. She had offered to pay him for +his trouble. When he refused she had thanked him eloquently with her +fine eyes and thrown him a kiss as he turned to go. She had thrown that +kiss with two hands! There was nothing stingy about that lady! + +But possibly the machine toward which he rode carried nothing more +interesting than men; fat, well-dressed men who smoked fat cigars and +had much to say about "high" and "low," but didn't seem to know a great +deal about "Jack" and "The Game." If _they_ offered to pay him for +helping them--well, that was a different matter. + +The pony loped toward the Notch, quite as eager as his rider to attend a +performance that promised action. Within a half-mile of the Notch, Lorry +pulled the pony to a walk. Just beyond the car he had seen the head and +ears of a horse. The rider was afoot, talking to the folks in the car. +This didn't look quite right. + +He worked his pony through the shoulder-high brush until within a few +yards of the other man, who was evidently unwelcome. One of the two +women stood in front of the other as though to shield her. + +Lorry took down his rope just as the younger of the two women saw his +head above the brush. The strange horseman, noting her expression, +turned quickly. Lorry's pony jumped at the thrust of the spurs. The rope +circled like a swallow and settled lightly on the man's shoulders. The +pony wheeled. The blunt report of a gun punctured the silence, followed +by the long-drawn ripping of brush and the snorting of the pony. + +The man was dragging and clutching at the brush. He had dropped his gun. +Lorry dug the spurs into Gray Leg. The rope came taut with a jerk. The +man rolled over, his hands snatching at the noose about his neck. Lorry +dismounted and ran to him. He eased the loop, and swiftly slipped it +over the man's feet. + +Gray Leg, who knew how to keep a rope taut better than anything else, +slowly circled the fallen man. Lorry picked up the gun and strode over +to the car. One of the women was crouching on the running-board. In +front of her, pale, straight, stiffly indignant, stood a young woman +whose eyes challenged Lorry's approach. + +"It's all right, miss. He won't bother you now." + +"Is he dead?" queried the girl. + +"I reckon not." + +"I heard a shot. I thought you killed him." + +"No, ma'am. He took a crack at me. I don't pack a gun." + +"You're a cowboy?" And the girl laughed nervously, despite her effort to +hold herself together. + +"I aim to be," said Lorry, a trifle brusquely. + +The elder woman peered through her fingers. "Another one!" she moaned. + +"No, mother. This one is a cowboy. It's all right." + +"It sure is. What was his game?" + +"He told us to give him our money." + +"Uh-uh. This is the second holdup here at the Notch this summer." + +"He's trying to get up!" exclaimed the girl. + +"My hoss'll take care of him." + +"But your horse might drag him to death." + +"Well, it's his own funeral, ain't it?" + +The girl's eyes grew big. She stepped back. If she had only said +something Lorry would have felt better. As it was he felt decidedly +uncomfortable. + +"If you'll say what is right, ma'am, I'll do it. You want me to turn him +loose?" + +"I--No. But can't you do something for him?" + +Lorry laughed. "I reckon you don't sabe them kind, miss. And mebby you +want to get that car on the road again." + +"Yes," said the girl's mother. "I think this young man knows what he is +about." + +Lorry stepped to the car to examine it. + +The girl followed him. "I think there is nothing broken. We just turned +to come down that hill. We were coasting when I saw a rope stretched +across the road. I didn't know what to do. I tried to stop. We slid off +the edge." + +"Uh-uh. He had it all ribbed up to stop you. Now if you had kept on +goin'--" + +"But I didn't know what the rope meant. I was frightened. And before I +knew what had happened he stepped right on the running-board and told +us to give him our money." + +"Yes, ma'am. If you can start her up, I'll get my rope on the axle and +help." + +"But the man might get up!" said the girl. + +Lorry grinned. A minute or two ago she had been afraid that the man +wouldn't get up. Lorry slipped the rope from the man's ankles and tied +it to the front axle. The girl got in the car. The pony buckled to his +work. The machine stuttered and purred. With a lurch it swung back into +the road. The girl's mother rose, brushed her skirt, and stepped to the +car. Lorry unfastened the rope and reined to one side. + +The car steered badly. The girl stopped it and beckoned to Lorry. + +"There's something wrong with the steering-gear. Are the roads good from +here to the next town?" + +"Not too good. There's some heavy sand about a mile west." + +She bit her lip. "Well, I suppose we'll have to turn back." + +"You could get to Stacey, ma'am. You could get your car fixed, and my +mother runs the hotel there. It's a good place to stop." + +"How far?" + +"About eight miles. Three miles back the road forks and the left-hand +road goes to town. The regular automobile road don't go to Stacey." + +"Well, I suppose there is nothing else to do. I'll try and turn +around." And the girl backed the car and swung round in a wavering arc. +When the car faced the east she stopped it. + +Lorry rode alongside. She thanked him for his services. "And please +don't do anything to that man," she pleaded. "He has been punished +enough. You almost killed him. He looked so wretched. Can't you give him +a good talking to and let him go?" + +"I could, ma'am. But it ain't right. He'll try this here stunt again. +There's a reward out for him." + +"But won't you--please!" + +Lorry flushed. "You got a good heart all right, but you ain't been long +in the West. Such as him steals hosses and holds up folks and robs +trains--" + +"But you're not an officer," she said, somewhat unkindly. + +"I reckon any man is an officer when wimmin-folk is gettin' robbed. And +I aim to put him where he belongs." + +"Thank you for helping us," said the girl's mother. + +"You're right welcome, ma'am." And, raising his hat, Lorry turned and +rode to where the man lay. + +The car crept up the slope. Lorry watched it until it had topped the +ridge. Then he dismounted and turned the man over. + +"What you got to say about my turnin' you loose?" he queried as the +other sat up. + +"Nothin'." + +"All right. Get a movin'--and don't try to run. I got my rope handy." + + + + +Chapter IX + + +_High-Chin Bob_ + +The man's rusty black coat was torn and wrinkled. His cheap cotton shirt +was faded and buttonless. His boots were split at the sole, showing part +of a bare foot. He was grimy, unshaven, and puffed unhealthily beneath +the eyes. Lorry knew that he was but an indifferent rider without seeing +him on a horse. He was a typical railroad tramp, turned highwayman. + +"Got another gun on you?" queried Lorry. + +The man shook his head. + +"Where'd you steal that horse?" + +"Who says I stole him?" + +"I do. He's a Starr horse. He was turned out account of goin' lame. Hop +along. I'll take care of him." + +The man plodded across the sand. Lorry followed on Gray Leg, and led the +other horse. Flares of noon heat shot up from the reddish-gray levels. +Lorry whistled, outwardly serene, but inwardly perturbed. That girl had +asked him to let the man go and she had said "please." But, like all +women, she didn't understand such things. + +They approached a low ridge and worked up a winding cattle trail. On the +crest Lorry reined up. The man sat down, breathing heavily. + +"What you callin' yourself?" asked Lorry. + +"A dam' fool." + +"I knew that. Anything else?" + +"Waco--mebby." + +"Waco, eh? Well, that's an insult to Texas. What's your idea in holdin' +up wimmin-folk, anyhow?" + +"Mebby you'd hold up anybody if you hadn't et since yesterday morning." + +"Think I believe that?" + +"Suit yourself. You got me down." + +"Well, you can get up and get movin'." + +The man rose. He shuffled forward, limping heavily. Occasionally he +stopped and turned to meet a level gaze that was impersonal; that +promised nothing. Lorry would have liked to let the other ride. The man +was suffering--and to ride would save time. But the black, a rangy, +quick-stepping animal, was faster than Gray Leg. But what if the man did +escape? No one need know about it. Yet Lorry knew that he was doing +right in arresting him. In fact, he felt a kind of secret pride in +making the capture. It would give him a name among his fellows. But was +there any glory in arresting such a man? + +Lorry recalled the other's wild shot as he was whirled through the +brush. "He sure tried to get me!" Lorry argued. "And any man that'd hold +up wimmin ought to be in the calaboose--" + +The trail meandered down the hillside and out across a barren flat. +Halfway across the flat the trail forked. Lorry had ceased to whistle. +At the fork his pony stopped of its own accord. The man turned +questioningly. Lorry gestured toward the right-hand trail. The man +staggered on. The horses fretted at the slow pace. Keen to anticipate +some trickery, Lorry hardened himself to the other's condition. Perhaps +the man was hungry, sick, suffering. Well, a mile beyond was the +water-hole. The left-hand trail led directly to Stacey, but there was no +water along that trail. + +They moved on across a stretch of higher land that swept in a gentle, +sage-dotted slope to the far hills. Midway across the slope was a bare +spot burning like white fire in the desert sun. It was the water-hole. +The trail became paralleled by other trails, narrow and rutted by +countless hoofs. + +Within a hundred yards of the water-hole the prisoner collapsed. Lorry +dismounted and went for water. + +The man drank, and Lorry helped him up and across the sand to the rim of +the water-hole. The man gazed at the shimmering pool with blurred eyes. + +Lorry rolled a cigarette. "Roll one?" he queried. + +The man Waco took the proffered tobacco and papers. His weariness seemed +to vanish as he smoked. "That pill sure saved my life," he asserted. + +"How much you reckon your life's worth?" + +Waco blew a smoke-ring and nodded toward it as it dissolved. Lorry +pondered. The keen edge of his interest in the capture had worn off, +leaving a blunt purpose--a duty that was part of the day's work. As he +realized how much the other was at his mercy a tinge of sympathy +softened his gray eyes. Justice was undeniably a fine thing. Folks were +entitled to the pursuit of happiness, to life and liberty he had read +somewhere. He glanced up. Waco, seated opposite, had drifted back into a +stupor, head sunk forward and arms relaxed. The stub of his cigarette +lay smouldering between his feet. Lorry thought of the girl's appeal. + +"Just what started you to workin' this holdup game?" he queried. + +Waco's head came up. "You joshin' me?" + +"Nope." + +"You wouldn't believe a hard-luck story, so what's the use?" + +"Ain't any. I was just askin' a question. Roll another?" + +Waco stuck out his grimy paw. His fingers trembled as he fumbled the +tobacco and papers. + +Lorry proffered a match. "It makes me sick to see a husky like you all +shot to pieces," said Lorry. + +"Did you just get wise to that?" + +"Nope. But I just took time to say it." + +Waco breathed deep, inhaling the smoke. "I been crooked all my life," he +asserted. + +"I can believe that. 'Course you know I'm takin' you to Stacey." + +"The left-hand trail was quicker," ventured the tramp. + +"And no water." + +"I could ride," suggested Waco. + +Lorry shook his head. "If you was to make a break I'd just nacherally +plug you. I got your gun. You're safer afoot." + +"I'll promise--" + +"Nope. You're too willin'." + +"I'm all in," said Waco. + +"I got to take you to Stacey just the same." + +"And you're doin' it for the money--the reward." + +"That's my business." + +"Go ahead," said the tramp. "I hope you have a good time blowin' in the +dough. Blood-money changes easy to booze-money when a lot of cow-chasers +get their hooks on it." + +"Don't get gay!" said Lorry. "I aim to use you white as long as you work +gentle. If you don't--" + +"That's the way with you guys that do nothin' but chase a cow's tail +over the country. You handle folks the same as stock--rough stuff and to +hell with their feelin's." + +"You're feelin' better," said Lorry. "Stand up and get to goin'." + +As Waco rose, Lorry's pony nickered. A rider was coming down the +distant northern hillside. In the fluttering silken bandanna and the +twinkle of silver-studded trappings Lorry recognized the foreman of the +Starr Rancho; Bob Brewster, known for his arrogance as "High-Chin Bob." + +"Guess we'll wait a minute," said Lorry. + +Waco saw the rider, and asked who he was. + +"It's High Chin, the foreman. You been ridin' one of his string of +horses--the black there." + +"He's your boss?" + +"Yes. And I'm right sorry he's ridin' into this camp. You was talkin' of +feelin's. Well, he ain't got any." + +Brewster loped up and dismounted. "What's your tally, kid?" + +Lorry shook his head. "Only this," he said jokingly. + +Brewster glanced at Waco. "Maverick, all right. Where'd you rope _him_?" + +"I run onto him holdin' up some tourists down by the Notch. I'm driftin' +him over to Stacey." + +High Chin's eyes narrowed. "Was he ridin' that horse?" And he pointed to +the black. + +Lorry admitted that he had found the horse tied in the brush near the +Notch. + +High Chin swung round. "You fork your bronc and get busy. There's eighty +head and over strayin' in here, and the old man ain't payin' you to +entertain hobos. I'll herd this hombre to camp." + +With his arm outflung the tramp staggered up to the foreman. "I come +back--to tell you--that I'm going to live to get you right. I got a +hunch that all hell can't beat out. I'll get you!" + +"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. + +High Chin whirled his horse round. "What's it to you? Who are you, +buttin' in on this?" + +"My name is Waring. I used to mill around Sonora once." + +High Chin blinked. He knew that name. Slowly he realized that the man on +the big buckskin meant what he said when he asserted that there would be +no trouble. + +"Well, I'm foreman of the Starr, and you're fired!" he told Lorry. + +"That's no news," said Lorry, grinning. + +"And I'm goin' to herd this hoss-thief to camp," he continued, spurring +toward Waco, who had started to walk away. + +"Not this journey," said Waring, pushing his horse between them. "The +boy don't pack a gun. I do." + +"You talk big--knowin' I got no gun," said High Chin. + +Lorry rode over to the foreman. "Here's your gun, High. I ain't no +killer." + +The foreman holstered the gun and reined round toward Waring. "Now do +your talkin'," he challenged. + +Waring made no movement, but sat quietly watching the other's gun hand. +"You have your gun?" he said, as though asking a question. "If you mean +business, go ahead. I'll let you get your gun out--and then I'll get +you--and you know it!" And with insulting ease he flicked his burned-out +cigarette in the foreman's face. + +Without a word High Chin whirled his horse and rode toward the hills. + +Waring sat watching him until Lorry spoke. + +"They say he's put more than one man across the divide," he told his +father. + +"But not on an even break," said Waring. "Get that hombre on his horse. +He's in bad shape." + +Lorry helped Waco to mount. They rode toward Stacey. + +Waring rode with them until the trail forked. "I was on my way to the +Starr Ranch," he told Lorry. "I think I can make it all right with +Starr, if you say the word." + +"Not me," said Lorry. "I stand by what I do." + +Waring tried to conceal the smile that crept to his lips. "All right, +Lorry. But you'll have to explain to your mother. Better turn your man +over to Buck Hardy as soon as you get in town. Where did you pick him +up?" + +"He was holdin' up some tourists over by the Notch. He changed his mind +and came along with me." + +Waring rode down the west fork, and Lorry and the tramp continued their +journey to Stacey. + + + + +Chapter X + + +_East and West_ + +Mrs. Adams, ironing in the kitchen, was startled by a peremptory ringing +of the bell on the office desk. The Overland had arrived and departed +more than an hour ago. She patted her hair, smoothed her apron, and +stepped through the dining-room to the office. A rather tired-looking, +stylishly gowned woman immediately asked if there were comfortable +accommodations for herself and her daughter. Mrs. Adams assured her that +there were. + +"We had an accident," continued the woman. "I am Mrs. Weston. This is my +daughter." + +"You are driving overland?" + +"We were. We have had a terrible time. A man tried to rob us, and we +almost wrecked our car." + +"Goodness! Where did it happen?" + +"At a place called 'The Notch,' I think," said Alice Weston, taking the +pen Mrs. Adams proffered and registering. + +"I can give you a front double room," said Mrs. Adams. "But the single +rooms are cooler." + +"Anything will do so long as it is clean," said Mrs. Weston. + +Mrs. Adams's rosy face grew red. "My rooms are always clean. I attend +to them myself." + +"And a room with a bath would be preferable," said Mrs. Weston. + +Her daughter Alice smiled. Mrs. Adams caught the twinkle in the girl's +eyes and smiled in return. + +"You can have the room next to the bathroom. This is a desert town, Mrs. +Weston. We don't have many tourists." + +"I suppose it will have to do," sighed Mrs. Weston. "Of course we may +have the exclusive use of the bath?" + +"Mother," said Alice Weston, "you must remember that this isn't New +York. I think we are fortunate to get a place as comfortable and neat as +this. We're really in the desert. We will see the rooms, please." + +Mrs. Weston could find no fault with the rooms. They were neat and +clean, even to the window-panes. Alice Weston was delighted. From her +window she could see miles of the western desert, and the far, +mysterious ranges bulked against the blue of the north; ranges that +seemed to whisper of romance, the unexplored, the alluring. + +While Mrs. Adams was arranging things, Alice Weston gazed out of the +window. Below in the street a cowboy passed jauntily. A stray burro +crossed the street and nosed among some weeds. Then a stolid Indian +stalked by. + +"Why, that is a real Indian!" exclaimed the girl. + +"A Navajo," said Mrs. Adams. "They come in quite often." + +"Really? And--oh, I forgot--the young man who rescued us told us that he +was your son." + +"Lorry! Rescued you?" + +"Yes." And the girl told Mrs. Adams about the accident and the tramp. + +"I'm thankful that he didn't get killed," was Mrs. Adams's comment when +the girl had finished. + +Alone in her room, Alice Weston bared her round young arms and enjoyed a +real, old-fashioned wash in a real, old-fashioned washbowl. Who could be +unhappy in this glorious country? But mother seemed so unimpressed! "And +I hope that steering-knuckle doesn't come for a month," the girl told a +framed lithograph of "Custer's Last Fight," which, contrary to all +precedent, was free from fly specks. + +She recalled the scene at the Notch: the sickening sway of the car; the +heavy, brutal features of the bandit, who seemed to have risen from the +ground; the unexpected appearance of the young cowboy, the flash of his +rope, and a struggling form whirling through the brush. + +And she had said "please" when she had asked the young cowboy to let the +man go. He had refused. She thought Western men more gallant. But what +difference did that make? She would never see him again. The young +cowboy had seemed rather nice, until just toward the last. As for the +other man--she shivered as she wondered what would have happened if the +cowboy had not arrived when he did. + +It occurred to her that she had never been refused a request in her life +until that afternoon. And the fact piqued her. The fate of the tramp was +a secondary consideration now. She and her mother were safe. The car +would have to be repaired; but that was unimportant. The fact that they +were stranded in a real desert town, with Indians and cowboys in the +streets, and vistas such as she had dreamed of shimmering in the +afternoon sun, awakened an erstwhile slumbering desire for a draught of +the real Romance of the West, heretofore only enjoyed in unsatisfying +sips as she read of the West and its wonder trails. + +A noise in the street attracted her attention. She stepped to the +window. Just across the street a tall, heavy man was unlocking a door in +a little adobe building. Near him stood the young cowboy whom she had +not expected to see again. And there was the tramp, handcuffed and +strangely white of face. The door swung open, and the tall man stepped +back. The tramp shuffled through the low doorway, and the door was +closed and locked. The cowboy and the tall man talked for a while. She +stepped back as the men separated. + +Presently she heard the cowboy's voice downstairs. She flushed, and +gazed at herself in the glass. + +"I am going to make him sorry he refused to let that man go," she told +the mirror. "Oh, I shall be nice to him! So nice that--" She did not +complete the thought. She was naturally gracious. When she set out to be +exceptionally nice--"Oo, la, la!" she exclaimed. "And he's nothing but a +cowboy!" + +She heard Lorry clump upstairs and enter a room across the hall. She +knew it was he. She could hear the clink of his spurs and the swish of +his chaps. While she realized that he was Mrs. Adams's son and had a +right to be there, she rather resented his proximity, possibly because +she had not expected to see him again. + +She had no idea that he had been discharged by his foreman, nor that he +had earned the disapproval of his mother for having quarreled. Of course +he had ridden to Stacey to bring the prisoner in, but he knew they were +in Stacey, and Alice Weston liked to believe that he would make excuse +to stay in town while they were there. It would be fun--for her. + +After supper that evening Mrs. Weston and Alice were introduced to +Waring, who came in late. Waring chatted with Mrs. Weston out on the +veranda in the cool of the evening. Alice was surprised that her mother +seemed interested in Waring. But after a while, as the girl listened, +she admitted that the man was interesting. + +The conversation drifted to mines and mining. Mrs. Weston declared that +she had never seen a gold mine, but that her husband owned some stock +in one of the richest mines in Old Mexico. Waring grew enthusiastic as +he described mine operating in detail, touching the subject with the +ease of experience, yet lightly enough to avoid wearisome +technicalities. The girl listened, occasionally stealing a glance at the +man's profile in the dusk. She thought the boy Lorry looked exceedingly +like Mr. Waring. + +And the person who looked exceedingly like Mr. Waring sat at the far end +of the veranda, talking to Buck Hardy, the sheriff. And Lorry was not +altogether happy. His interest in the capture and reward had waned. He +had never dreamed that a girl could be so captivating as Alice Weston. +At supper she had talked with him about the range, asking many +questions; but she had not referred to that morning. Lorry had hoped +that he might talk with her after supper. But somehow or other she had +managed to evade his efforts. Just now she seemed to be mightily +interested in his father. + +Presently Lorry rose and strode across the street to the station. He +talked with the agent, who showed him a telegraph duplicate for an order +on Albuquerque covering a steering-knuckle for an automobile. When Lorry +reappeared he was whistling. It would take some time for that +steering-knuckle to arrive. Meanwhile, he was out of work, and the +Westons would be at the hotel for several days at least. + +There was some mighty fine scenery back in the Horseshoe Range, west. +Perhaps the girl liked Western scenery. He wondered if she knew how to +ride. He was rather inclined to think that her mother did not. He would +suggest a trip to the Horseshoe Mountains, as it would be pretty dull at +the hotel. Nothing but cowboys and Indians riding in and out of town. +But there were some Hopi ruins over in the Horseshoe. Most Easterners +were interested in ruins. He wished that the Hopis had left a ruin +somewhat nearer town. + +Yet withal, Lorry was proud to think that his father could be so +interesting to real Easterners. If they only knew who his father was! +Lorry's train of thought was making pretty good time when he checked it +suddenly. Folks in town didn't know that Waring was his father. And "The +whole dog-gone day had just been one gosh-awful mess!" + +"Weston, you said?" Waring queried. + +"Yes--John Archibald Weston, of New York." And Mrs. Weston nodded. + +Waring smiled. J.A. Weston was one of the stockholders in the Ortez +Mine, near Sonora. + +"The principal stockholder," said Mrs. Weston. + +"I met him down there," said Waring. + +"Indeed! How interesting! You were connected with the mining industry, +Mr. Waring?" + +"In a way. I lived in Sonora several years." + +"That accounts for your wonderful descriptions of the country. I never +imagined it could be so charming." + +"We have some hill country west of here worth looking at. If you intend +to stay any length of time, I might arrange a trip." + +"That's nice of you. But I don't ride. Perhaps Alice would like to go." + +"Yes, indeed! But--" + +"We might get Mrs. Adams to come. She used to ride." + +"I'll ask her," said Alice Weston. + +"But, Alice--" And Mrs. Weston smiled. Alice had already gone to look +for Mrs. Adams. + +Lorry, who had heard, scowled at a veranda post. He had thought of that +trip to the Horseshoe Range long before it had been mentioned by his +father. Wimmin made him tired, he told the unoffending post. + +Shortly afterward Alice appeared. She had cajoled Mrs. Adams into +promising that she would ride to the Hopi ruins with them, as the +journey there and back could be made in a day. Alice Weston was aglow +with excitement. Of course the young cowboy would be included in the +invitation, and Alice premeditated a flirtation, either with that +good-looking Mr. Waring or Mrs. Adams's son. It didn't matter much which +one; it would be fun. + +The Westons finally went to their rooms. Lorry, out of sorts with +himself and the immediate world, was left alone on the veranda. + +"She just acted so darned nice to me I forgot to eat," he told the post +confidentially. "And then she forgot I was livin' in the same +county--after supper. And she did it a-purpose. I reckon she's tryin' to +even up with me for jailin' that hobo after she said 'please.' Well, two +can play at that even-up game." + +He rose and walked upstairs quietly. As he entered his room he heard the +Westons talking. He had noticed that the door of one of their rooms was +open. + +"No, I think he went away with that tall man," he heard the girl say. +"Cowboys don't go to bed early when in town." + +"Weren't you a little too nice to him at dinner?" Mrs. Weston said. + +Lorry heard the girl laugh. "Oh, but he's only a boy, mother! And it's +such fun to watch his eyes when he smiles. He is really good-looking and +interesting, because he hasn't been tamed. I don't think he has any real +feeling, though, or he wouldn't have brought that poor creature to +Stacey and put him in jail. But Mr. Waring is different. He seems so +quiet and kind--and rather distinguished." + +Lorry closed his door. He had heard enough for one evening. + +He did not want to go to bed. He felt anything but sleepy, so he tiptoed +downstairs again and out into the night. He found Buck Hardy in a saloon +up the street. Men in the saloon joked with Lorry about his capture. He +seldom drank, but to-night he did not refuse Hardy's invitation to +"have something." While they were chatting a rider from the Starr Rancho +came in. Edging up to Lorry, he touched his arm. "Come on out a minute," +he whispered. + +Outside, he told Lorry that High Chin, with several of the men, was +coming to town that night and "put one over" on the sheriff by stealing +the prisoner. + +"And you know what that means," said the Starr cowboy. "High Chin'll get +tanked, and the hobo'll be lucky if the boys don't string him up. High +Chin's awful sore about something." + +Lorry's first idea was to report all this to Buck Hardy. But he feared +ridicule. What if the Starr cowboys didn't come? + +"Why don't you tell Buck yourself?" he queried. + +His companion insisted that he dare not tell the sheriff. If High Chin +heard that he had done so, he would be out of a job. And there was the +reward. If the prisoner's identity was proven, Lorry would get the +reward. The cowboy didn't want to see Lorry lose such easy money. + +The subject seemed to require some liquidation, and Lorry finally +decided that he himself was the only and legal custodian of the +prisoner. As for the reward--shucks! He didn't want blood-money. But +High Chin would never lay a hand on the hobo if he could help it. + + * * * * * + +Alice Weston, anticipating a real ride into the desert country and the +hills, was too excited to sleep. She drew a chair to the window, and sat +back where she could view the vague outline of the hills and a world +filled with glowing stars. The town was silent, save for the occasional +opening or closing of a door and the infrequent sound of feet on the +sidewalk. She forgot the hazards of the day in dreaming of the West; no +longer a picture out of books, but a reality. She scarcely noticed the +quiet figure that came round the opposite corner and passed into the +shadows of the jail across the street. She heard the clink of a chain +and a sharp, tearing sound as of wood being rent asunder. She peered +from her window, trying to see what was going on in the shadows. + +Presently a figure appeared. The hat, the attitude, and manner seemed +familiar. Then came another figure; that of the tramp. She grew tense +with excitement. She heard Lorry's voice distinctly:-- + +"The best thing for you is to fan it. Don't try the train. They'll get +you sure if you do. No, I don't explain anything. Just ramble--and keep +a-ramblin'." + +She saw one of the figures creep along the opposite wall and shuffle +across the street. She felt like calling out. Instead she rose and +opened her door. She would tell her mother. But what good would that do? +She returned to the window. Lorry, standing on the street corner, seemed +to be watching an invisible something far down the street. Alice Weston +heard the sound of running horses. A group of cowboys galloped up. She +heard the horses stop. Lorry had disappeared. + +She went to bed. It seemed an age before she heard him come in. + +Lorry undressed in the dark. As he went to bed he grinned. "And the +worst of it is," he soliloquized, "she'll think I did it because she +asked me to let him go. Guess I been steppin' on my foot the whole +dog-gone day." + + + + +Chapter XI + + +_Spring Lamb_ + +Mrs. Adams had decided to have roast spring lamb for dinner that +evening. Instead, her guests had to content themselves with canned +salmon and hot biscuit. And because ... + +Lorry appeared at the breakfast table in overalls and jumper. He had +purposely waited until the Westons had gone downstairs. He anticipated +an invitation to ride to the hills with them. He would decline, and +smile as he did so. If that girl thought he cared anything about _her_! + +He answered their greeting with a cheery "Good-mornin'," and immediately +turned his whole attention to bacon and eggs. + +Alice Weston wondered that his eyes should be so clear and care-free, +knowing what she did of last night's escapade. + +Mrs. Adams was interested in the girl's riding-habit. It made her own +plain riding-skirt and blouse appear rather countrified. And after +breakfast Lorry watched the preparations for the ride with a critical +eye. No one would know whether or not he cared to go. They seemed to +have taken it for granted that he would. He whistled softly, and shook +his head as his mother suggested that he get ready. + +"Of course you're coming with us," said Alice Weston. + +"I got to look after the hotel," he said with conclusive emphasis. + +Lorry disappeared, and in the bustle of preparation and departure Mrs. +Adams did not miss him until they were some distance out on the mesa. + +"Where's Lorry?" she queried. + +"He said he had to look after the hotel," said Alice Weston. + +"Well, he didn't. I had everything arranged for. I don't know what's got +into him lately." + +Back at the hotel Lorry was leaning against the veranda rail, talking to +Mrs. Weston. "I reckon it will be kind of tame for you, ma'am. I was +wondering, now, if you would let me look over that machine. I've helped +fix 'em up lots of times." + +"Why, I don't know. It wouldn't do any harm to look, would it?" + +"I guess not." + +Mrs. Weston gazed at Lorry curiously. He had smiled, and he resembled +Waring so closely that Mrs. Weston remarked it aloud. + +Lorry flushed. "I think Mr. Waring is a right good-lookin' man, don't +you?" + +Mrs. Weston laughed. "Yes, I do." + +"Yes, ma'am. But honest, Mrs. Weston, I never did see a finer-lookin' +girl than your girl. I seen plenty of magazine pictures like her. I'd +feel some proud if I was her mother." + +The morning was not so dull, after all. Mrs. Weston was not used to such +frankness, but she was not displeased. "I see you have on your working +clothes. If you really think you can repair the car--" + +"I got nothin' else to do. The sun is gettin' round to the front. If you +would like to sit in the car and watch, I would look her over; there, in +the shade." + +"I'll get a hat," said Mrs. Weston, rising. + +"Your hair is right pretty without a hat. And besides you would be in +the shade of the top." + +It had been some time since any one had complimented Mrs. Weston about +her hair, and especially a man young enough to be her son. What was the +cowboy going to say next? + +Mrs. Weston stepped into the car, which was parked on the south side of +the building. Lorry, whistling blithely, searched until he found a +wrench in one of the forward-door pockets. He disappeared beneath the +car. Mrs. Weston could hear him tinkering at something. She leaned back, +breathing deep of the clean, thin air. She could not recall having felt +so thoroughly content and keenly alive at the same time. She had no +desire to say or do anything. + +Presently Lorry appeared, his face grimy and his hands streaked with +oil. "Nothin' busted," he reported cheerfully. "We got a car over to +the ranch. She's been busted a-plenty. I fixed her up more times than I +can remember. Cars is like horses ma'am; no two just alike, but kind of +generally the same. The steering-knuckle ain't broke. It's the left axle +that's sprung. That won't take long to straighten." + +Mrs. Weston smiled. Lorry thought she was actually pretty. She saw this +in his eyes, and flushed slightly. + +"And I'll just block her up and take off the wheel, and I reckon the +blacksmith can straighten that axle easy." + +"It's very nice of you. But I am wondering why you didn't go on the +picnic--with the others." + +"Well, who'd 'a' kept you company, ma'am? Anita, she's busy. Anyhow, I +seen plenty of scenery. I'd rather be here." + +"Talking to a woman old enough to be your mother?" + +"Huh! I never thought of you like that. I'm only eighteen. Anyhow, what +difference does it make how old a lady is, if she is pretty?" + +Mrs. Weston's eyes twinkled. "Do you ever pay compliments to yourself +when you are combing your hair or tying your scarf?" + +"Me! Why, not so anybody could hear 'em. Now, I think my mother is right +pretty, Mrs. Weston." + +"So do I. And it was nice of you to say it." + +"But I don't see anything wrong in sayin' what's so," he argued. "I seen +you kind of raise your eyebrows, and I thought mebby I was bein' took as +a joke." + +"Oh, no, indeed!" + +Lorry disappeared again. As he worked he wondered just how long it would +be before Buck Hardy would look for him. Lorry knew that some one must +have taken food and water to the prisoner by this time, or to where the +prisoner was supposed to be. But he did not know that Hardy and his +deputy had questioned Anita, and that she had told the sheriff the folks +had all gone on a picnic to the hills. The car, at the back of the +hotel, was not visible from the street. + +With some pieces of timber Lorry jacked up the front of the machine and +removed the damaged wheel and axle. + +He took the bent axle to the blacksmith, and returned to the hotel. +Nothing further offered just then, so he suggested that he clean the +car. Mrs. Weston consented, deciding that she would not pay him until +her daughter returned. + +He attached the hose to a faucet, and suggested that Mrs. Weston take a +chair, which he brought from the veranda. He hosed the car, and as he +polished it, Mrs. Weston asked him about Waring. + +"Why, he's a friend of ours," replied Lorry. + +"Of course. But I was wondering what he did." + +Lorry hesitated. "Didn't you ever hear that song about Waring of +Sonora-Town? It's a whizzer. Well, that's him. All the cowboys sing that +song." + +"I have never heard it." + +"Well, mebby dad wouldn't like that I sing it. He's kind of funny that +way. Now you wouldn't think he was the fastest gunman in the Southwest, +would you?" + +"Gunman! Your father?" + +Lorry straightened up from polishing the car. "I clean forgot what I was +sayin'. I guess my foot slipped that time." + +"I am sorry I asked," said Mrs. Weston. "It really doesn't matter." + +"Oh, it ain't your fault. But I wasn't aimin' to tell. Dad he married my +mother, and they went to live in Sonora, down in Mexico. Some of the +minin' outfits down there hired him regular to--to protect their +interests. I guess ma couldn't stand that kind of life, for after a few +years she brought me up here. I was just a kid then. Ma she built up a +good trade at this hotel. Folks call her Mrs. Adams. Her name was Adams +afore she got married. We been here ten years. Dad didn't know where she +was till last week he showed up here. I reckon she thought he got killed +long ago. Folks would talk about it if they knowed he was her husband, +so I guess she asked dad to say nothin' about that. He said he came up +to see me. I guess he don't aim to stay long." + +"I think I understand," said Mrs. Weston. + +"Well, it ain't none of my business, long as ma is all right. Say, she +shines like a new hack, eh?" + +"You have cleaned the car beautifully." + +"Oh, I dunno. Now, if it was a hoss--And say, I guess you'll be startin' +to-morrow. That axle will be all right in about an hour." + +Just then Anita came to call them to luncheon. She had heard them +talking at the rear of the hotel shortly after Sheriff Hardy had +inquired for Lorry. Several townsfolk came in, ate, and departed on +their several ways. + +After luncheon Mrs. Weston went to her room. She thought she would lie +down and sleep for an hour or so, but the noon heat made the room rather +close. She picked up a book and came down, where she found it +comfortably cool on the veranda. + +The town was quiet. A hand-car with its section crew of Mexicans clicked +past, and hummed on down the glittering rails. A stray burro meandered +about, and finally came to a stop in the middle of the street, where he +stood, stoically enduring the sun, a veritable long-eared statue of +dejection. Mrs. Weston turned a page, but the printed word was flat and +insignificant. + +She felt as though she were in a kind of twilight valley, midway between +the hills of slumber and wakefulness. For the moment she forgot the name +of the town itself. She knew that she could recall it if she tried. A +dog lay asleep beneath the station platform opposite, one relaxed paw +over his nose. Some one was calling to some one in the kitchen. A figure +passed in the street; a young man who smiled and nodded. It was the boy, +Lorry. He had been working on the car that morning. She had watched him +work, rather enjoying his energy. A healthy young animal as +unsophisticated as a kitten, and really innately kind and innocent of +intent to flatter. He was not at all like the bright young savage who +had roped and almost choked to death that awful man. + +It was impossible to judge a person at first sight and especially under +unusual circumstances. And he seemed not at all chagrined that he had +not gone with the others to the hills. Alice had enjoyed reading about +Westerners--rough, boisterous beings intolerable to Mrs. Weston even in +print. And Mrs. Weston thought that proper environment and association +might bring out their better qualities, even as the boy, Lorry, seemed +to have improved--well, since yesterday morning. Perhaps he was on his +good behavior because they were there. + +It seemed past comprehension that anything startling could happen in +that drowsy atmosphere. + +The young cowboy was coming back down the street, some part of the car +over his shoulder. Mrs. Weston anticipated his nod, and nodded lazily as +he passed. She could hear him tinkering at the car. + +A few blocks up the street, Buck Hardy was seated in his office talking +with the undersheriff. The undersheriff twisted the end of his black +mustache and looked wise. + +"They told me at the hotel that he had gone riding with them +Easterners," said Hardy. "And now you say he's been in town all day +working on that automobile." + +"Yep. He's been to the blacksmith twice to-day. I didn't say anything to +him, seein' you was over to Larkins's, and said he was out of town. I'd +hate to think he done anything like that." + +"That hobo was gone when I went to talk to him this morning. The lock +was busted. I can't figure it out. Young Lorry stood to win the reward, +and he could use the money." + +"Hear anything by wire?" queried the undersheriff. + +"Nothing. The man didn't get by on any of the trains. I notified both +stations. He's afoot and he's gone." + +"Well, I guess the kid loses out, eh?" + +"That ain't all. This county will jump me for letting that guy get away. +It won't help us any next election." + +"Well, my idea is to have a talk with Adams," said the undersheriff. + +"I'm going to do that. I like the kid, and then there's his mother--" + +"And you'd hold him for lettin' the guy loose, eh?" + +"I would. I'd hold my own brother for playing a trick like that." + +"Well, I don't sabe it," asserted the undersheriff. "Lorry Adams always +had a good name." + +"We'll have a talk with him, Bill." + +"Are you sure Adams did it, Buck?" + +"No, not sure, but I'm going to find out. I'll throw a scare into him +that'll make him talk." + +"Mebby he won't scare." + +"Then I'll run him in. He's some enterprising, if I do say it. He put +High-Chin Bob out of business over by the water-hole yesterday." + +"High Chin! The hell you say!" + +"That's what I thought when I heard it. High was beating up the hobo, +and Lorry claimed him as his prisoner. Jim Waring says the kid walloped +High on the head and knocked him stiff." + +"Whew! Bob will get his hide for that." + +"I don't know. Jim Waring is riding the country just now." + +"What's that got to do with it?" + +"More than I'm going to tell you, Bill. But take it from me, he's +interested in young Adams a whole lot." + + * * * * * + +When Hardy and his deputy rode over to the hotel there was a pause in +the chatter. Alice Weston was describing their journey to her mother and +calling upon Waring to substantiate her vivid assertions of the +wonderful adventure. The saddle-horse still stood at the hitching-rail, +and Hardy, who had an eye for a good horse, openly admired the big +buckskin. Waring was talking with Lorry. Mrs. Adams had gone in. Hardy +indicated that he wanted to speak to Lorry, and he included Waring in +his gesture. Lorry rose and glanced quickly at Alice Weston. She was +leaning forward in her chair, suddenly aware of a subtle undercurrent of +seriousness. The undersheriff was patting the nose of the big buckskin. + +The men stepped down from the veranda, and stood near the horses. + +"That hobo got away," said the sheriff. "Do you know anything about it?" + +"I turned him loose," said Lorry, without hesitation. + +"What for?" + +"I changed my mind. I didn't want any blood-money for arrestin' a +tramp." + +"That's all right. But you can't change the law so easy. That man was my +prisoner. Why didn't you come to me?" + +"Well, if you want to know, in company," said Lorry, "High Chin and the +boys had it framed up to give that hobo a goin'-over for stealin' a +Starr horse. They figured to bust in the jail, same as I did. I got that +straight; I didn't aim to let High Chin get his hands on my prisoner." + +"Well, Lorry, I don't like to do it, but I got to hold you till we get +him." + +"How do you figure that?" + +"You've aided a prisoner to escape. You broke the law." + +"What right had you to hold him?" + +"Your own story. You brought him in yourself." + +"I sure did. But supposin' I say I ain't got nothin' against him, and +the folks over there won't appear against him, how could you prove +anything?" + +"He's under suspicion. You said yourself he was holding up them +tourists." + +"But you can't make me swear that in court." + +Buck Hardy glared at the younger man. "See here, Lorry, I don't +understand your game. Suppose the man ain't guilty. He was locked +up--and by me, representing this county. You can't prove that the Starr +boys would have done anything to him. And you can't monkey with the law +to suit yourself as long as I'm sheriff. Am I right?" And Hardy turned +to Waring. + +"You're right, Hardy." + +Lorry's gray eyes shone with a peculiar light. "What you goin' to do +about it, Buck?" + +"Two of my boys are out looking for the man. You're under arrest till he +is brought in." + +"You aim to lock me in that calaboose?" + +"No. But, understand, you're under arrest. You can't leave town." + +"Say, now, Buck, ain't you kind of crowdin' me into the fence?" + +"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that." + +Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat +watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their +attitudes confirmed her apprehension. + +"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry. + +"Go ahead. There's no hurry." + +Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda +steps and sat down. + +Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other. + +"That's all right, Hardy." + +The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way +the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later." + +Waring smiled. "You have a free hand so far as I am concerned," he said. + +Alice Weston was talking with her mother when she heard a cautious step +on the stairway behind her. She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted +and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his +hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy +was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's +horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her +breath. + +Without a word of warning, and before the group on the veranda knew what +was happening, Lorry shot from the doorway, leaped from the edge of the +veranda rail, and alighted square in the saddle of Waring's horse, Dex. +The buckskin whirled and dashed down the road, one rein dragging. Lorry +reached down, and with a sinuous sweep of his body recovered the loose +rein. As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked +strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute. + +Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse +nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they +raced down the street and disappeared round a corner. + +"What is it?" queried Alice Weston. + +Waring still sat on the steps. He was laughing when he turned to answer +the girl's question. + +"Lorry and the sheriff had a little argument. Lorry didn't wait to +finish it. It was something about that hobo that bothered you +yesterday." + +Alice crushed her handkerchief to her mouth. "I--shall we get ready for +dinner?" she stammered. + +Mrs. Weston rose. "It's nothing serious, I hope. Do you think your--Mr. +Adams will be back to-night?" + +"Not this evening," replied Waring. + +"You mean that he won't be back at all?" + +"Not unless he changes his mind. He's riding my horse." + +"He took your horse?" + +"Yes. I think he made a mistake in leaving so suddenly, but he didn't +make any mistake about the best horse." + +"Aren't you worried about him?" queried Mrs. Weston. + +"Why, no. The boy will take care of himself. Did you happen to notice +what he had in his hand when he ran across the veranda?" + +"No. It happened so suddenly. Was it a pistol?" + +Waring grinned. "No. It was a shoulder of lamb. The next town is thirty +miles south, and no restaurants on the way." + +"But his mother--" began Alice Weston. + +"Yes," said Waring. "I think that leg of lamb was for dinner to-night." + +Alice Weston said nothing further, but as she got ready for dinner she +confessed to herself that the event of Lorry's escape would have been +much more thrilling, in retrospect at least, had he chosen to wave his +hasty farewell with a silken bandanna, or even a pistol. To ride off +like that, waving a leg of lamb! + + + + +Chapter XII + + +_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_ + +As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges, +cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed +homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for +many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with +diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a +lively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's most +vindictive enemies. And he had enemies and many friends. + +Meanwhile he had taken on weight until, as one of his friends remarked, +"Most any hoss but a Percheron draft would shy the minute Bud tried to +put his foot in the stirrup." + +And when Bud came to that point in his career when he summed up his past +and found that his chief asset was experience, garnished with a somewhat +worn outfit of pack-saddles, tarps, bridles, chaps, and guns, he sighed +heavily. + +The old trails were changing to roads. The local freight intermittently +disgorged tons of harvesting machinery. The sound of the Klaxton was +heard in the land. Despite the times and the manners, Bud's girth +increased insidiously. His hard-riding days were past. Progress marched +steadily onward, leaving an after-guard of homesteaders intrenched +behind miles of barbed-wire fence and mazes of irrigating-ditches. The +once open range was now a chessboard of agricultural endeavor, with the +pawns steadying ploughshares as they crept from square to square until +the opposing cattle king suffered ignominious checkmate, his prerogative +of free movement gone, his army scattered, his castles taken, and his +glory surviving only in the annals of the game. + +Incidentally, Bud Shoop had saved a little money, and his large +popularity would have won for him a political sinecure; but he disliked +politics quite as heartily as he detested indolence. He needed work not +half so much as he wanted it. + +He had failed as a rancher, but he still held his homestead on the Blue +Mesa, some twenty miles from the town of Jason, an old Mormon settlement +in the heart of the mesa country. + +Friday morning at sunup Bud saddled his horse, closed the door of his +cabin on the Blue Mesa, and, whistling to his old Airedale, Bondsman, +rode across the mesa and down the mountain trail toward Jason. By +sundown that night he was in town, his horse fed, and he and Bondsman +sitting on the little hotel veranda, watching the villagers as they +passed in the dusk of early evening. + +Coatless and perspiring, Bud betook himself next morning to the office +of the supervisor of that district of the Forest Service. Bondsman +accompanied him, stalking seriously at his master's heels. The +supervisor was busy. Bud filled a chair in the outer office, polished +his bald spot with a blue bandanna, and waited. + +Presently the supervisor called him in. Bud rose heavily and plodded to +another chair in the private office. Torrance, the supervisor, knew Bud; +knew that he was a solid man in the finer sense of the word from the +shiny dome of his head to his dusty boot. And Torrance thought he knew +why Bud had called. The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching his +master. Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail. + +"He's just tellin' me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he'll +wait till I get through. That there dog bosses me around somethin' +scandalous." + +"He's getting old and set in his ways," laughed Torrance. + +"So be I, John. Kind of settin' in my own way mostly." + +"Well, Bud, how are things up on the mesa?" + +"Growin' and bloomin' and singin' and feedin' and keepin' still, same as +always." + +"What can I do for you?" + +"Well, I ain't seen a doctor for so long I can't tell you; but I reckon +I need more exercise and a little salary thrown in for luck." + +"I'm glad you came in. You needn't say anything about it, but I'm +scheduled to leave here next month." + +"Then I reckon I'm left. Higher up, John?" + +"Yes. I have this end of it pretty well whipped into shape. They seem to +think they can use me at headquarters." + +Bud frowned prodigiously. The situation did not seem to promise much. +And naturally enough, being a Westerner, Bud disliked to come out +flatfooted and ask for work. + +His frown deepened as the supervisor asked another question: "Do you +think you could hold down my job, Bud?" + +"Say, John, I've stood for a lot in my time. But, honest, I was lookin' +for a job as ranger. I can ride yet. And if I do say it I know every +hill and canon, every hogback and draw and flat from here to the Tonto +Basin." + +"I know it. I was coming to that. The grazing-leases are the most +important items just now. You know cattle, and you know something about +the Service. You have handled men. I am not joking." + +"Well, this is like a hobo gettin' up his nerve to ask for a san'wich, +and havin' the lady of the house come runnin' with a hot apple pie. I'll +tackle anything." + +"Well, the Department has confidence enough in me to suggest that I name +a successor, subject to their approval. Do you think that you could hold +down this job?" + +"If settin' on it would hold it down, it would never get up alive, +John. But I ain't no author." + +"Author?" + +"Uh-uh. When it comes to facts, I aim to brand 'em. But them reports to +headquarters--" + +The supervisor laughed. "You would be entitled to a clerk. The man I +have would like to stay. And another thing. I have just had an +application from young Adams, of Stacey. He wrote from St. Johns. He +wants to get into the Service. While we are at it, what do you know +about him?" + +"Nothin'. But his mother runs a right comf'table eatin'-house over to +Stacey. She's a right fine woman. I knew her when she was wearin' her +hair in a braid." + +"I have stopped there. It's a neat place. Would you take the boy on if +you were in my place?" + +Bud coughed and studied the ends of his blunt fingers. "Well, now, John, +if I was in your place, I could tell you." + +Torrance was amused and rather pleased. Bud's careful evasion was +characteristic. He would do nothing hastily. Moreover, with Shoop as +supervisor, it was safe to assume that the natives would hesitate to +attempt their usual subterfuges in regard to grazing-leases. Bud was too +well known for that. Torrance had had trouble with the cattlemen and +sheepmen. He knew that Shoop's mere name would obviate much argument and +bickering. + +"The White Mountain Apaches are eating a lot of beef these days," he +said suddenly. + +Shoop grinned. "And it ain't all Gov'ment beef, neither. The line fence +crost Still Canon is down. They's been a fire up on the shoulder of Ole +Baldy--nothin' much, though. Your telephone line to the lookout is +saggin' bad over by Sheep Crossin'. Some steer'll come along and take it +with him in a hurry one of these days. A grizzly killed a yearlin' over +by the Milk Ranch about a week ago. I seen your ranger, young Winslow, +day before yesterday. He says somebody has been grazin' sheep on the +posted country, west. He was after 'em. The grass is pretty good on the +Blue. The Apaches been killin' wild turkey on the wrong side of their +line. I seen their tracks--and some feathers. They's some down timber +along the north side of the creek over on the meadows. And a couple of +wimmin was held up over by the Notch the other day. I ain't heard the +partic'lars. Young Adams--" + +"Where do you get it all, Bud? Only two of the things you mentioned have +been reported in to this office." + +"Who, me? Huh! Well, now, John, that's just the run of news that floats +in when you're movin' around the country. If I was to set out to get +info'mation--" + +"You'd swamp the office. All right. I'll have my clerk draft a letter of +application. You can sign it. I'll add my word. It will take some time +to put this through, if it goes through. I don't promise anything. Come +in at noon and sign the letter. Then you might drop in in about two +weeks; say Saturday morning. We'll have heard something by then." + +Bud beamed. "I'll do that. And while I'm waitin' I'll ride over some of +that country up there and look around." + +Torrance leaned forward. "There's one more thing, Bud. I know this job +offers a temptation to a man to favor his friends. So far as this office +is concerned, I don't want you to have any friends. I want things run +straight. I've given the best of my life to the Service. I love it. I +have dipped into my own pocket when Washington couldn't see the need for +improvements. I have bought fire-fighting tools, built trails, and paid +extra salaries at times. Now I will be where I can back you up. Keep +things right up to the minute. If you get stuck, wire me. Here's your +territory on this map. You know the country, but you will find this +system of keeping track of the men a big help. The pins show where each +man is working. We can go over the office detail after we have heard +from headquarters." + +Bud perspired, blinked, shuffled his feet. "I ain't goin' to say thanks, +John. You know it." + +"That's all right, Bud. Your thanks will be just what you make of this +work when I leave. There has been a big shake-up in the Service. Some of +us stayed on top." + +"Congratulations, John. Saturday, come two weeks, then." + +And Bud heaved himself up. The Airedale, Bondsman, thumped the floor +with his tail. Bud turned a whimsical face to the supervisor. "Now +listen to that! What does he say? Well, he's tellin' me he sabes I got a +chanct at a job and that he'll keep his mouth shut about what you said, +like me. And that it's about time I quit botherin' folks what's busy and +went back to the hotel so he can watch things go by. That there dog +bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Torrance smiled, and waved his hand as Bud waddled from the office, with +Bondsman at his heels. + +About an hour later, as Torrance was dictating a letter, he glanced up. +Bud Shoop, astride a big bay horse, passed down the street. For a moment +Torrance forgot office detail in a general appreciation of the Western +rider, who, once in the saddle, despite age or physical attributes, +bears himself with a subconscious ease that is a delight to behold, be +he lean Indian, lithe Mexican, or bed-rock American with a girth, say, +of fifty-two inches and weighing perhaps not less than two hundred and +twenty pounds. + +"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses and +dogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. And +they say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straight +up, and white lightning with a gun." + +The supervisor shook his head. "Take a letter to Collins," he said. + +The stenographer glanced up. "Senator Collins, Mr. Torrance?" + +"Yes. And make an extra copy. Mark it confidential. You need not file +the copy. I'll take care of it. And if Mr. Shoop is appointed to my +place, he need know nothing about this letter." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner a +bit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointed +here. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists in +this field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thin +and some day you may land a job as private secretary to a State +Senator." + +"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr. +Torrance." + +"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'm +with the Service as long as it will have me. But if some clever +politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa +country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa +people like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--" + +The stenographer bent over his book. + +Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's +life with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, had +once been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog as +it crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud had +ridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across the +saddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life. +Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride. + +Bud Shoop's assets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesa +land, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But his +greatest asset, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big, +homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apart +from his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merely +useful or otherwise. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + +_The Horse Trade_ + +The following day a young cowboy, mounted upon a singularly noticeable +buckskin horse, rode down the main street of Jason and dismounted at the +Forestry Office. Torrance was reading a letter when his clerk proffered +the young man a chair and notified the supervisor that a Mr. Adams +wished to see him. + +A few minutes later, Lorry was shown in. The door closed. + +Torrance surveyed the strong, young figure with inward approval. "I have +your letter. Sit down. I see your letter is postmarked St. Johns." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Know anything about the Service?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why do you want to get into it?" + +"I thought mebby I'd like the work." + +"Have you any recommendations?" + +"Nothin'--except what you're lookin' at." + +Torrance smiled. "Could you get a letter from your last employer?" + +"Not the kind of letter that would do any good. I had an argument with +the foreman, and he fired me." + +Torrance had heard something about the matter, and did not question +further at the time. + +"Do you drink?" queried Torrance. + +"I never monkeyed with it much. I reckon I could if I wanted to." + +Torrance drummed on the desk with his long, strong fingers. He reached +in a drawer and drew out a letter. + +"How about that?" + +Lorry glanced at the heading. Evidently the sheriff knew of his general +whereabouts. The letter stated that the sheriff would appreciate +information leading to the apprehension of Lawrence Adams, wanted for +aiding a prisoner to escape and for having in his possession a horse +that did not belong to him. + +"What he says is right," Lorry asserted cheerfully. "I busted into the +jail and turned that hobo loose, and I borrowed the horse I'm riding. I +aim to send him back. My own horse is in the corral back at Stacey." + +"What was your idea in letting the man go after arresting him?" + +Lorry's clear color deepened. "I wasn't figurin' on explainin' that." + +"You don't have to explain. But you will admit that the charges in this +letter are rather serious. We don't want men in the Service who are open +to criticism. You're pretty young to have such a record. It's up to you +to explain--or not, just as you like. But anything you tell me will be +treated as absolutely confidential, Adams." + +"All right. Well, everything I done that day went wrong. I caught the +hobo tryin' to rob a couple of wimmin over by the Notch. I was takin' +him to Stacey when Bob Brewster butted in. The hobo was sick, and I +didn't aim to stand and see him kicked and beat up with a quirt, even if +he did steal one of the Starr horses. I told High Chin to quit, but his +hearin' wasn't good, so I had to show him. Then I got to thinkin' I +wasn't so much--takin' a pore, busted tramp to jail. And it made me sick +when everybody round town was callin' me some little hero. Then one of +the Starr boys told me High Chin was cinchin' up to ride in and get the +hobo, anyhow, so I busted the lock and told him to fan it." + +"Why didn't you appeal to the sheriff?" + +"Huh! Buck Hardy is all right. But I can tell you one thing; he's not +the man to stand up to High Chin when High is drinkin'. Why, I see High +shove a gun in Hardy's face once and tell him to go home and go to bed. +And Hardy went. Anyhow, that hobo was my prisoner, and I didn't aim to +let High Chin get his hands on him." + +"I see. Well, you have a strange way of doing things, but I appreciate +why you acted as you did. Of course, you know it is a grave offense to +aid a prisoner to escape." + +"Buck Hardy seems to think so." + +"So do I. And how about that horse?" + +"Well, next day I was fixin' up the machine and foolin' around--that +machine belonged to them tourists that the fella stuck up--when along +about sundown Buck Hardy comes swellin' up to me and tells me I'm under +arrest. He couldn't prove a darned thing if I hadn't said I done the +job. But, anyhow, he didn't see it my way, so I borrowed Waring's horse +and come down this way. Everybody saw me take the horse. You can't call +that stealin'." + +"Did Hardy ride after you?" + +"Yes, sir. But he was so far behind I couldn't hear what he wanted. That +big buckskin is a wonder. I wish I owned him." + +Torrance mentally patched the fragments of evidence together. He decided +that a young man who could capture a holdup man, best the notorious High +Chin in a fight, repair a broken automobile, turn a prisoner loose, and +make his own escape all within the short compass of forty-eight hours +was a rather capable person in a way. And Torrance knew by Lorry's +appearance and manner that he was still on the verdant side of twenty. +If such a youth chose to turn his abilities in the right direction he +might accomplish much. Lorry's extreme frankness satisfied Torrance that +the boy had told the truth. He would give him a chance. + +"Do you know Bud Shoop?" queried the supervisor. + +"No, sir. I know what he looks like. He's been to our hotel." + +"Well, you might look him up. He may be out of town. Possibly he is up +at his homestead on the Blue Mesa. Tell Mr. Shoop that I sent you to +him. He will understand. But you will have to square yourself with the +authorities before I can put you to work." + +"Yes, sir. But I don't aim to ride back to Stacey just because I know +where it is. If they want me, they can find me." + +"That is your affair. When your slate is clear--" + +"Mr. Waring to see you," said the clerk, poking his head through the +doorway. + +Torrance stepped out and greeted Waring heartily. Lorry was surprised; +both to see his father and to learn that Torrance and he were old +friends. + +"I saw this horse as I rode up, and I took a fancy to him," said Waring, +after having nodded to Lorry. "Sorry to bother you, Torrance." + +"Here's the man you'll bother, I think," said Torrance, indicating +Lorry. "He's riding that horse." + +Lorry grinned. "Want to trade horses?" + +"I don't know. Is that your horse?" + +"Nope. I borrowed him. Is that your horse?" And he indicated Gray Leg. + +"No. I borrowed him." + +Torrance laughed. "The buckskin seems to be a pretty fair horse." + +"Then I ought to get somethin' to boot," suggested Lorry. + +"How much?" laughed Waring. + +"Oh, I don't know. You'll find that buckskin a mighty likely rambler." + +Waring turned to Torrance. "You'll witness that we made this trade, +John?" + +"All right. But remember; neither of you owns the horse you are +trading." + +"But we're goin' to," asserted Lorry. + +Waring reached beneath his coat and unbuckled a heavy belt. From buckle +to tongue it glittered with cartridges and a service-worn holster bulged +with a short-barreled Colt's .45. He handed the belt to Lorry. + +"It's a good gun," he said, "and I hope you'll never need to use it." + +Lorry stammered his thanks, untied Dex, and gave the reins into Waring's +hand. "The trade goes," he said. "But we change saddles." + +"Correct," said Waring. "And here's a letter--from your mother." + +Lorry slid the letter in his shirt. "How's the Weston folks?" + +"They were to leave this morning. Mrs. Weston asked me to pay you for +repairing their machine. She gave me the money." + +"You can keep it. I wasn't workin' for pay." + +"All right. Going to stay down here awhile?" + +"I aim to. Did you see anything of Buck Hardy on the way down?" + +"Hardy? Why, no. But I rode part way with his deputy. He's due here some +time to-day." + +"That bein' the case," said Lorry, swinging to the saddle, "I reckon +I'll hunt up Bud Shoop. Thanks for my horse. Mebby I'll be back in this +town in two, three days." And he was gone. + +Waring dropped Dex's reins. "Got a minute to spare, Torrance?" + +"Yes, indeed. You're looking well, Jim." + +In the office they shook hands again. + +"It's a long time," said Torrance, proffering a cigar. "You were +punching cattle for the Box S and I was a forest ranger those days. Did +Mexico get too hot?" + +"Warm. What's the boy doing down here?" + +"He seems to be keeping out of the way of the sheriff," laughed +Torrance. "Incidentally he applied for a position as ranger." + +"Did he? I'm glad of that. I was afraid he might get to riding the high +trails. He's got it in him." + +"You seem to know him pretty well." + +"Not so well as I would like to. I'm his father." + +"Why, I had no idea--but, come to think of it, he does resemble you. I +didn't know that you were married." + +"Yes. I married Annie Adams, of Las Cruces. He's our boy." + +Torrance saw that Waring did not care to talk further on the subject of +his married life. And Torrance recalled the fact that Mrs. Adams, who +lived in Stacey, had been in Mexico. + +"He's a live one," said Torrance. "I think I'll take him on." + +"I don't ask you to, John. He's got to play the game for himself. He may +not always do right, but he'll always do what he thinks is right, if I +am any judge. And he won't waste time doing it. I told Hardy's deputy on +the way down that he might as well give up running after the boy. Hardy +is pretty sore. Did Lorry tell you?" + +"Yes. And I can understand his side of it." + +"I think that little Weston girl dazzled him," said Waring. "She's +clever, and Lorry hasn't seen many of her kind. I think he would have +stayed right in Stacey and faced the music if she hadn't been there when +Hardy tried to arrest him. Lorry is only eighteen. He had to show off a +little." + +"Will Hardy follow it up?" + +"Not too strong. The folks in Stacey are giving Hardy the laugh. He's +not so popular as he might be." + +"I can't say that I blame Hardy, either. The boy was wrong." + +"Not a bit. Lorry was wrong." + +"It will blow over," said Torrance. "I had no idea he was your son." + +Waring leaned back in his chair. "John, I had two reasons for coming +down here. One was to get my horse. That's settled. Now I want to talk +about leasing a few thousand acres down this way, with water-rights. I'm +through with the other game. I want to run a few cattle in here, under +fence. I think it will pay." + +Torrance shook his head. "The Mormons and the Apaches will keep you +poor, Jim." + +"They might, if I tried it alone. But I have a partner just up from the +border. You remember Pat. He's been customs inspector at Nogales for +some time." + +"I should say I do remember him!" + +"Well, he asked me to look around and write to him. I think we could do +well enough here. What do you know about the land north of here, on up +toward the Santa Fe?" + +Torrance pondered the situation. The times were, indeed, changing when +men like Waring and Pat ceased to ride the high trails and settled down +to ranching under fence. The day of the gunman was past, but two such +men as Pat and Waring would suppress by their mere presence in the +country the petty rustling and law-breaking that had made Torrance's +position difficult at times. + +"I'll see what I can do," said he. "About how much land?" + +"Ten or twenty thousand, to begin with." + +"There's some Government land not on the reservation between here and +the railroad. There are three or four families of squatters on it now. I +don't know how they manage to live, but they always seem to have beef +and bacon. You might have some trouble about getting them off--and about +the water. I'll let you know some time next month just what I can do." + +"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. "That's the last thing we +want. I'll ride over next month. You can write to me at Stacey if +anything turns up." + +"I'll write to you. Do you ever get hungry? Come on over to the hotel. +I'm as hungry as a bear." + + + + +Chapter XIV + + +_Bondsman's Decision_ + +Bud Shoop's homestead on the Blue Mesa lay in a wide level of grassland, +round which the spruce of the high country swept in a great, blue-edged +circle. To the west the barren peak of Mount Baldy maintained a solitary +vigil in sunshine and tempest. Away to the north the timbered plateaus +dropped from level to level like a gigantic stair until they merged with +the horizon-line of the plains. The air on the Blue Mesa was thin and +keen; warm in the sun, yet instantly cool at dusk. A mountain stream, +all but hidden by the grasses, meandered across the mesa to an emerald +hollow of coarse marsh-grass. A few yards from this pool, and on its +southern side, stood the mountain cabin of the Shoop homestead, a roomy +building of logs, its wide, easy-sloping veranda roof covered with +home-made shakes. Near the house was a small corral and stable of logs. +Out on the mesa a thin crop of oats wavered in the itinerant breeze. +Round the cabin was a garden plot that had suffered from want of +attention. Above the gate to the door-yard was a weathered sign on which +was lettered carefully: + + "The rose is red; the violet blue; + Please shut this gate when you come through." + +And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possible +carelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:-- + + "Now you've been in and had your chuck, + Please close this gate, just once, for luck." + +Otherwise the place was like any mountain homestead of the better sort, +viewed from without. The interior of the cabin, however, was unusual in +that it boasted of being the only music-room within fifty miles in any +direction. + +When the genial Bud had been overtaken with the idea of homesteading, he +had had visions of a modest success which would allow him to entertain +his erstwhile cow-puncher companions when they should ride his way. To +this end he had labored with more heart than judgment. + +The main room was large and lighted by two unusually large windows. The +dimensions of the room were ample enough to accommodate a fair number of +dancers. Bud knew that if cowboys loved anything they loved to dance. +The phonograph was so common that it offered no distinction in gracing +Bud's camp; so with much labor and expense he had freighted an upright +piano from the distant railroad, an innovation that at first had stunned +and then literally taken the natives off their feet. Riders from all +over the country heard of Bud's piano, questioned its reality, and +finally made it a point to jog over and see for themselves. + +For a time Bud's homestead was popular. A real piano, fifty miles from +a settlement, was something worth riding far to see. But respect for the +shining veneer of the case was not long-lived. In a moment of +inspiration, a cowboy pulled out his jackknife and carved his home brand +on the shining case. Bud could have said more than he did when he +discovered it. Later another contingent, not to be outdone, followed +this cowboy's incisive example and carved its brand on the piano. +Naturally it became a custom. No visitor in boots and chaps left the +cabin without first having carved some brand. + +Bud suffered in silence, consoling himself with the thought that while +there were many pianos in the lower country, there were none like his. +And "As long as you don't monkey with her works or shoot her up," he +told his friends, "I don't care how much you carve her; only leave +enough sidin' and roof to hold her together." + +Cowboys came, danced long and late as Bud pumped the mechanical player, +and thrilled to the shuffle of high-heeled boots. Contingent after +contingent came, danced, and departed joyously, leaving Bud short on +rations, but happy that he could entertain so royally. Finally the +novelty wore off, and Bud was left with his Airedale, his saddle-ponies, +and the hand-carved piano. + +But Bud had profited by the innovation. An Easterner sojourning with Bud +for a season, had taught him to play two tunes--"Annie Laurie" and +"Dixie." "Real hand-made music," Bud was wont to remark. And with these +tunes at his disposal he was more than content. Many a long evening he +sat with his huge bulk swaying in the light of the hanging lamp as he +wandered around Maxwelton's braes in search of the true Annie Laurie; or +hopped with heavy sprightliness across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, while +Bondsman, the patient Airedale, sat on his haunches and accompanied Bud +with dismal energy. + +Bud was not a little proud of his accomplishment. The player was all +right, but it lacked the human touch. Even when an occasional Apache +strayed in and borrowed tobacco or hinted at a meal, Bud was not above +entertaining the wondering red man with music. And Bud disliked Apaches. + +And during these latter days Bud had had plenty of opportunity to +indulge himself in music. For hours he would sit and gently strike the +keys, finding unexpected harmonies that thrilled and puzzled him. The +discords didn't count. And Bondsman would hunch up close with watchful +eye and one ear cocked, waiting for the familiar strains of "Annie +Laurie" or "Dixie." He seemed to consider these tunes a sort of +accompaniment to his song. If he dared to howl when Bud was +extemporizing, Bud would rebuke him solemnly, explaining that it was not +considered polite in the best circles to interrupt a soloist. And an +evening was never complete without "Annie Laurie," and "Dixie," with +Bondsman's mournful contralto gaming ascendance as the evening +progressed. + +"That dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous," Bud was wont to +remark, as he rose from his labors and prepared for bed. "There I was +huntin' around for that chord I lit on the other night and almost +findin' it, when he has to howl like a coyote with a sore throat and +spile the whole thing. I ought to learned more tunes." + + * * * * * + +It was almost dusk when Lorry topped the trail that led across the Blue +Mesa to Bud's cabin. Gray Leg pricked his ears, and jogged over the wide +level, heading straight for the corral. The cabin was dark. Lorry +hallooed. A horse in the corral answered, nickering shrilly. Lorry found +some loose gramma grass in the stable and threw it to the horse. If this +was Shoop's place, Shoop would not be gone long, or he'd have turned the +horse to graze on the open mesa. + +Lorry entered and lighted the lamp. He gazed with astonishment at the +piano. But that could wait. He was hungry. In a few minutes he had a +fire going, plates laid for two, had made coffee and cut bacon. He was +mixing the dough for hot biscuit when he heard some one ride up. He +stepped to the door. A bulky figure was pulling a saddle from a horse. +Lorry called a greeting. + +"Just a minute, friend," came from the darkness. + +Lorry stepped to the kitchen, and put the biscuit pan in the oven. A +saddle thumped on the veranda, and Bud Shoop, puffing heavily, strode +in. He nodded, filled a basin, and washed. As he polished his bald spot, +his glance traveled from the stove to the table, and thence to Lorry, +and he nodded approval. + +"Looks like you was expectin' comp'ny," he said, smiling. + +"Yep. And chuck's about ready." + +"So am I," said Bud, rubbing his hands. + +"I'm Adams, from Stacey." + +"That don't make me mad," said Bud. "How's things over to your town?" + +"All right, I guess. Mr. Torrance--" + +Bud waved his hand. "Let's eat. Been out since daylight. Them biscuits +is just right. Help yourself to the honey." + +"There's somebody outside," said Lorry, his arm raised to pass the honey +jar. + +"That's my dog, Bondsman. He had to size up your layout, and he's +through and waitin' to size up you. Reckon he's hungry, too. But +business before pleasure is his idea mostly. He's tellin' me to let him +in. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous. When did you +get in?" + +"About sundown." + +"Uh-uh. I seen that your horse hadn't grazed out far yet. How do you +like this country?" + +"Good summer country, all right. Too high for stock in winter." + +"Yes. Four feet of snow on the mesa last winter. When you say 'Arizona' +to some folks, they don't think of snow so deep a hoss can't get from +the woods over there to this cabin." Bud Shoop sighed and rose. "Never +mind them dishes. Mornin' 'll do." + +"Won't take a minute," said Lorry. + +Bud's blue eyes twinkled as he waddled to the living-room. Young Adams +was handy around a kitchen. He had laid plates for two, knew how to +punch dough, was willing to wash the dishes without a hint, and had fed +the horse in the corral. + +"He trots right along, like he knew where he was goin'," Bud said to +himself. "I like his looks--but that ain't always a sign." + +Lorry whistled as he dried the dishes. Bud was seated in a huge armchair +when Lorry entered the room. Shoop seemed to pay no attention to +Bondsman, who whined and occasionally scratched on the door. + +"Funny thing happened this mornin'," said Shoop, settling himself in his +chair. "I was ridin' down the ole Milk Ranch Trail when I looked up and +seen a bobcat lopin' straight for me. The cat didn't see me, but my hoss +stopped, waitin' for me to shoot. Well, that kittycat come right along +till I could 'a' almost roped him. Bondsman--that's my dog--never seen +him, neither, till I hollered. You ought to seen that cat start back +without losin' a jump. I like to fell off the hoss, laughin'. Bondsman +he lit out--" + +"I'll let him in," said Lorry, moving toward the door. + +"--After that cat," continued Shoop, "but the cat never treed, I reckon, +for pretty soon back comes Bondsman, lookin' as disgusted as a hen in a +rainstorm. 'We're gettin' too old,' I tells Bondsman--" + +"Ain't you goin' to let him in?" queried Lorry. + +"--We're gettin' too old to chase bobcats just for fun," concluded +Shoop. "What was you sayin'?" + +"Your dog wants to come in." + +"That's right. Now I thought you was listenin' to me." + +"I was. But ain't he hungry?" + +Shoop chuckled. "Let him in, son." + +Lorry opened the door. Bondsman stalked in, sniffed at Lorry's boots, +and padded to the kitchen. + +"What do you feed him?" said Lorry, hesitating. + +"He won't take nothin' from you," said Shoop, heaving himself up. "I've +had him since he was a pup. You set down and I'll 'tend to him. + +"And I says to him," said Shoop, as he returned to his chair,--"I says, +'Bondsman, that there cat was just passin' the buck to us to see if we +was game.' And he ain't got over it yet." + +"I've roped 'em," said Lorry--"roped 'em out of a tree." + +"Uh-uh. Where'd you learn to rope?" + +"At the Starr Ranch. I worked there once." + +"Git tired of it?" + +"Nope. I had a argument with the foreman." + +"Uh-uh. I reckon it ain't hard to pick a fuss with High Chin." + +"I wasn't lookin' for a fuss. It was his funeral." + +"So I heard; all but the procession." + +"And that's why I came up to see you. Mr. Torrance told me to hunt you +up." + +"He did, eh? Well, now, John sure gets queer idees. I don't need a man +round here." + +"I was after a job in the Service." + +"And he sends you to me. Why, I ain't ever worked a day for the +Service." + +"I guess he wanted you to look me over," said Lorry, smiling. + +"Well, they's lots of time, 'less you're in a hurry." + +"If I can't get in the Service, I'll look up a job punchin'," said +Lorry. "I got to get somethin'." + +Bondsman stalked in, licking his chops. He nuzzled Shoop's hand. Lorry +snapped his fingers. Bondsman strode to him. Lorry patted his knee. The +big dog crouched and sprang to Lorry's knees, where he sat, studying him +quizzically, his head to one side, his keen eyes blinking in the +lamplight. Lorry laughed and patted the dog. + +"He's trying to get my number," said Lorry. + +"He's got it," said Shoop. "You could 'a' snapped your fingers off afore +he'd 'a' come nigh you, 'less he wanted to. And while we're talkin' +about it, you can tell John Torrance I said to give you a try." + +Lorry sat up quickly. "Guess you didn't know that Buck Hardy is lookin' +for me," said Lorry. "Mr. Torrance says I got to square myself with Buck +afore I get the job." + +"He did, eh? Well, speakin' of Buck, how would you like to hear a little +talk from a real music-box?" + +"Fine!" + +Shoop waddled to the piano. "I ain't no reg'lar music sharp," he +explained unnecessarily, "but I got a couple of pieces broke to go +polite. This here piano is cold-mouthed, and you got to rein her just +right or she'll buffalo you. This here piece is 'Annie Laurie.'" + +As Bud struck the first note, Bondsman leaped from Lorry's knees and +took his place beside the piano. The early dew had just begun to fall +when Bondsman joined in. Lorry grinned. The dog and his master were +absolutely serious in their efforts. As the tune progressed, Lorry's +grin faded, and he sat gazing intently at the huge back of his host. + +"Why, he's playin' like he meant it," thought Lorry. "And folks says Bud +Shoop was a regular top-hand stem-winder in his day." + +Shoop labored at the piano with nervous care. When he turned to Lorry +his face was beaded with sweat. + +"I rode her clean through to the fence," he said, with a kind of +apologetic grin. "How did you like that piece?" + +"I always did like them old tunes," replied Lorry. "Give us another." + +Shoop's face beamed. "I only got one more that I can get my rope on. But +if you can stand it, I can. This here one is 'Dixie.'" + +And Bud straightened his broad shoulders, pushed back his sleeves, and +waded across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, hitting the high spots with +staccato vehemence, as though Dixie had recently suffered from an +inundation and he was in a hurry to get to dry land. Bondsman's moody +baritone reached up and up with sad persistency. + +Lorry was both amused and astonished. Shoop's intensity, his real love +for music, was a revelation. Lorry felt like smiling, yet he did not +smile. Bud Shoop could not play, but his personality forced its own +recognition, even through the absurd medium of an untutored performance +on that weird upright piano. Lorry began to realize that there was +something more to Bud Shoop than mere bulk. + +Bud swung round, puffing. "I got that tune where I can keep her in sight +as long as she lopes on the level. But when she takes to jumpin' stumps +and makin' them quick turns, I sure have to do some hard ridin' to keep +her from losin' herself. Me and Bondsman's been worryin' along behind +them two tunes for quite a spell. I reckon I ought to started in +younger. But, anyhow, that there piano is right good comp'ny. When I +been settin' here alone, nights, and feelin' out her paces, I get so het +up and interested that I don't know the fire's out till Bondsman takes +to shiverin' and whinin' and tellin' me he'd like to get some sleep +afore mornin'." + +And Bondsman, now that the music had stopped, stalked to Lorry and eyed +him with an expression which said plainly: "It's his weak spot--this +music. You will have to overlook it. He's really a rather decent sort of +person." + +"I got a mechanical player in the bedroom," said Shoop. "And a reg'lar +outfit of tunes for dances." + +Lorry was tempted to ask to hear it, but changed his mind. "I've heard +them players. They're sure good for a dance, but I like real playin' +better." + +Bud Shoop grinned. "That's the way with Bondsman here. Now he won't open +his head to one of them paper tunes. I've tried 'em all on him. You +can't tell me a dog ain't got feelin's." + + + + +Chapter XV + + +_John and Demijohn_ + +The grass on the high mesa was heavy with dew when Lorry stepped from +the cabin next morning. His pony, Gray Leg, stood close to the corral, +where Shoop's horses were playfully biting at him over the bars. Lorry +unhobbled Gray Leg and turned Shoop's horses out to water. The three +ponies trotted to the water-hole, sniffed at the water, and, whirling, +raced across the mesa, pitching and kicking in the joy of liberation. + +After breakfast Bud and Lorry sat out in the sun, enjoying the slow +warmth. The morning air was still keen in the shade. Bondsman lay +between them, watching the distant horses. + +"He won't let 'em get far into the timber," said Shoop. "He sure saves +me a lot of steps, roundin' up them hosses." + +"I can whistle Gray Leg to me," said Lorry. "Then the other horses'll +come." + +Shoop nodded. "What you goin' to do to-day?" + +"Me? Well, it's so kind of quiet and big up here I feel like settin' +around and takin' it all in. I ain't been in the high country much. +'Course I don't aim to camp on you." + +"You're sure welcome," said Shoop heartily. "It gets lonesome up here. +But if you ain't got no reg'lar plan I was thinkin' of ridin' over to +Sheep Crossin'--and mebby on down to Jason." + +"Suits me fine!" + +Shoop heaved himself up. Lorry whistled shrilly. Gray Leg, across the +mesa, raised his head. Lorry whistled again. The pony lowered his head +and nipped at the bunch-grass as he moved slowly toward the house. +Shoop's horses watched him, and finally decided that they would follow. +Gray Leg stopped just out of reach. + +"Get in the corral, there!" said Lorry, waving his arm. + +The pony shied and trotted into the corral, the other horses following. + +Bondsman was not exactly disgruntled, but he might have been happier. +Shoop had told him to "keep house" until they returned. + +"It's a funny thing," said Shoop as he mounted. "Now, if I was to tell +that dog he was gettin' too old to ramble with me, he'd feel plumb sick +and no account. But when I tell him he's got to do somethin'--like +watchin' the house--he thinks it's a reg'lar job. He's gettin' old, but, +just like folks, he wants to think he's some use. You can't tell me dogs +don't know. Why, I've seen young folks so durned fussy about their +grandmas and grandpas, trying to keep 'em from putterin' around, that +the old folks just nacherally folded their hands and set down and died, +havin' nothin' else to do. And a dog is right proud about bein' able to +do somethin'. Bondsman there keeps me so busy thinkin' of how I can keep +him busy that I ain't got time to shine my boots. That there dog bosses +me around somethin' scandalous." + +"That's right," acquiesced Lorry. "I seen a ole mule once that they +turned loose from a freight wagon because he was too old to pull his own +weight. And that mule just followed the string up and down the hills and +across the sand, doin' his best to tell the skinner that he wanted to +get back into the harness. He would run alongside the other mules, and +try to get back in his old place. They would just naturally kick him, +and he'd turn and try to wallop 'em back. Then he'd walk along, with his +head hangin' down and his ears floppin', as if he was plumb sick of +bein' free and wanted to die. The last day he was too stiff to get on +his feet, so me and Jimmy Harp heaved him up while the skinner was +gettin' the chains on the other mules. That ole mule was sure wabblin' +like a duck, but he come aside his ole place and followed along all day. +We was freightin' in to camp, back in the Horseshoe Hills. You know that +grade afore you get to the mesa? Well, the ole mule pulled the grade, +sweatin' and puffin' like he was pullin' the whole load. And I guess he +was, in his mind. Anyhow, he got to the top, and laid down and died. +Mules sure like to work. Now a horse would have fanned it." + +Shoop nodded. "I never seen a animile too lazy to work if it was only +gettin' his grub and exercise. But I've seen a sight of folks too lazy +to do that much. Why, some folks is so dog-gone no account they got to +git killed afore folks ever knowed they was livin'. Then they's some +folks so high-chinned they can't see nothin' but the stars when they'd +do tol'able well if they would follow a good hoss or a dog around and +learn how to live human. But this ain't gettin' nowhere, and the sun's +keepin' right along doin' business." + +They rode across the beautiful Blue Mesa, and entered the timberlands, +following a ranger trail through the shadowy silences. At the lower +level, they came upon another mesa through which wound a mountain +stream. And along a stream ran the trail, knee-high in grass on either +side. + +Far below them lay the plains country, its hazy reaches just visible +over the tree-tops. Where the mountain stream merged with a deeper +stream the ground was barren and dotted with countless tracks of cattle +and sheep. This was Sheep Crossing, a natural pass where the cattlemen +and sheepmen drifted their stock from the hills to the winter +feeding-grounds of the lower country. It was a checking point for the +rangers; the gateway to the hills. + +The thin mountain air was hot. The unbridled ponies drank eagerly, and +were allowed to graze. The men moved over to the shade of a blue-topped +spruce. As Lorry was about to sit down he picked an empty whiskey bottle +from the grass, turned the label toward Shoop, and grinned. He tossed +the bottle into the edge of the timber. + +Shoop rolled a cigarette, and Lorry squatted beside him. Presently +Shoop's voice broke the indolent silence of noon: "Just why did you +chuck that bottle over there?" + +"I don't know. Horse might step on it and cut himself." + +"Yes. But you chucked it like you was mad at somethin'. Would you thrun +it away if it was full?" + +"I don' know. I might 'a' smelt of it to see if it was whiskey or +kerosene some herder forgot." + +"It's right curious how a fella will smell of a bottle to see what's in +it or what's been in it. Most folks does that. I guess you know what +whiskey smells like." + +"Oh, some; with the boys once or twice. I never did get to like it right +well." + +Shoop nodded. "I ain't what you'd call a drinkin' man myself, but I +started out that way. I been tol'able well lit up at times. But +temperance folks what never took a drink can tell you more about whiskey +than I can. Now that there empty bottle, a hundred and thirty miles from +a whiskey town, kind of set me thinkin'." + +Lorry leaned back against the spruce and watched a hawk float in easy +circles round the blue emptiness above. He felt physically indolent; at +one with the silences. Shoop's voice came to him clearly, but as though +from a distance, and as Shoop talked Lorry visualized the theme, +forgetting where he was in the vivid picture the old ex-cowboy sketched +in the rough dialect of the range. + +"I've did some thinkin' in my time, but not enough to keep me awake +nights," said Shoop, pushing back his hat. "That there whiskey bottle +kind of set me back to where I was about your years and some lively. +Long about then I knowed two fellas called 'John' and 'Demijohn.' John +was young and a right good cow-hand. Demijohn was old, but he was always +dressed up like he was young, and he acted right lively. Some folks +thought he was young. They met up at a saloon down along the Santa Fe. +They got acquainted, and had a high ole time. + +"That evenin', as John was leavin' to go back to the ranch, Demijohn +tells him he'll see him later. John remembers that. They met up ag'in. +And finally John got to lookin' for Demijohn, and if he didn't show up +reg'lar John would set out and chase Demijohn all over the country, +afoot and ahorseback, and likin' his comp'ny more every time they met. + +"Now, this here Demijohn, who was by rights a city fella, got to takin' +to the timber and the mesas, with John followin' him around lively. Ole +Demijohn would set in the shade of a tree--no tellin' how he got +there--and John would ride up and light down; when mebby Demijohn would +start off to town, bein' empty, and John after him like hell wasn't hot +enough 'less he sweat runnin'. And that young John would ride clean to +town just to say 'How' to that ole hocus. And it come that John got to +payin' more attention to Demijohn than he did to punchin' cows. Then +come a day when John got sick of chasin' Demijohn all over the range, +and he quit. + +"But the first thing he knowed, Demijohn was a chasin' him. Every time +John rode in and throwed off his saddle there'd be ole Demijohn, settin' +in the corner of the corral or under his bunk or out in the box stall, +smilin' and waitin'. Finally Demijohn got to followin' John right into +the bunk-house, and John tryin' his durndest to keep out of sight. + +"One evenin', when John was loafin' in the bunk-house, ole Demijohn +crawls up to his bunk and asks him, whisperin', if he ain't most always +give John a good time when they met up. John cussed, but 'lowed that +Demijohn was right. Then Demijohn took to pullin' at young John's sleeve +and askin' him to come to town and have a good time. Pretty soon John +gets up and saddles his cayuse and fans it for town. And that time him +and Demijohn sure had one whizzer of a time. But come a week later, when +John gits back to the ranch, the boss is sore and fires him. Then John +gits sore at the boss and at himself and at Demijohn and the whole +works. So he saddles up and rides over to town to have it out with +Demijohn for losin' a good job. But he couldn't lick Demijohn right +there in town nohow. Demijohn was too frequent for him. + +"When young John wakes up next mornin' he is layin' under a tree, mighty +sick. He sees he is up on the high mesa, but he don' know how he got +there; only his pony is grazin' near by, with reins all tromped and the +saddle 'way up on his withers. John sets up and rubs his eyes, and there +he sees ole Demijohn settin' in the grass chucklin' to hisself, and his +back is turned to young John, for he don't care nohow for a fella when +he is sick. Ole Demijohn is always feelin' good, no matter how his +friends feel. Well, young John thinks a while, and pretty soon he moseys +over to a spring and gets a big, cold drink and washes his head, and +feels better. + +"He never knowed that just plain water tasted so good till that mornin'. +Then he sets awhile, smellin' of the clean pine air and listenin' to the +wind runnin' loose in the tree-tops and watchin' the clouds driftin' by, +white and clean and proud-like. Pretty soon he rares up and walks over +to the tree where ole Demijohn sets rockin' up and down and chucklin'. +He takes a holt of Demijohn by the shoulder, and he says: 'You darned +ole hocus, you, I lost my job, and I'm broke, lopin' around this country +with you.' + +"'Forget it!' says ole Demijohn. 'Ain't I good comp'ny?' + +"'Mebby you be--for some folks,' says young John. 'But not for me. You +don't belong up in this here country; you belong back in town, and I +reckon you better fan it.' + +"Ole Demijohn he laughed. 'You can't run me off the range that easy,' he +says. + +"'I can't, eh?' says young John, and he pulls his gun and up and busts +ole Demijohn over the head. Then, bein' a likely young fella, he shuts +his jaw tight and fans it back to the ranch. The fo'man is some +surprised to see him come ridin' up, whistlin' like he owned the works. +Fellas what's fired mostly looks for work some place else. But young +John got the idee that he owed it to hisself to make good where he +started as a cow-hand. 'I busted my ole friend Demijohn over the head,' +he says to the fo'man. 'We ain't friends no more.' + +"The fo'man he grins. 'All right, Jack,' he says. 'But if I see him +hangin' round the corrals ag'in, or in the bunk-house, you needn't to +wait for me to tell you which way is north.' + +"Well, young John had done a good job. 'Course ole Demijohn used to come +sneakin' round in the moonlight, once in a spell, botherin' some of the +boys, but he stayed clear of young John. And young John he took to +ridin' straight and hard and 'tendin' to business. I ain't sayin' he +ever got to be president or superintendent of a Sunday School, for this +ain't no story-book yarn; but he always held a good job when he wanted +it, and he worked for a good boss--which was hisself." + +Lorry grinned as he turned to Shoop. "That ole Demijohn never got close +enough to me to get busted on the head." + +"Them hosses is strayin' down the creek," said Shoop, rising. + +They turned and rode north, somewhat to Lorry's surprise. The trail was +ragged and steep, and led from the mesa to the canon bottom of the White +River. Before Lorry realized where they were, Jason loomed before them +on the mesa below. + +"She's a quick trail to town in summer," explained Shoop. "Snow hangs +too heavy in the canon to ride it in winter." + +At Jason they tied their horses, and entered the ranger's office. Lorry +waited while Shoop talked with Torrance in the private office. Presently +Shoop came to the door and gestured to Lorry. + +"Mr. Shoop says he thinks you could qualify for the Service," Torrance +said. "We will waive the matter of recommendations from the Starr +people. But there is one thing I can't do. I can't hire a man who is +wanted by the authorities. There's a deputy sheriff in town with a +warrant for you. That is strictly your affair. If you can square +yourself with the deputy, I'll put you to work." + +"I'll go see what he wants," said Lorry. + +"He wants you. Understand, you'll only jeopardize your chances by +starting a row." + +"They won't be a row," said Lorry. + +When he returned he was accompanied by the deputy. Lorry took his stand +without parley. + +"I want to ask you folks a question, and then I'm through," he asserted. +"Will you listen to what he says and what I say, and then say who is +right?" + +"That might not settle it," said Torrance. "But go ahead." + +"Then all I got to say is, was I right or wrong when I turned that hobo +loose and saved him from gettin' beat up by High Chin and the boys, and +mebby strung up, afore they got through?" + +"Morally you were right," said Torrance. "But you should have appealed +to Sheriff Hardy to guard his prisoner." + +"That's all right, Mr. Torrance. But suppose they wasn't time. And +suppose,--now Buck's deputy is here to listen to it,--suppose I was to +say that Buck is scared to death of High-Chin Bob. Everybody knows it." + +The deputy flushed. He knew that Lorry spoke the truth. + +Torrance turned to Shoop. "What do you think, Bud?" + +Bud coughed and shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Bein' as I'm drug into +this, I say the boy did a good job and he's right about Hardy, which +you can tell him," he added, turning to the deputy. + +"Then that's all I got to say," and Lorry pushed back his hat and +rumpled his hair. + +The deputy was not there to argue. He had been sent to get Lorry. + +"I don't say he ain't right. But how about my job if I ride back to +Stacey with nothin' to show for the trip but my expense card?" + +"Buck Hardy isn't a fool," said Torrance. + +"Oh, hell!" said Lorry, turning to the deputy. "I'll go back with you. +I'm sick of jawin' about the right and the wrong and who's to blame. But +I want to say in company that I'll go just as far as the county line of +this county. You're south of your county. If you can get me across the +line, I'll go on to Stacey." + +Bud Shoop mopped his face with a bandanna. He was not overhot, but he +wanted to hide the grin that spread over his broad countenance. He +imagined he could see the deputy just about the time they arrived at the +county line, and the mental picture seemed to amuse him. + +"The idee is, the kid thinks he's right," said Shoop presently. +"Speakin' personal, I never monkey with a man when he thinks he's +right--and he is." + +"All I got to go by is the law," asserted the deputy. "As for Adams here +sayin' I won't run him in, I got orders to do it, and them orders goes." + +"Adams has applied for a position in the Service," said Torrance. + +"I ain't got anything against Lorry personal," said the deputy. + +"Then just you ride back an' tell Buck Hardy that Bud Shoop says he'll +stand responsible for Adams keepin' the peace in Jason County, same as I +stood responsible for Buck oncet down in the Panhandle. Buck will +remember, all right." + +"Can't you give me a letter to Buck, explainin' things?" queried the +deputy. + +Bud glanced at Torrance. "I think we can," said the supervisor. + +Lorry stepped to the door with the deputy. There was no personal feeling +evident as they shook hands. + +"You could tell ma to send down my clothes by stage," said Lorry. + +Shoop and Torrance seemed to be enjoying themselves. + +"I put in my say," said Bud, "'cause I kind of like the kid. And I +reckon I saved that deputy a awful wallopin'. When a fella like young +Adams talks pleasant and chokes his hat to death at the same time you +can watch out for somethin' to fall." + +"Do you think Adams would have had it out with him?" + +"He'd 'a' rode along a spell, like he said. Mebby just this side of the +county line he'd 'a' told the deputy which way was north. And if the +deputy didn't take the hint, I reckon Adams would 'a' lit into him. I +knowed Adams's daddy afore he married Annie Adams and went to live in +Sonora." + +"Then you knew that his father was Jim Waring?" + +"I sure did. And I reckon I kep' somebody from gettin' a awful +wallopin'. I was a kid oncet myself." + + + + +Chapter XVI + + +_Play_ + + +The installation of Bud Shoop as supervisor of the White Mountain +District was celebrated with an old-fashioned barbecue by the cattlemen +and sheepmen leasing on the reserve. While John Torrance had always +dealt fairly with them, the natives felt that he was more or less of a +theorist in the matter of grazing-leases. Shoop was a practical cowman; +one of themselves. Naturally there was some dissatisfaction expressed by +disgruntled individuals who envied Shoop's good fortune. But this was +overwhelmed by the tide of popular acclaim with which Shoop was hailed +as a just administrator of their grazing-rights. + +The barbecue was a boisterous success. Although the day of large +holdings was past, the event lacked nothing in numbers or enthusiasm. +The man who owned a hundred head of cattle was quite as popular as his +neighbor who owned perhaps eight hundred or a thousand. Outfits +fraternized, ran pony races, roped for prizes, and rode bucking horses, +as their predecessors had raced, roped, and "rode 'em" in the days of +old. + +Lorry, itching to enter the roping contest, was checked by a suggestion +from the genial Bud. + +"I've heard you was top-hand with a rope. But you're a ranger, by the +grace of God and me and John Torrance. Let the boy's play, but don't +play with 'em yet. Keep 'em guessin' just how good you are. Let 'em get +to know you slow--and solid." + +Lorry accepted Bud's advice, and made himself popular with the various +outfits by maintaining a silence when questioned as to how he "put +High-Chin Bob out of business." The story of that affair had had a wide +circulation, and gained interest when it became known that High Chin and +his men were present. Their excuse for coming was only legitimate in +that a barbecue draws no fine lines of distinction. Any one who has a +horse and an appetite is welcome. The Starr riders were from the +northern county, but they would have been quite as welcome had they come +from Alaska. + +Bud Shoop was present in a suit of religiously severe black, his pants +outside his boots. He had donned a white shirt and knotted a black silk +bandanna round his short neck. + +The morning was noisy with pony races, roping contests, and the riding +of pitching horses. The events were not tabulated, but evolved through +the unwritten law of precedent. + +After the noon feast there was talk of a shooting-match. Few of the +local men packed guns, and none of them openly. The Starr riders were +the only exception. This fact was commented upon by some of the +old-timers, who finally accosted Bud with the suggestion that he "show +that Starr outfit what a gun was made for." Bud declined. + +"I ain't had a gun in my hand, except to clean it, since I quit +punchin'," he told them. "And, anyhow, I'm no fancy gun sharp." + +"High Chin and his outfit is sure handin' it to us," complained the +old-timers. "And you're about the only man here who could show 'em." + +"No use provin' it to 'em when they know it," Bud said. + +The committee retired and consulted among themselves. Bud was talking +with a cattleman when they again accosted him. + +"Say, Bud, them Starr boys has cleaned us out on ropin' and racin'. We +trimmed 'em on ridin'. Now that makes two to one, and we're askin' you +as a old-timer if we're goin' to let them fellas ride north a-tellin' +every hay-tosser atween here and Stacey that we're a bunch of jays?" + +"Oh, shucks!" was all Bud had to say. + +"And that High-Chin Bob says he aims to hang young Adams's scalp on his +belt afore he gits through," asserted a townsman. + +"I'll set in the game," said Bud. + +And he waddled across the street to his office. In a few minutes he came +back and mingled with the crowd. The Starr boys were pitching dollars at +a mark when Bud and a companion strolled past. High Chin invited Shoop +to join in the game. Shoop declined pleasantly. + +"Things is runnin' slow," said a Starr man. "Wish I'd 'a' fetched my +music along. Mebby I could git somebody to sing me to sleep." + +Bud laughed. "Have a good time, boys." And he moved on. + +"That was one for you--and yore piano," said his companion. + +"Mebby so. We'll let that rest. I'm lookin' for a friend of mine." And +Shoop edged along the crowd. + +The man that Shoop was looking for was standing alone beneath the shade +of an acacia, watching the crowd. He was a tall, heavy man, +dark-featured, with a silver-gray beard and brown eyes that seemed to +twinkle with amusement even when his lips were grim. The giant sheepman +of the south country was known to every one on account of his great +physique and his immense holdings in land and sheep. Shoop talked with +him for a few minutes. Together they strolled back to the crowd. + +The Starr boys were still pitching dollars when Shoop and the sheepman +approached. + +"Who's top-hand in this game?" queried Shoop genially. + +"High Chin--and at any game you got," said a Starr man. + +"Well, now!" + +"Any game you got." + +Shoop gazed about, saw Lorry, and beckoned to him. + +"Here's my candidate," said Shoop. "He kep' out of the ropin' so as to +give you fellas a chance." And he turned to Lorry. "Give him a whirl," +he said, indicating High Chin. "It's worth a couple of dollars just to +find out how good he is." + +High Chin surveyed the circle of faces, poised a dollar, and threw it. +Lorry threw and lost. High Chin pocketed the two dollars. The Starr boys +grinned. High Chin threw again. The dollar slid close to the line. Lorry +shied his dollar and knocked the other's coin several feet away from the +line. + +"Try him ag'in," said Shoop. + +Lorry tossed again. His dollar dropped on the line. High Chin threw. His +coin clinked squarely on Lorry's, but spun off, leaving it undisturbed. + +"You break even--at that game," said Shoop. "It was a good shot." + +"Folks been sayin' the same of you," said High Chin, turning to the +supervisor. + +"Oh, folks will talk. They're made that way," chuckled Shoop. + +"Well, I got ten bucks that says High Chin can outshoot any hombre in +this crowd," said a Starr boy. + +"I'm right glad you got it," said Shoop pleasantly. + +"Meanin' I stand to lose it, eh?" + +"Oh, gosh, no! You're steppin' on your bridle. I was congratulatin' you +on your wealth." + +"I ain't seen that you been flashin' any money," said the cowboy. + +"Nope. That ain't what money's made for. And I never bet on a sure +thing. Ain't no fun in that." + +The giant sheepman, whose movements were as deliberate as the sun's, +slowly reached in his pocket and drew out a leather pouch. He counted +out forty dollars in gold-pieces. + +"I'll lay it even," he said, his eyes twinkling, "that Bud Shoop can +outshoot any man in the crowd." + +"I'll take ten of that," said the Starr man. + +"And I'll take ten," said another cowboy. + +"John," said Shoop, turning to the sheepman, "you're a perpendicular +dam' fool." + +Word went forth that High-Chin Bob, of the Starr, and Bud Shoop were to +shoot a match for a thousand dollars a side, and some of the more +enthusiastic believed it. In a few minutes the street was empty of all +save the ponies at the hitching-rails. + +In a shallow arroyo back of town the excited throng made wagers and +talked of wonderful shots made by the principals. High Chin was known as +a quick and sure shot. Shoop's reputation was known to fewer of the +crowd. The Starr boys backed their foreman to the last cent. A judge was +suggested, but declined as being of the locality. Finally the giant +sheepman, despite his personal wager, was elected unanimously. He was +known to be a man of absolute fairness, and qualified to judge +marksmanship. He agreed to serve, with the proviso that the Starr boys +or any of High Chin's friends should feel free to question his +decisions. The crowd solidified back of the line, where Shoop and High +Chin stood waiting for the test. + +The marksmen faced two bottles on a rock some thirty paces away. At the +word, each was to "go for his gun" and shoot. High Chin carried his gun +in the usual holster. Bud Shoop's gun was tucked in the waistband of his +pants. + +"Go!" said the sheepman. + +High Chin's hand flashed to his hip. His gun jumped and spoke. Shoop's +wrist turned. Both bottles were shattered on the instant. A tie was +declared. + +The men were placed with their backs toward the targets--two empty +bottles. The sheepman faced them, with his hands behind his back. When +he snapped his fingers they were to turn and fire. Many of the onlookers +thought this test would leave High Chin a point ahead. + +Both men swung and fired at the signal. Again both bottles were +shattered. Although a tie was again declared, the crowd cheered for +Shoop, realizing his physical handicap. Yet many asserted that High Chin +was the faster man, won to this decision by his lightning speed of +movement and his easy manner, suggesting a kind of contemptuous +indifference to results. + +In contrast to High Chin's swift, careless efficiency, Shoop's solid +poise and lack of elbow motion showed in strong relief. Their methods +were entirely dissimilar. But it was evident to the old-timers that +Shoop shot with less effort and waste motion than his lithe competitor. +And High Chin was the younger man by twenty years. + +Thus far the tests had not been considered difficult. But when the +sheepman stepped off ten paces and faced the competitors with a cigar +held at arm's length, the chattering of the crowd ceased. High Chin, as +guest, was asked to shoot first. He raised his gun. It hung poised for a +second. As it jumped in his hand the ash flirted from the end of the +cigar. The crowd stamped and cheered. Shoop congratulated High Chin. The +crowd hooted and called to Shoop to make good. Even as they called, his +hand flashed up. Hardly had the report of his gun startled them to +silence when they saw that his hands were empty. A roar of laughter +shook the crowd. Some one pointed toward the sheepman. The laughter died +down. He held a scant two inches of cigar in his fingers. Then they +understood, and were silent again. They gathered round the sheepman. He +held up his arms. Shoop's bullet had nipped the cigar in two before they +had realized that he intended to shoot. + +"You're havin' the luck," said High. + +"You're right," said Shoop. "And luck, if she keeps steady gait, is just +as good a hoss to ride as they is." + +Still, there were those who maintained that Shoop had made a chance +hit. But High Chin knew that this was not so. He had met his master at +the six-gun game. + +Bud Shoop's easy manner had vanished. As solid as a rock, his lips in a +straight line, he waited for the next test while High Chin talked and +joked with the bystanders. + +"You'll shoot when you see something to shoot at," was the sheepman's +word. The crowd laughed. He stood behind the marksmen, a tin can in each +hand. Both High Chin and Shoop knew what was coming, and Shoop decided +to surprise the assemblage. The main issue was not the shooting contest, +and if High-Chin Bob had not already seen enough of Shoop's work to +satisfy him, the genial Bud intended to clinch the matter right there. + +Without warning, the sheepman tossed the cans into the air. Shoop and +High Chin shot on the instant. But before High Chin's can touched the +ground Shoop shot again. It was faster work than any present had ever +seen. A man picked up the cans and brought them to the sheepman. One can +had a clean hole in it. The other had two holes through it. Those +nearest the marksmen wondered why Shoop had not shot twice at his own +can. But the big sheepman knew that Shoop had called High Chin's bluff +about "any game going." + +Even then the match was a tie so far as precedent demanded. Each man +had made a hit on a moving target. + +The crowd had ceased to applaud. + +"How about a try from the saddle?" suggested High Chin. + +"I reckon I look just as fat and foolish settin' in a saddle as +anywhere," said Shoop. + +The crowd shuffled over to a more open spot, on the mesa. Shoop and High +Chin mounted their horses. A tin cracker box was placed on a flat rock +out in the open. + +The men were to reload and shoot at top speed as they rode past the box. +The Starr foreman immediately jumped his pony to a run, and, swaying +easily, threw a shot at the box as he approached it, another and another +when opposite, and, turning in the saddle, fired his three remaining +shots. The box was brought back and inspected. The six shots had all +hit. + +Shoop, straight and solid as a statue, ran his pony down the course, but +held his fire until almost opposite the box. Then six reports rippled +out like the drawing of a stick quickly across a picket fence. It was +found that the six shots had all hit in one side of the box. The +sheepman was asked for a decision. He shook his head and declared the +match a draw. And technically it was a draw. Every one seemed satisfied, +although there was much discussion among individuals as to the relative +merits of the contestants. + +As the crowd dispersed and some of them prepared to ride home, two +horsemen appeared on the northern road, riding toward town. As they drew +nearer Shoop chuckled. Lorry, standing a few paces away, glanced at him. + +The supervisor was talking to Bob Brewster. "High, you're the best I +ever stacked up against, exceptin' one, and it's right curious that he +is just a-ridin' into this powwow. If you want to see what real shootin' +is, get him to show you." + +"I don't know your friend," said High, eyeing the approaching horsemen, +"but he's a beaut if he can outshoot you." + +"Outshoot me? Say, High, that hombre ridin' the big buckskin hoss there +could make us look about as fast as a couple of fence-posts when it +comes to handlin' a gun. And his pardner ain't what you'd call slow." + +High Chin's lean face darkened as he recognized Waring riding beside a +gaunt, long-legged man whose gray eyes twinkled as he surveyed the +little group. + +"Pat--and Jim Waring," muttered Shoop. "And us just finished what some +would call a ole-time shootin'-bee!" + +"Who's your friend?" queried High Chin, although he knew. + +"Him? That's Jim Waring, of Sonora. And say, High, I ain't his +advertisin' agent, but between you and me he could shoot the fuzz out of +your ears and never as much as burn 'em. What I'm tellin' you is +first-class life insurance if you ain't took out any. And before you go +I just want to pass the word that young Adams is workin' for _me_. +Reckon you might be interested, seein' as how he worked for you a +spell." + +High Chin met Shoop's gaze unblinkingly. He was about to speak when Pat +and Waring, rode up and greeted the supervisor. High Chin wheeled his +horse and loped back to town. A few minutes later he and his men rode +past. To Shoop's genial wave of farewell they returned a whoop that +seemed edged with a vague challenge. + +Pat, who was watching them, asked Shoop who the man was riding the +pinto. + +"Why, that's High-Chin Bob Brewster, Starr fo'man. He's kind of a wild +bird. I reckon he came over here lookin' for trouble. He's been walkin' +around with his wings and tail spread like he was mad at somethin'." + +"I thought I knew him," said Pat. And he shrugged his shoulders. + +Shoop noticed that Waring was gazing at Pat in a peculiar manner. He +attached no significance to this at the time, but later he recalled the +fact that there had been trouble between Pat and the Brewster boys some +years ago. The Brewsters had then openly threatened to "get Pat if he +ever rode north again." + + + + +Chapter XVII + + +_Down the Wind_ + +Waring, several miles out from the home shack, on the new range, sat his +horse Dexter, watching his men string fence. They ran the barbed wire +with a tackle, stringing it taut down the long line of bare posts that +twinkled away to dots in the west. Occasionally Waring rode up and +tested the wire with his hand. The men worked fast. Waring and Pat had +picked their men; three husky boys of the high country who considered +stringing fence rather pleasant exercise. There was no recognized +foreman. Each knew his work, and Waring had added a foreman's pay to +their salaries, dividing it equally among them. Later they would look +after the ranch and the cattle. + +Twenty thousand acres under fence, with plenty of water, would take care +of eight hundred or a thousand head of cattle. And as a provision +against a lean winter, Waring had put a mowing-machine in at the eastern +end of the range, where the bunch-grass was heavy enough to cut. It +would be necessary to winter-feed. Four hundred white-faced Herefords +grazed in the autumn sunshine. Riding round and among them leisurely was +the Mexican youth, Ramon. + +Backed against a butte near the middle of the range was the broad, +low-roofed ranch-house. A windmill purred in the light breeze, its lean, +flickering shadow aslant the corrals. The buildings looked new and raw +in contrast to the huge pile of grayish-green greasewood and scrub cedar +gathered from the clearing round them. + +In front of the house was a fenced acre, ploughed and harrowed to a dead +level. This was to be Pat's garden, wherein he had planned to grow all +sorts of green things, including cucumbers. At the moment Pat was +standing under the veranda roof, gazing out across the ranch. The old +days of petty warfare, long night rides, and untold hardships were past. +Next spring his garden would bloom; tiny green tendrils would swell to +sturdy vines. Corn-leaves would broaden to waving green blades shot with +the rich brown of the ripening ears. Although he had never spoken of it, +Pat had dreamed of blue flowers nodding along the garden fence; +old-fashioned bachelor's-buttons that would spring up as though by +accident. But he would have to warn Waco, the erstwhile tramp, not to +mistake them for weeds. + +"Peace and plenty," muttered Pat, smiling to himself. "The Book sure +knows how to say those things." + +The gaunt, grizzled ex-sheriff reached in his vest for a cigar. As he +bit the end off and felt for a match, he saw a black speck wavering in +the distance. He shaded his eyes with his hand. + +"'Tain't a machine," he said. "And it ain't a buckboard. Some puncher +lookin' for a job, most likely." + +He turned and entered the house. Waco, shaven and in clean shirt and +overalls, was "punching dough" in the kitchen. + +"Did Jim say when he would ride in?" queried Pat. + +"About sundown. I fixed 'em up some chuck this morning. Jim figures +they're getting too far out to ride in every noon." + +"Well, when you get your bread baked we'll take a whirl at those +ditches. How are the supplies holding out?" + +"We're short on flour. Got enough to last over till Monday. Plenty bacon +and beans and lard." + +"All right. We'll hook up to-morrow and drive in." + +Waco nodded as he tucked a roll of dough into the pan. Pat watched him +for a moment. Waco, despite his many shortcomings, could cook, and, +strangely enough, liked to putter round the garden. + +Picked up half-starving on the mesa road, near St. Johns, he had been +brought to the ranch by Pat, where a month of clean air and industry had +reshaped the tramp to something like a man. Both Pat and Waring knew +that the hobo was wanted in Stacey. They had agreed to say nothing about +the tramp's whereabouts just so long as he made himself useful about +the ranch. They would give him a chance. But, familiar with his kind, +they were mildly skeptical as to Waco's sincerity of purpose. If he took +to drinking, or if Buck Hardy heard of his whereabouts, he would have to +go. Meanwhile, he earned his keep. He was a good cook, and a good cook, +no matter where or where from, is a power in the land. + +As Waco closed the oven door some one hallooed. Pat stepped to the +veranda. A cowboy astride a bay pony asked if Waring were around. + +"I can take your message," said Pat. + +"Well, it's for you, I guess. Letter from Buck Hardy." + +"Yes, it's for me," said Pat. "Who sent you?" + +"Hardy. Said something about you had a man down here he wanted." + +"All right. Stay for chuck?" + +"I got to git back. How's things down this way?" + +"Running on time. Just tell Buck I'll be over right soon." + +"To-day?" + +Pat's gray eyes hardened. "Buck tell you to ask me that?" + +"Well--no. I was just wonderin'." + +"Then keep right on wondering," said Pat. "You got your answer." + +The cowboy swung up and rode off. "To hell with him!" he said. "Thinks +he can throw a scare into me because he's got a name for killin'. To +hell him!" + +Pat climbed the hill back of the house and surveyed the glimmering +levels. + +"Wish Jim would ride in. Funny thing--Hardy sending a Starr boy with +word for me. But perhaps the kid was riding this way, anyhow." + +Pat shook his head, and climbed slowly down to the house. Waco was busy +in the kitchen when he came in. + +After the noon meal, Pat again climbed the hill. He seemed worried about +something. When he returned he told Waco to hitch the pintos to the +buckboard. + +"Get your coat," he told Waco. "We're going over to Stacey." + +Waco's hands trembled. "Say, boss, if you don't mind--" + +"Get your coat. I'll talk to Buck. You needn't to worry. I'll square you +with Buck. We can use you here." + +Waco did as he was told. They drove out of the yard. Waco leaped down +and closed the gate. + +The pintos shook themselves into the harness and trotted down the +faintly marked new road. The buckboard swayed and jolted. Something +rubbed against Waco's hip. He glanced down and saw Pat's gun on the seat +between them. Pat said nothing. He was thinking hard. The cowboy +messenger's manner had not been natural. The note bore the printed +heading of the sheriff's office. Perhaps it was all right. And if it +were not, Pat was not the man to back down from a bluff. + +Several miles out from the ranch ran the naked posts of the line fence. +Pat reined in the ponies and gazed up and down the line. A mile beyond, +the ranch road merged with the main-traveled highway running east and +west. He spoke to the horses. They broke into a fast trot. Waco, +gripping the seat, stared straight ahead. Why had Pat laid that gun on +the seat? + +A thin, gray veil drifted across the sun. From the northwest a light +wind sprang up and ran across the mesa, whipping the bunch-grass. The +wind grew heavier, and with it came a fine, dun-colored dust. An hour +and the air was thick with a shifting red haze of sand. The sun glowed +dimly through the murk. + +Waco turned up his coat-collar and shivered. The air was keen. The +ponies fought the bit, occasionally breaking into a gallop. Pat braced +his feet and held them to a trot. A weird buzzing came down the wind. +The ponies reared and took to the ditch as a machine flicked past and +drummed away in the distance. + +To Waco, rigid and staring, the air seemed filled with a kind of +hovering terror, a whining threat of danger that came in bursts of +driving sand and dwindled away to harsh whisperings. He stood it as +long as he could. Pat had not spoken. + +[Illustration: A huddled shape near a boulder] + +Waco touched his arm. "I got a hunch," he said hoarsely,--"I got a hunch +we oughta go back." + +Pat nodded. But the ponies swept on down the road, their manes and tails +whipping in the wind. Another mile and they slowed down in heavy sand. +The buckboard tilted forward as they descended the sharp pitch of an +arroyo. Unnoticed, Pat's gun slipped to the floor of the wagon. + +In the arroyo the wind seemed to have died away, leaving a startled +quietness. It still hung above them, and an occasional gust filled their +eyes with grit. Waco drew a deep breath. The ponies tugged through the +heavy sand. + +Without a sound to warn them a rider appeared close to the front wheel +of the buckboard. Waco shrank down in sodden terror. It was the Starr +foreman, High-Chin Bob. Waco saw Pat's hand flash to his side, then +fumble on the seat. + +"I'm payin' the Kid's debt," said High Chin, and, laughing, he threw +shot after shot into the defenseless body of his old enemy. + +Waco saw Pat slump forward, catch himself, and finally topple from the +seat. As the reins slipped from his fingers the ponies lunged up the +arroyo. Waco crouched, clutching the foot-rail. A bullet hummed over his +head. Gaining the level, the ponies broke into a wild run. The red wind +whined as it drove across the mesa. The buckboard lurched sickeningly. +A scream of terror wailed down the wind as the buckboard struck a +telegraph pole. A blind shock--and for Waco the droning of the wind had +ceased. + +Dragging the broken traces, the ponies circled the mesa and set off at a +gallop toward home. At the side of the road lay the splintered +buckboard, wheels up. And Waco, hovering on the edge of the black abyss, +dreamed strange dreams. + + * * * * * + +Waring, riding in with the crew, found the ranch-house deserted and the +pinto ponies dragging the shreds of a broken harness, grazing along the +fence. Waring sent a man to catch up the team. Ramon cooked supper. The +men ate in silence. + +After supper Waring changed his clothes, saddled Dex, and packed some +food in the saddle-pockets. "I am going out to look for Pat," he told +one of his men. "If Waco shows up, keep him here till I get back. Those +horses didn't get away from Pat. Here's a signed check. Get what you +need and keep on with the work. You're foreman till I get back." + +"If there's anything doing--" began the cowboy. + +"I don't know. Some one rode in here to-day. It was along about noon +that Pat and Waco left. The bread was baked. I'd say they drove to town +for grub; only Pat took his gun--without the holster. It looks bad to +me. If anything happens to me, just send for Lorry Adams at the Ranger +Station." + +Waring rode out, looking for tracks. His men watched him until he had +disappeared behind a rise. Bender, the new foreman, turned to his +fellows. + +"I'd hate to be the man that the boss is lookin' for," he said, shaking +his head. + +"Why, he's lookin' for Pat, ain't he?" queried one of the men. + +"That ain't what I mean," said the foreman. + + * * * * * + +The wind died down suddenly. The sun, just above the horizon, glowed +like a disk of burnished copper. The wagon ruts were filled with fine +sand. Waring read the trail. The buckboard had traveled briskly. It had +stopped at the line. The tracks of the fretting ponies showed that +clearly. Alongside the tracks of the ponies were the half-hidden tracks +of a single horse. Waring glanced back at the sun, and put Dex to a +lope. He swung into the main road, his gaze following the +half-obliterated trail of the single horseman. Suddenly he reined up. +The horseman had angled away from the road and had ridden north across +the open country. He had not gone to Stacey. Waring knew that the +horseman had been riding hard. Straight north from where Waring had +stopped was the Starr Ranch. + +He rode on, his heart heavy with a black premonition. The glowing +copper disk was now half-hidden by the western hills. + +At the brink of the arroyo he dismounted. He could see nothing +distinctly in the gloom of its depths. Stooping, he noted the wagon +tracks as he worked on down. His foot struck against something hard. He +fumbled and picked Pat's gun from the sand. Every chamber was loaded. + +"He didn't have a chance." Waring was startled by his own voice. He +thrust the gun in his waistband. The twilight deepened rapidly. Rocks +and ridges in the arroyo assumed peculiar shapes like those of men +crouching; men prone; men with heads up, listening, watching, waiting. +Yet Waring's instinct for hidden danger told him that there was no +living thing in the arroyo--unless--Suddenly he sprang forward and +dropped to his knees beside a huddled shape near a boulder. + +"Pat!" he whispered. + +Then he knew; saw it all as clearly as though he had witnessed it--the +ambushment in the blinding sandstorm; the terror-stricken Waco; the +frightened ponies; the lunging and swaying buckboard. And Pat, left for +dead, but who had dragged himself from the roadway in dumb agony. + +The dole of light from the sinking sun was gone. Waring's hands came +away from the opened shirt shudderingly. He wiped his hands on the sand, +and, rising, ran back to Dex. He returned with a whiskey flask. Pat was +of tough fiber and tremendous vitality. If the spark were still +unquenched, if it could be called back even for a breath, that which +Waring knew, yet wanted to confirm beyond all doubt, might be given in a +word. He raised Pat's head, and barely tilted the flask. The spirit of +the mortally stricken man, perchance loath to leave such a brave +hermitage, winged slowly back from the far shore of dreams. In the black +pit of the arroyo, where death crouched, waiting, life flamed for an +instant. + +Waring felt the limp body stir. He took Pat's big, bony hand in his. + +"Pat!" he whispered. + +A word breathed heavily from the motionless lips. "You, Jim?" + +"Yes! For God's sake, Pat, who did this thing?" + +"Brewster--Bob. Letter--in my coat." + +"I'll get _him_!" said Waring. + +"Shake!" exclaimed the dying man, and the grip of his hand was like +iron. Waring thought he had gone, and leaned closer. "I'm--kind of +tired--Jim. Reckon--I'll--rest." + +Waring felt the other's grip relax. He drew his hand from the stiffening +fingers. A dull pain burned in his throat. He lighted a match, and found +the message that had lured Pat to his death in the other's coat-pocket. +He rose and stumbled up the arroyo to his horse. + +Halfway back to the ranch, and he met Ramon riding hard. "Ride back," +said Waring. "Hook up to the wagon and come to the arroyo." + +"Have you found the Senor Pat?" + +"Yes. He is dead." + +Ramon whirled his pony and pounded away in the darkness. + +Out on the highway two long, slender shafts of light slid across the +mesa, dipped into an arroyo, and climbed skyward as a machine buzzed up +the opposite pitch. The lights straightened again and shot on down the +road, swinging stiffly from side to side. Presently they came to a stop. +In the soft glow of their double radiance lay a yellow-wheeled +buckboard, shattered and twisted round a telegraph pole. The lights +moved up slowly and stopped again. + +A man jumped from the machine and walked round the buckboard. Beneath it +lay a crumpled figure. The driver of the machine ran a quick hand over +the neck and arms of Waco, who groaned. The driver lifted him and +carried him to the car. Stacey lay some twenty miles behind him. He was +bound south. The first town on his way was thirty miles distant. But the +roads were good. He glanced back at the huddled figure in the tonneau. +The car purred on down the night. The long shafts of light lifted over a +rise and disappeared. + +In about an hour the car stopped at the town of Grant. Waco was carried +from the machine to a room in the hotel, and a doctor was summoned. +Waco lay unconscious throughout the night. + +In the morning he was questioned briefly. He gave a fictitious name, and +mentioned a town he had heard of, but had never been in. His horses had +run away with him. + +The man who had picked him up drove away next morning. Later the doctor +told Waco that through a miracle there were no bones broken, but that he +would have to keep to his bed for at least a week. Otherwise he would +never recover from the severe shock to his nervous system. + +And Waco, recalling the horror of the preceding day, twisted his head +round at every footstep in the hall, fearing that Waring had come to +question him. He knew that he had done no wrong; in fact, he had told +Pat that they had better drive back home. But a sense of shame at his +cowardice, and the realization that his word was as water in evidence, +that he was but a wastrel, a tramp, burdened him with an aching desire +to get away--to hide himself from Waring's eyes, from the eyes of all +men. + +He kept telling himself that he had done nothing wrong, yet fear shook +him until his teeth chattered. What could he have done even had he been +courageous? Pat had had no chance. + +He suffered with the misery of indecision. Habit inclined him to flee +from the scene of the murder. Fear of the law urged him. Three nights +after he had been brought to Grant, he dressed and crept down the back +stairs, and made his way to the railroad station. Twice he had heard the +midnight freight stop and cut out cars on the siding. He hid in the +shadows until the freight arrived. He climbed to an empty box-car and +waited. Trainmen crunched past on the cinders. A jolt and he was swept +away toward the west. He sank into a half sleep as the iron wheels +roared and droned beneath him. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + +_A Piece of Paper_ + +In the little desert hotel at Stacey, Mrs. Adams was singing softly to +herself as she moved about the dining-room helping Anita clear away the +breakfast dishes. Mrs. Adams had heard from Lorry. He had secured a +place in the Ranger Service. She was happy. His letter had been filled +with enthusiasm for the work and for his chief, Bud Shoop. This in +itself was enough to make her happy. She had known Bud in Las Cruces. He +was a good man. And then--Jim had settled down. Only last week he had +ridden over and told her how they were getting on with the work at the +ranch. He had hinted then that he had laid his guns away. Perhaps he had +wanted her to know _that_ more than anything else. She had kissed him +good-bye. His gray eyes had been kind. "Some day, Annie," he had said. +Her face flushed as she recalled the moment. + +A boot-heel gritted on the walk. She turned. Waring was standing in the +doorway. His face was set and hard. Involuntarily she ran to him. + +"What is it, Jim? Lorry?" + +He shook his head. She saw at once that he was dressed for a long ride +and that--an unusual circumstance--a gun swung at his hip. He usually +wore a coat and carried his gun in a shoulder holster. But now he was +in his shirt-sleeves. A dread oppressed her. He was ready on the instant +to fight, but with whom? Her eyes grew big. + +"What is it?" she whispered again. + +"The Brewster boys got Pat." + +"Not--they didn't kill him!" + +Waring nodded. + +"But, Jim--" + +"In the Red Arroyo on the desert road. I found him. I came to tell you." + +"And you are going--" + +"Yes. I was afraid this would happen. Pat made a mistake." + +"But, Jim! The law--the sheriff--you don't have to go." + +"No," he said slowly. + +"Then why do you go? I thought you would never do that again. +I--I--prayed for you, Jim. I prayed for you and Lorry. I asked God to +send you back to me with your two hands clean. I told Him you would +never kill again. Oh, Jim, I wanted you--here! Don't!" she sobbed. + +He put his arm round her shoulders. Stooping, he kissed her. + +"You are going?" she asked, and her hands dropped to her sides. + +"Yes; I told Pat I would get Brewster. Pat went out with his hand in +mine on that word. My God, Annie, do you think I could ride back to the +ranch and face the boys or sleep nights with Pat's hand reaching for me +in the dark to remind me of my word? Can't you see where I stand? Do you +think I could look Lorry in the face when he knew that I sat idle while +the man that murdered Pat was riding the country free?" + +"Pat was your friend. I am your wife," said Mrs. Adams. + +Waring's lips hardened. "Pat's gone. But I'm calling myself his friend +yet. And the man that got him is going to know it." + +Before she could speak again Waring was gone. + +She dropped to a chair and buried her face in her arms. Anita came to +her and tried to comfort her. But Mrs. Adams rose and walked to the +office doorway. She saw Waring riding down the street. She wanted to +call out to him, to call him back. She felt that he was riding to his +death. If he would only turn! If he would only wave his hand to show +that he cared--But Waring rode on, straight and stern, black hate in his +heart, his free hand hollowed as though with an invisible vengeance that +was gone as he drew his fingers tense. + +He rode north, toward the Starr Ranch. He passed a group of riders +drifting some yearlings toward town. A man spoke to him. He did not +reply. + +And as he rode he heard a voice--the Voice of his desert wanderings, the +Voice that had whispered to him from the embers of many a night fire in +the Southern solitudes. Yet there, was this difference. That voice had +been strangely dispassionate, detached; not the voice of a human being. +But now the Voice was that of his friend Pat softly reiterating: "Not +this way, Jim." + +And Waring cursed. His plan was made. He would suffer no interference. +If Brewster were at the Starr Ranch, he would question him first. If he +were not, there would be no questioning. Waring determined to trail him. +If Brewster had left that part of the country, that would prove his +guilt. + +Waring knew that Hardy and his men had ridden south, endeavoring to find +some clue to the murderer's whereabouts. Waring, guided by almost +absolute knowledge, rode in the opposite direction and against a keen +instinct that told him High-Chin Bob was not at the ranch. Yet Waring +would not overlook the slightest chance. Brewster was of the type that +would kill a man in a quarrel and ride home, depending on his nerve and +lack of evidence to escape punishment. + +The Voice had said, "Not this way, Jim." And Waring knew that it had +been the voice of his own instinct. Yet a stubborn purpose held him to +his course. There was one chance in a thousand that Bob Brewster was at +the ranch and would disclaim all knowledge of the shooting. + +Starr was away when Waring arrived. Mrs. Starr made Waring welcome, and +told him that her husband would be in that evening. He was out with one +of his men running a line for a new fence. The old days of open range +were past. And had Mr. Waring heard that Pat had been killed? Buck Hardy +was out searching for the murderer. Did Mr. Waring know of a likely +foreman? Bob Brewster had left suddenly. Jasper--her husband--was not +well: had the rheumatics again. He could hardly walk--and his foreman +had left. "Things always happened that way." + +Mrs. Starr paused for lack of breath. + +"When did Brewster leave, Mrs. Starr?" + +"Why, the last Jasper seen of him was Wednesday morning. Jasper is +worried. I'm right glad you rode over. He'll be glad to see you." + +"Do you mind if I look over the horses in your corral?" + +"Goodness, no! I'll have Sammy go with you--" + +"Thanks; but I'd rather you said nothing to the boys." + +"You don't think that Bob--" + +"Mrs. Starr, I wouldn't say so if I knew it. Bob Brewster has friends up +here. I'm looking for one of them." + +"Goodness, Mr. Waring, I hope you don't think any of our boys was mixed +up in that." + +"I hope not. Have you seen Tony or Andy Brewster lately?" + +"Why, no. I--why, yes! Tony and Andy rode over last Sunday. I remember +it was Sunday because Bob was out to the line shack. Tony and Andy hung +around for a while, and then rode out to look for Bob." + +"Well, I'll step over and look at the horses. You say Jasper will be in +this evening?" + +"If he ain't too stiff with rheumatics to ride back." + +Waring walked round the corrals, looking for a pony lame forward and +with half a front shoe gone. Finally he noticed a short-coupled bay that +had not moved when he had waved his arm. Waring climbed through the bars +and cornered the horse. One front shoe was entirely gone, and the pony +limped as Waring turned him loose. + +Mrs. Starr was getting supper when Waring returned to the house. + +"Any of the boys coming in with Jasper?" he queried. + +"Why, nobody except Pete. Pete's been layin' off. He claims his horse +stepped in a gopher hole and threw him. Jasper took him along, feelin' +like he wanted some one on account of his rheumatics. Jasper gets so +stiff ridin' that sometimes he can hardly get on his horse. Mebby you +noticed Pete's pony, that chunky bay in the corral--lame forward." + +"Yes, I noticed that. But that pony didn't step in a gopher hole. He was +ridden down by some one in a hurry to get somewhere. He cast a shoe and +went tender on the rocks." + +Mrs. Starr stared at Waring. + +He shook his head and smiled. "I don't know. I can only guess at it." + +"Well, you'll stay for supper--and you can talk to Jasper. He's +worried." + +"Thank you. And would you mind asking this man Pete in to supper with +us?" + +"I figured to, him being with Jasper and not feeling right well." + +About sundown Starr rode in. Waring helped him from his horse. They +shook hands in silence. The old cattleman knew at once why Waring had +come, but he had no inkling of what was to follow. + +The cowboy, Pete, took care of the horses. A little later he clumped +into the house and took a seat in a corner. Waring paid no attention to +him, but talked with Starr about the grazing and the weather. + +Just before supper Starr introduced Waring. + +The cowboy winced at Waring's grip. "Heard tell of you from the boys," +he said. + +"You want to ride over to our place," said Waring pleasantly. "Pat and I +will show you some pretty land under fence." + +The cowboy's eyelids flickered. How could this man Waring speak of Pat +that way, when he must know that Pat had been killed? Everybody knew +that. Why didn't Mrs. Starr or Starr say something? But Starr was +limping to the table, and Mrs. Starr was telling them to come and have +supper. + +In the glow of the hanging lamp, Starr's lined, grizzled features were +as unreadable as carved bronze. Waring, at his left, sat directly +opposite the cowboy, Pete. The talk drifted from one subject to another, +but no one mentioned the killing of Pat. Waring noted the cowboy's lack +of appetite. + +"I looked over your saddle-stock this afternoon," said Waring. "Noticed +you had a bay out there, white blaze on his nose. You don't want to sell +that pony, do you?" + +"Oh, that's Pete's pony, Baldy," said Mrs. Starr. + +Starr glanced at Waring. The horse Baldy was good enough as cow-ponies +went, but Waring had not ridden over to buy horses. + +"I aim to keep that cayuse," said Pete, swallowing hard. + +"But every man has his price,"--and Waring smiled. "I'll make my offer; +a hundred, cash." + +"Not this evenin'," said the cowboy. + +Waring felt in the pocket of his flannel shirt. "I'll go you one better. +I'll make it a hundred, cash, and this to boot." And his arm +straightened. + +Pete started back. Waring's hand was on the table, the fingers closed. +His fingers slowly opened, and a crumpled piece of paper lay in his +palm. The cowboy's lips tightened. His eyes shifted from Waring to +Starr, and then back again. + +Mrs. Starr, who could not understand the strange silence of the men, +breathed hard and wiped her forehead with her apron. + +"Read it!" said Waring sharply. + +The cowboy took the piece of paper, and, spreading it out, glanced at it +hurriedly. + +"This ain't for me," he asserted. + +"Did you ever see it before?" + +"This? No. What have I got to do with the sheriff's office?" + +"Pete," said Waring, drawing back his hand, "you had better read that +note again." + +"Why, I--Pete can't read," said Mrs. Starr. "He can spell out printed +reading some, but not writing." + +"Then how did you know this paper was from the sheriff's office?" +queried Waring. + +The cowboy half rose. + +"Sit down!" thundered Waring. "Who sent you with a note to Pat last +Wednesday?" + +"Who said anybody sent me?" + +"Don't waste time! I say so. That broken shoe your cayuse cast says so, +for I trailed him from my ranch to the line fence. And you have said so +yourself. This paper is not from the sheriff's office. It's a tax +receipt." + +The cowboy's face went white. + +"Honest, so help me, Mr. Waring, I didn't know the Brewster boys was +after Pat. Bob he give me the paper. Said it was from the sheriff, and +I was to give it to Pat if you weren't around." + +"And if I happened to be around?" + +"I was to wait until you was out with the fence gang--" + +"How did you know I would be out with them?" + +"Bob Brewster told me you would be." + +Waring folded the piece of paper and tore it across. + +"Starr," he said, turning to the old cattleman, "you have heard and seen +what has happened since we sat down." And Waring turned on the cowboy. +"How much did Bob Brewster give you for this work?" + +"I was to get fifty dollars if I put it through." + +"And you put it through! You knew it was crooked. And you call yourself +a man! And you took a letter to Pat that called him out to be shot down +by that coyote! Do you know that Pat's gun was loaded when I found it; +that he didn't have a chance?" + +Waring's face grew suddenly old. He leaned back wearily. + +"I wonder just how you feel?" he said presently. "If I had done a trick +like that I'd take a gun and blow my brains out. God, I'd rather be +where Pat is than have to carry your load the rest of my life! But +you're yellow clean through, and Bob Brewster knew it and hired you. Now +you will take that lame cayuse and ride north just as quick as you can +throw a saddle on him. And when you go,"--and Waring rose and pointed +toward the doorway,--"forget the way back to this country." + +The cowboy shuffled his feet and picked up his hat. Starr got up stiffly +and limped to his room. He came out with a check, which he gave to the +cowboy. + +Waring pushed back his chair as though to step round the table and +follow the cowboy, but he hesitated, and finally sat down. + +"I'm sorry it happened this way, Mrs. Starr," he said. + +"It's awful! And one of our men!" + +"That's not your fault, Mrs. Starr." + +Starr fumbled along the clock shelf, found his pipe, and lighted it. He +sat down near Waring as Mrs. Starr began to clear away the dishes. + +"If I can do anything to help run down that white-livered skunk--" + +"You can, Jasper. Just keep it to yourself that I have been here. Pete +left of his own accord. I don't want the Brewster boys to know I'm out +on their trail." + +Starr nodded and glanced at his wife. "I looked to see you kill him," he +said, gesturing toward the doorway. + +"What! That poor fool? I thought you knew me better, Jasper." + + + + +Chapter XIX + + +_The Fight in the Open_ + +Starr was awakened at midnight by the sound of boot-heels on the +ranch-house veranda. He lighted a lamp and limped to the door. The +lamplight shone on the smooth, young face of a Mexican, whose black +sombrero was powdered with dust. + +"What do you want?" queried Starr. + +"I am look for the Senor Jim. I am Ramon, of his place. From the rancho +I ride to Stacey. He is not there. Then I come here." + +"And you ain't particular about wakin' folks up to tell 'em, either." + +"I would find him," said Ramon simply. + +"What's your business with Jim Waring?" + +"It is that I am his friend. I know that he is ride looking for the men +who killed my patron the Senor Pat. I am Ramon." + +"Uh-uh. Well, suppose you are?" + +"It is not the suppose. I am. I would find Senor Jim." + +"Who said he was here?" + +"The senora at the hotel would think that he was here." + +Starr scratched his grizzled head. Waring had said nothing about the +Mexican. And Starr did not like Mexicans. Moreover, Waring had said to +tell no one that he had been at the Starr Ranch. + +"I don't know where Jim Waring is," said Starr, and, stepping back, he +closed the door. + +Ramon strode to his horse and mounted. All gringos were not like the +Senor Jim. Many of them hated Mexicans. Ah, well, he would ride back to +Stacey. The senora at the cantina was a pleasant woman. She would not +shut the door in his face, for she knew who he was. He would ask for a +room for the night. In the morning he would search for Senor Jim. He +must find him. + +Mrs. Adams answered his knock at the hotel door by coming down and +letting him in. Ramon saw by the office clock that it was past three. +She showed him to a room. + +No, the senor had not been at the Starr Rancho. But he would find him. + +Ramon tiptoed to the open window, and knelt with his arms on the sill. A +falling star streaked the night. + +"And I shall as soon find him as I would find that star," he murmured. +"Yet to-morrow there will be the sun. And I will ask the Holy Mother to +help me. She will not refuse, knowing my heart." + +Without undressing, he flung himself on the bed. As he slept he dreamed; +a strange, vivid dream of the setting sun and a tiny horseman limned +against the gold. The horseman vanished as he rose to follow. If he +were only sure that it was the Senor Jim! The dream had said that the +senor had ridden into the west. In the morning-- + +With the dawn Ramon was up. Some one was moving about in the kitchen +below. Ramon washed and smoothed his long black hair with his hands. He +stepped quietly downstairs. Breakfast was not ready, so he walked to the +kitchen and talked with Anita. + +To her, who understood him as no gringo could, he told of his quest. She +knew nothing of the Senor Jim's whereabouts, save that he had come +yesterday and talked with the senora. Anita admired the handsome young +Mexican, whose face was so sad save when his quick smile lightened the +shadow. And she told him to go back to the ranch and not become +entangled in the affairs of the Americanos. It would be much better for +him so. + +Ramon listened patiently, but shook his head. The Senor Jim had been +kind to him; had given him his life down in the Sonora desert. Was Ramon +Ortego to forget that? + +Mrs. Adams declined to take any money for Ramon's room. He worked for +her husband, and it was at Ramon's own expense that he would make the +journey in search for him. Instead she had Anita put up a lunch for +Ramon. + +He thanked her and rode away, taking the western trail across the +morning desert. + +Thirty miles beyond Stacey, he had news of Waring. A Mexican rancher +had seen the gringo pass late in the evening. He rode a big buckskin +horse. He was sure it must be the man Ramon sought. There was not +another such horse in Arizona. + +Ramon rode on next day, inquiring occasionally at a ranch or crossroad +store. Once or twice he was told that such a horse and rider had passed +many hours ago. At noon he rested and fed his pony. All that afternoon +he rode west. Night found him in the village of Downey, where he made +further inquiry, but without success. + +Next morning he was on the road early, still riding west. No dream had +come to guide him, yet the memory of the former dream was keen. If that +dream were not true, all dreams were lies and prayer a useless ceremony. + +For three days he rode, tracing the Senor Jim from town to town, but +never catching up with him. Once he learned that Waring had slept in the +same town, but had departed before daybreak. Ramon wondered why no dream +had come to tell him of this. + +That day he rode hard. There were few towns on his way. He reined in +when he came to the fork where the southern highway branches from the +Overland Road. The western road led on across the mountains past the +great canon. The other swept south through cattle land and into the +rough hills beyond which lay Phoenix and the old Apache Trail. He hailed +a buck-board coming down the southern road. The driver had seen nothing +of a buckskin horse. Ramon hesitated, closing his eyes. Suddenly in the +darkness glared a golden sun, and against it the tiny, black silhouette +of a horseman. His dream could not lie. + +Day by day the oval of his face grew narrower, until his cheek-bones +showed prominently. His lips lost their youthful fullness. Only his eyes +were the same; great, velvet-soft black eyes, gently questioning, veiled +by no subtlety, and brighter for the deepening black circles beneath +them. + +The fifth day found him patiently riding west, despite the fact that all +trace of Waring had been lost. Questioned, men shook their heads and +watched him ride away, his lithe figure upright, but his head bowed as +though some blind fate drew him on while his spirit drowsed in stagnant +hopelessness. + +To all his inquiries that day he received the same answer. Finally, in +the high country, he turned and retraced his way. + +A week after he had left Stacey he was again at the fork of the highway. +The southern road ran, winding, toward a shallow valley. He took this +road, peering ahead for a ranch, or habitation of any kind. That +afternoon he stopped at a wayside store and bought crackers and canned +meat. He questioned the storekeeper. Yes, the storekeeper had seen such +a man pass on a big buckskin cayuse several days ago. Ramon thanked him +and rode on. He camped just off the road that evening. In the morning he +set out again, cheered by a new hope. His dream had not lied; only +there should have been another dream to show him the way before he had +come to the fork in the road. + +That afternoon three men passed him, riding hard. They were in their +shirt-sleeves and were heavily armed. Their evident haste caused Ramon +to note their passing with some interest. Yet they had thundered past +him so fast, and in such a cloud of dust, that he could not see them +clearly. + + * * * * * + +Waring, gaunt as a wolf, unshaven, his hat rimmed with white dust, +pulled up in front of the weathered saloon in the town of Criswell on +the edge of the desert. + +He dismounted and stepped round the hitching-rail. His face was lined +and gray. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy. As he strode toward the +saloon door, he staggered and caught himself. Dex shuffled uneasily, +knowing that something was wrong with his master. + +Waring drew his hand across his eyes, and, entering the saloon, asked +for whiskey. As in a dream, he saw men sitting in the back of the place. +They leaned on their elbows and talked. He drank and called for more. +The loafers in the saloon glanced at each other. Three men had just +ridden through town and down into the desert, going over-light for such +a journey. And here was the fourth. They glanced at Waring's boots, his +belt, his strong shoulders, and his dusty sombrero. Whoever he was, he +fitted his clothes. But a man "going in" was a fool to take more than +one drink. The three men ahead had not stopped at the saloon. One of +them had filled a canteen at the tank near the edge of the town. They +had seemed in a great hurry for men of their kind. + +Waring wiped his lips and turned. His eyes had grown bright. For an +instant he glanced at the men, the brown walls spotted with "Police +Gazette" pictures, the barred window at the rear of the room. He drew +out his gun, spun the cylinder, and dropped it back into the holster. + +The stranger, whoever he was, seemed to be handy with that kind of tool. +Well, it was no affair of theirs. The desert had taken care of such +affairs in the past, and there was plenty of room for more. + +From the saloon doorway they saw Waring ride to the edge of town, +dismount, and walk out in the desert in a wide circle. He returned to +his horse, and, mounting, rode at right angles to the course the three +riders had taken. + +One of the men in the doorway spoke. "Thought so," he said with +finality. + +The others nodded. It was not their affair. The desert would take care +of that. + +About the middle of the afternoon, Waring rode down a sandy draw that +deepened to an arroyo. Near the mouth of the arroyo, where it broke off +abruptly to the desert level, he reined up. His horse stood with head +lowered, his gaunt sides heaving. Waring patted him. + +"Not much longer, old boy," he said affectionately. + +With his last burst of strength, the big buckskin had circled the course +taken by the three men, urged by Waring's spur and voice. They were +heading in a direct line across the level just beyond the end of the +arroyo where Waring was concealed. He could not see them, but as usual +he watched Dex's ears. The horse would be aware of their nearness +without seeing them. And Waring dared not risk the chance of discovery. +They must have learned that he was following them, for they had ridden +hard these past few days. Evidently they had been unwilling to chance a +fight in any of the towns. And, in fact, Waring had once been ahead of +them, knowing that they would make for the desert. But that night he had +overslept, and they had passed him in the early hours of morning. + +Slowly Dex raised his head and sniffed. Waring patted him, afraid that +he would nicker. He had dismounted to tighten the cinches when he +thought he heard voices in argument. He mounted again. The men must have +ridden hard to have made such good time. Again he heard voices. The men +were near the mouth of the arroyo. Waring tossed his hat to the ground +and dropped his gauntlets beside his hat. Carefully he wiped his +sweating hands on his bandanna. Dex threw up his head. His nostrils +worked. Waring spoke to him. + +A shadow touched the sand at the mouth of the arroyo. Waring leaned +forward and drove in the spurs. The big buckskin leaped to a run as he +rounded the shoulder of the arroyo. + +The three horsemen, who had been riding close together, spread out on +the instant. Waring threw a shot at the foremost figure even as High +Chin's first shot tore away the front of his shirt. Waring fired again. +Tony Brewster, on the ground, emptied his gun as Waring spurred over +him. Turning in the saddle as he flashed past High Chin, Waring fired at +close range at the other's belt buckle. Out on the levels, Andy +Brewster's horse was running with tail tucked down. Waring threw his +remaining shot at High Chin, and, spurring Dex, stood in his stirrups as +he reloaded his gun. + +The rider ahead was rocking in the saddle. He had been hit, although +Waring could not recall having shot at him. Suddenly the horse went +down, and Andy Brewster pitched to the sand. Waring laughed and reined +round on the run, expecting each instant to feel the blunt shock of a +bullet. High Chin was still sitting his horse, his gun held muzzle up. +Evidently he was not hard hit, or, if he were, he was holding himself +for a final shot at Waring. Behind him, almost beneath his horse, his +brother Tony had raised himself on his elbow and was fumbling with his +empty gun. + +Waring rode slowly toward High Chin. High Chin's hand jerked down. +Waring's wrist moved in answer. The two reports blended in a blunt, +echoless roar. Waring felt a shock that numbed his thigh. High Chin sat +stiffly in the saddle, his hand clasping the horn. He turned and gazed +down at his brother. + +"Thought you got him," said Tony Brewster from the ground. "Sit still +and I'll get him from under your horse." + +Waring knew now that High Chin was hit hard. The foreman had let his gun +slip from his fingers. Waring saw a slight movement just beneath High +Chin's horse. A shock lifted him from the saddle, and he dropped to the +ground as Tony Brewster fired. But there was no such thing as quit just +so long as Waring could see to shoot. Dragging himself to his gun, he +shook the sand from its muzzle. He knew that he could not last long. +Already flecks of fire danced before his eyes. He bit his lip as he +raised himself and drew fine on that black figure beneath High Chin's +horse. The gun jumped in his hand. Waring saw the black figure twitch +and roll over. Then his sight grew clouded. He tried to brush away the +blur that grew and spread. For an instant his eyes cleared. High Chin +still sat upright in the saddle. Waring raised his gun and fired +quickly. As his hand dropped to the sand, High Chin pitched headlong and +lay still. + +Then came a soft black veil that hid the glimmering sun and the wide +desert reaches. + +High Chin, his legs paralyzed by a slug that had torn through his +abdomen and lodged in his spine, knew that he had made his last fight. +He braced himself on his hands and called to his brother Tony. But his +brother did not answer. High Chin's horse had strayed, and was grazing +up the arroyo. The stricken man writhed round, feeling no pain, but +conscious of a horrible numbness across his back and abdomen. + +"When it hits my heart I'm done," he muttered. "Guess I'll go over and +keep Tony company." + +Inch by inch he dragged himself across the sand. Tony Brewster lay on +his back. High Chin touched him; felt of the limp arm, and gazed +curiously at the blue-edged hole in his brother's chest. With awful +labor that brought a clammy moisture to his face, he managed to drag +himself close to his brother and writhe round to a position where he +could sit up, braced against the other's body. He gazed out across the +desert. It had been a fast fight. Waring was done for. High Chin +wondered how long he would last. The sun was near the horizon. It seemed +only a few minutes ago that the sun had been directly overhead and he +and his brothers had been cursing the heat. It was growing cold. He +shivered. A long shadow reached out toward him from the bank of the +arroyo. In a few minutes it would touch him. Then would come night and +the stars. The numbness was creeping toward his chest. He could not +breathe freely. He moved his arms. _They_ were alive yet. He opened and +closed his fingers, gazing at them curiously. It was a strange thing +that a man should die like this; a little at a time, and not suffer much +pain. The fading flame of his old recklessness flared up. + +"I'm goin' across," he said. "But, by God, I'm takin' Jim Waring with +me!" + +He glanced toward the buckskin horse that stood so patiently beside that +silent figure out there. Waring was done for. High Chin blinked. A long +shaft of sunlight spread across the sand, and in the glow High Chin saw +that the horse was moving toward him. He stared for a few seconds. Then +he screamed horribly. + +Waring, his hand gripping the stirrup, was dragging across the sand +beside the horse that stepped sideways and carefully as Waring urged him +on. Dex worked nearer to High Chin, but so slowly that High Chin thought +it was some horrible phantasy sent to awaken fear in his dulled brain. +But that dragging figure, white-faced and terrible--that was real! +Within a few paces of High Chin, Dex stopped and turned his head to look +down at Waring. And Waring, swaying up on his hands, laughed wildly. + +"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun--" He collapsed and lay +still. + +High Chin sat staring dully at the gunman's uncovered head. The horse +sniffed at Waring. High Chin's jaw sagged. He slumped down, and lay +back across the body of his brother. + + * * * * * + +A pathway of lamplight floated out and across the main street of +Criswell. A solitary figure lounged at the saloon bar. The sharp barking +of a dog broke the desert silence. The lounger gazed at the path of +lamplight which framed the bare hitching-rail. His companions of the +afternoon had departed to their homes. Again the dog barked shrilly. The +saloon-keeper moved to a chair and picked up a rumpled paper. + +The lounger, leaning on his elbow, suddenly straightened. He pointed +toward the doorway. The saloon-keeper saw the motion from the corner of +his eye. He lowered his paper and rose. In the soft radiance a riderless +horse stood at the hitching-rail, his big eyes glowing, his ears pricked +forward. Across the horse's shoulder was a ragged tear, black against +the tawny gold of his coat. The men glanced at each other. It was the +horse of the fourth man; the man who had staggered in that afternoon, +asked for whiskey, and who had left as buoyantly as though he went to +meet a friend. + +"They got him," said the saloon-keeper. + +"They got him," echoed the other. + +Together they moved to the doorway and peered out. The man who had first +seen the horse stepped down and tied the reins to the rail. He ran his +hand down the horse's shoulder over muscles that quivered as he +examined the wound. He glanced at the saddle, the coiled rope, the +slackened cinches, and pointed to a black stain on the stirrup leather. + +[Illustration: I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun] + +"From the south," he said. "Maguey rope, and that saddle was made in +Mexico." + +"Mebby he wants water," suggested the saloon-keeper. + +"He's had it. Reins are wet where he drug 'em in the tank." + +"Wonder who them three fellas was?" + +"Don' know. From up north, by their rig. I'm wonderin' who the fourth +fella was--and where he is." + +"Why, he's out there, stiff'nin' on the sand. They's been a fight. And, +believe me, if the others was like him--she was a dandy!" + +"I guess it's up to us to do somethin'," suggested the lounger. + +"Not to-night, Bill. You don't ketch me ridin' into a flash in the dark +before I got time to tell myself I'm a dam' fool. In the mornin', +mebby--" + +Their heads came up as they heard a horse pounding down the road. A lean +pony, black with sweat, jumped to a trembling stop. + +A young Mexican swung down and walked stiffly up to Dex. + +"Where is Senor Jim?" he queried, breathing hard. + +"Don' know, hombre. This his hoss?" + +"Si! It is Dex." + +'Well, the hoss came in, recent, draggin' the reins." + +"Then you have seen him?" + +"Seen who? Who are you, anyway?" + +"Me, I am Ramon Ortego, of Sonora. The Senor Jim is my friend. I would +find him." + +"Well, if your friend sports a black Stetson and a dam' bad eye and +performs with a short-barreled .45, he rode in this afternoon just about +a hour behind three other fellas. They lit out into the dry spot. Reckon +you'll find your friend out there, if the coyotes ain't got to him." + +Ramon limped to the rail and untied Dex. Then he mounted his own horse. + +"Dex," he said softly, riding alongside, "where is the Senor Jim?" + +The big buckskin swung his head round and sniffed Ramon's hand. Then he +plodded down the street toward the desert. At the tank Ramon let his +horse drink. Dex, like a great dog, sniffed the back trail on which he +had come, plodding through the night toward the spot where he knew his +master to be. + +Ramon, burdened with dread and weariness, rode with his hands clasped +round the saddle-horn. The Senor Jim, his Senor Jim, had found those +whom he sought. He had not come back. Ramon was glad that he had filled +the canteen. If the man who had killed his Senor Jim had escaped, he +would follow him even as he had followed Waring. And he would find him. +"And then I shall kill him," said Ramon simply. "He does not know my +face. As I speak to him the Senor Jim's name I shall kill him, and the +Senor Jim will know then that I have been faithful." + +The big buckskin plodded on across the sand, the empty stirrups +swinging. Ramon's gaze lifted to the stars. He smiled wanly. + +"I follow him. Wherever he has gone, I follow him, and he will not lose +the way." + +His bowed head, nodding to the pace of the pony, seemed to reiterate in +grotesque assertion his spoken word. Ramon's tired body tingled as Dex +strode faster. The horse nickered, and an answering nicker came from the +night. His own tired pony struck into a trot. Dex stopped. Ramon slid +down, and, stumbling forward, he touched a black bulk that lay on the +sand. + +Waring, despite his trim build, was a heavy man. Ramon was just able to +lift him and lay him across the saddle. A coyote yipped from the brush +of the arroyo. As Ramon started back toward town his horse shied at +something near the arroyo's entrance. Ramon did not know that the bodies +of Tony and Bob Brewster formed that low mound half-hidden by the +darkness. + +A yellow star, close to the eastern horizon, twinkled faintly and then +disappeared. The saloon at Criswell had been closed for the night. + +Next morning the marshal of Criswell sent a messenger to the telegraph +office at the junction. There was no railroad entering the Criswell +Valley. The messenger bore three telegraph messages; one to Sheriff +Hardy, one to Bud Shoop, and one to Mrs. Adams. + +Ramon, outside Waring's room in the marshal's house, listened as the +local doctor moved about. Presently he heard the doctor ask a question. +Waring's voice answered faintly. Ramon stepped from the door and found +his way to the stable. Dex, placidly munching alfalfa, turned his head +as Ramon came in. + +"The Senor Jim is not dead," he told the horse. + +And, leaning against Dex, he wept softly, as women weep, with a +happiness too great to bear. The big horse nuzzled his shoulder with his +velvet-smooth nose, as though he would sympathize. Then he turned to +munching alfalfa again in huge content. He had had a weary journey. And +though his master had not come to feed him, here was the gentle, +low-voiced Ramon, whom he knew as a friend. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +_City Folks_ + +Bud Shoop's new duties kept him exceedingly busy. As the days went by he +found himself more and more tied to office detail. Fortunately Torrance +had left a well-organized corps of rangers, each with his own special +work mapped out, work that Shoop understood, with the exception of +seeding and planting experiments, which Lundy, the expert, attended to +as though the reserve were his own and his life depended upon successful +results along his special line. + +Shoop had long since given up trying to dictate letters. Instead he +wrote what he wished to say on slips of paper which his clerk cast into +conventional form. The genial Bud's written directions were brief and to +the point. + +Among the many letters received was one from a writer of Western +stories, applying for a lease upon which to build a summer camp. His +daughter's health was none too good, and he wanted to be in the +mountains. Shoop studied the letter. He had a vague recollection of +having heard of the writer. The request was legitimate. There was no +reason for not granting it. + +Shoop called in his stenographer. "Ever read any of that fella's +books?" + +"Who? Bronson? Yes. He writes bang-up Western stories." + +"He does, eh? Well, you get hold of one of them stories. I want to read +it. I've lived in the West a few minutes myself." + +A week later Shoop had made his decision. He returned a shiny, new +volume to the clerk. + +"I never took to writin' folks reg'lar," he told the clerk. "Mebby I got +the wrong idee of 'em. Now I reckon some of them is human, same as you +and me. Why, do you know I been through lots of them things he writes +about. And, by gollies, when I read that there gun-fight down in Texas, +I ketched myself feelin' along my hip, like I was packin' a gun. And +when I read about that cowboy's hoss,--the one with the sarko eye and +the white legs,--why, I ketched myself feelin' for my ole bandanna to +blow my nose. An' I seen dead hosses a-plenty. But you needn't to say +nothin' about that in the letter. Just tell him to mosey over and we'll +talk it out. If a man what knows hosses and folks like he does wa'n't +raised in the West, he ought to been. Heard anything from Adams?" + +"He was in last week. He's up on Baldy. Packed some stuff up to the +lookout." + +"Uh-uh. Now, the land next to my shack on the Blue ain't a bad place for +this here writer. I got the plat, and we can line out the five acres +this fella wants from my corner post. But he's comin' in kind of late to +build a camp." + +"It will be good weather till December," said the clerk. + +"Well, you write and tell him to come over. Seen anything of Hardy and +his men lately?" + +"Not since last Tuesday." + +"Uh-uh. They're millin' around like a lot of burros--and gettin' +nowhere. But Jim Waring's out after that bunch that got Pat. If I wasn't +so hefty, I'd 'a' gone with him. I tell you the man that got Pat ain't +goin' to live long to brag on it." + +"They say it was the Brewster boys," ventured the stenographer. + +"They say lots of things, son. But Jim Waring _knows_. God help the man +that shot Pat when Jim Waring meets up with him. And I want to tell you +somethin'. Be kind of careful about repeatin' what 'they say' to +anybody. You got nothin' to back you up if somebody calls your hand. +'They' ain't goin' to see you through. And you named the Brewster boys. +Now, just suppose one of the Brewster boys heard of it and come over +askin' you what you meant? I bet you a new hat Jim Waring ain't said +Brewster's name to a soul--and he _knows_. I'm goin' over to Stacey. Any +mail the stage didn't get?" + +"Letter for Mrs. Adams." + +"Uh-uh. Lorry writes to his ma like he was her beau--reg'lar and +plenty. Funny thing, you can't get a word out of him about wimmin-folk, +neither. He ain't that kind of a colt. But I reckon when he sees the gal +he wants he'll saddle up and ride out and take her." And Bud chuckled. + +Bondsman rapped the floor with his tail. Bondsman never failed to +express a sympathetic mood when his master chuckled. + +"Now, look at that," said Shoop, grinning. "He knows I'm goin' over to +Stacey. He heard me say it. And he says I got to take him along, 'cause +he knows I ain't goin' on a hoss. That there dog bosses me around +somethin' scandalous." + +The stenographer smiled as Shoop waddled from the office with Bondsman +at his heels. There was something humorous, almost pathetic, in the +gaunt and grizzled Airedale's affection for his rotund master. And +Shoop's broad back, with the shoulders stooped slightly and the set +stride as he plodded here and there, often made the clerk smile. Yet +there was nothing humorous about Shoop's face when he flashed to anger +or studied some one who tried to mask a lie, or when he reprimanded his +clerk for naming folk that it was hazardous to name. + +The typewriter clicked; a fly buzzed on the screen door; a beam of +sunlight flickered through the window. The letter ran:-- + + Yours of the 4th inst. received and contents noted. In answer would + state that Supervisor Shoop would be glad to have you call at your + earliest convenience in regard to leasing a camp-site on the White + Mountain Reserve. + +Essentially a business letter of the correspondence-school type. + +But the stenographer was not thinking of style. He was wondering what +the girl would be like. There was to be a girl. The writer had said that +he wished to build a camp to which he could bring his daughter, who was +not strong. The clerk thought that a writer's daughter might be an +interesting sort of person. Possibly she was like some of the heroines +in the writer's stories. It would be interesting to meet her. He had +written a poem once himself. It was about spring, and had been published +in the local paper. He wondered if the writer's daughter liked poetry. + +In the meantime, Lorry, with two pack-animals and Gray Leg, rode the +hills and canons, attending to the many duties of a ranger. + +And as he caught his stride in the work he began to feel that he was his +own man. Miles from headquarters, he was often called upon to make a +quick decision that required instant and individual judgment. He made +mistakes, but never failed to report such mistakes to Shoop. Lorry +preferred to give his own version of an affair that he had mishandled +rather than to have to explain some other version later. He was no +epitome of perfection. He was inclined to be arbitrary when he knew he +was in the right. Argument irritated him. He considered his "Yes" or +"No" sufficient, without explanation. + +He made Shoop's cabin his headquarters, and spent his spare time cording +wood. He liked his occupation, and felt rather independent with the +comfortable cabin, a good supply of food, a corral and pasture for the +ponies, plenty of clear, cold water, and a hundred trails to ride each +day from dawn to dark as he should choose. Once unfamiliar with the +timber country, he grew to love the twinkling gold of the aspens, the +twilight vistas of the spruce and pines, and the mighty sweep of the +great purple tides of forest that rolled down from the ranges into a +sheer of space that had no boundary save the sky. + +He grew a trifle thinner in the high country. The desert tan of his +cheeks and throat deepened to a ruddy bronze. + +Aside from pride in his work, he took special pride in his equipment, +keeping his bits and conchas polished and his leather gear oiled. +Reluctantly he discarded his chaps. He found that they hindered him when +working on foot. Only when he rode into Jason for supplies did he wear +his chaps, a bit of cowboy vanity quite pardonable in his years. + +If he ever thought of women at all, it was when he lounged and smoked by +the evening fire in the cabin, sometimes recalling "that Eastern girl +with the jim-dandy mother." He wondered if they ever thought of him, and +he wished that they might know he was now a full-fledged ranger with +man-size responsibilities. "And mebby they think I'm ridin' south yet," +he would say to himself. "I must have looked like I didn't aim to pull +up this side of Texas, from the way I lit out." But, then, women didn't +understand such things. + +Occasionally he confided something of the kind to the spluttering fire, +laughing as he recalled the leg of lamb with which he had waved his +hasty farewell. + +"And I was scared, all right. But I wasn't so scared I forgot I'd get +hungry." Which conclusion seemed to satisfy him. + +When he learned that a writer had leased five acres next to Bud's cabin, +he was skeptical as to how he would get along with "strangers." He liked +elbow-room. Yet, on second thought, it would make no difference to him. +He would not be at the cabin often nor long at a time. The evenings were +lonely sometimes. + +But when camped at the edge of the timber on some mountain meadow, with +his ponies grazing in the starlit dusk, when the little, leaping flame +of his night fire flung ruddy shadows that danced in giant mimicry in +the cavernous arches of the pines; when the faint tinkle of the belled +pack-horse rang a faery cadence in the distance; then there was no such +thing as loneliness in his big, outdoor world. Rather, he was content in +a solid way. An inner glow of satisfaction because of work well done, a +sense of well-being, founded upon perfect physical health and ease, +kept him from feeling the need of companionship other than that of his +horses. Sometimes he sat late into the night watching the pine gum ooze +from a burning log and swell to golden bubbles that puffed into tiny +flames and vanished in smoky whisperings. At such times a companion +would not have been unwelcome, yet he was content to be alone. + +Later, when Lorry heard that the writer was to bring his daughter into +the high country, he expressed himself to Shoop's stenographer briefly: +"Oh, hell!" Yet the expletive was not offensive, spoken gently and +merely emphasizing Lorry's attitude toward things feminine. + +While Lorry was away with the pack-horses and a week's riding ahead of +him, the writer arrived in Jason, introduced himself and his +daughter,--a rather slender girl of perhaps sixteen or eighteen,--and +later, accompanied by the genial Bud, rode up to the Blue Mesa and +inspected the proposed camp-site. As they rode, Bud discoursed upon the +climate, ways of building a log cabin, wild turkeys, cattle, sheep, +grazing, fuel, and water, and concluded his discourse with a +dissertation upon dogs in general and Airedales in particular. The +writer was fond of dogs and knew something about Airedales. This +appealed to Shoop even more than had the writer's story of the West. + +Arrived at the mesa, tentative lines were run and corners marked. The +next day two Mormon youths from Jason started out with a load of lumber +and hardware. The evening of the second day following they arrived at +the homestead, pitched a tent, and set to work. That night they unloaded +the lumber. Next morning they cleared a space for the cabin. By the end +of August the camp was finished. The Mormon boys, to whom freighting +over the rugged hills was more of a pastime than real work, brought in a +few pieces of furniture--iron beds, a stove, cooking-utensils, and the +hardware and provisions incidental to the maintenance of a home in the +wilderness. + +The writer and his daughter rode up from Jason with the final load of +supplies. Excitement and fatigue had so overtaxed the girl's slender +store of strength that she had to stay in bed for several days. +Meanwhile, her father put things in order. The two saddle-horses, +purchased under the critical eye of Bud Shoop, showed an inclination to +stray back to Jason, so the writer turned them into Lorry's corral each +evening, as his own lease was not entirely fenced. + +Riding in from his long journey one night, Lorry passed close to the new +cabin. It loomed strangely raw and white in the moonlight. He had +forgotten that there was to be a camp near his. The surprise rather +irritated him. Heretofore he had considered the Blue Mesa was his by a +kind of natural right. He wondered how he would like the city folks. +They had evidently made themselves at home. Their horses were in his +corral. + +As he unsaddled Gray Leg, a light flared up in the strange camp. The +door opened, and a man came toward him. + +"Good-evening," said the writer. "I hope my horses are not in your way." + +"Sure not," said Lorry as he loosened a pack-rope. + +He took off the packs and lugged them to the veranda. The tired horses +rolled, shook themselves, and meandered toward the spring. + +"I'm Bronson. My daughter is with me. We are up here for the summer." + +"My name is Adams," said Lorry, shaking hands. + +"The ranger up here. Yes. Well, I'm glad to meet you, Adams. My daughter +and I get along wonderfully, but it will be rather nice to have a +neighbor. I heard you ride by, and wanted to explain about my horses." + +"That's all right, Mr. Bronson. Just help yourself." + +"Thank you. Dorothy--my daughter--has been under the weather for a few +days. She'll be up to-morrow, I think. She has been worrying about our +using your corral. I told her you would not mind." + +"Sure not. She's sick, did you say?" + +"Well, over-tired. She is not very strong." + +"Lungs?" queried Lorry, and immediately he could have kicked himself for +saying it. + +"I'm afraid so, Adams. I thought this high country might do her good." + +"It's right high for some. Folks got to take it easy at first; +'specially wimmin-folk. I'm right sorry your girl ain't well." + +"Thank you. I shouldn't have mentioned it. She is really curious to know +how you live, what you do, and, in fact, what a real live ranger looks +like. Mr. Shoop told her something about you while we were in Jason. +They became great friends while the camp was building. She says she +knows all about you, and tries to tease me by keeping it to herself." + +"Bud--my boss--is some josher," was all that Lorry could think of to say +at the time. + +Bronson went back to his cabin. Lorry, entering his camp, lighted the +lamp and built a fire. The camp looked cozy and cheerful after a week on +the trail. + +When he had eaten he sat down to write to his mother. He would tell her +all about the new cabin and the city folks. But before he had written +more than to express himself "that it was too darned bad a girl had to +stay up in the woods without no other wimmin-folks around," he became +drowsy. The letter remained unfinished. He would finish it to-morrow. He +would smoke awhile and then go to bed. + +A healthy young animal himself, he could not understand what sickness +meant. And as for lungs--he had forgotten there were such things in a +person's make-up. And sick folks couldn't eat "regular grub." It must be +pretty tough not to be able to eat heartily. Now, there was that wild +turkey he had shot near the Big Spring. He tiptoed to the door. The +lights were out in the other cabin. It was closed season for turkey, but +then a fellow needed a change from bacon and beans once in a while. + +He had hidden the turkey in a gunny-sack which hung from a kitchen +rafter. Should he leave it in the sack, hang it from a rafter of their +veranda, out of reach of a chance bobcat or coyote, or--it would be much +more of a real surprise to hang the big bird in front of their door in +all his feathered glory. The sack would spoil the effect. + +He took off his boots and walked cautiously to the other cabin. The +first person to come out of that cabin next morning would actually bump +into the turkey. It would be a good joke. + +"And if he's the right kind of a hombre he won't talk about it," thought +Lorry as he returned to his camp. "And if he ain't, I am out one fine +bird, and I'll know to watch out for him." + + + + +Chapter XXI + + +_A Slim Whip of a Girl_ + +When Bronson opened his door to the thin sunlight and the crisp chill of +the morning, he chuckled. He had made too many camps in the outlands to +be surprised by an unexpected gift of game out of season. His neighbor +was a ranger, and all rangers were incidentally game wardens. Bronson +believed heartily in the conservation of game, and in this instance he +did not intend to let that turkey spoil. + +He called to his daughter. + +Her brown eyes grew big. "Why, it's a turkey!" + +Bronson laughed. "And to-day is Sunday. We'll have a housewarming and +invite the ranger to dinner." + +"Did he give it to you? Isn't it beautiful! What big wings--and the +breast feathers are like little bronze flames! Do wild turkeys really +fly?" + +"Well, rather. It's a fine sight to see them run to a rim rock and float +off across a canon." + +"Did you tell him about our horses? Is he nice? What did he say? But I +could never imagine a turkey like that flying. I always think of turkeys +as strutting around a farmyard with their heads held back and all puffed +out in front. This one is heavy! I can't see how he could even begin to +fly." + +"They have to get a running start. Then they usually flop along and +sail up into a tree. Once they are in a tree, they can float off into +space easily. They seem to fly slowly, but they can disappear fast +enough. The ranger seems to be a nice chap." + +"Did he really give the turkey to us?" + +"It was hanging right here when I came out. I can't say that he gave it +to us. You see, it is closed season for turkey." + +"But we must thank him." + +"We will. Let's ask him to dinner. He seems to be a pleasant chap; quite +natural. He said we were welcome to keep our horses in his corral. But +if you want to have him for a real friendly neighbor, Dorothy, don't +mention the word 'turkey.' We'll just roast it, make biscuits and gravy, +and ask him to dinner. He will understand." + +"Then I am going to keep the wings and tail to put on the wall of my +room. How funny, not to thank a person for such a present." + +"The supervisor would reprimand him for killing game out of season, if +he heard about it." + +"But just one turkey?" + +"That isn't the idea. If it came to Mr. Shoop that one of his men was +breaking the game laws, Mr. Shoop would have to take notice of it. Not +that Shoop would care about one of his men killing a turkey to eat, but +it would hurt the prestige of the Service. The natives would take +advantage of it and help themselves to game." + +"Of course, you know all about those matters. But can't I even say +'turkey' when I ask him to have some?" + +"Oh," laughed Bronson, "call it chicken. He'll eat just as heartily." + +"The ranger is up," said Dorothy. "I can hear him whistling." + +"Then let's have breakfast and get this big fellow ready to roast. It +will take some time." + +An hour later, Lorry, fresh-faced and smiling, knocked on the lintel of +their open doorway. + +Bronson, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a diminutive apron to which +clung a fluff of turkey feathers, came from the kitchen. + +"Good-morning. You'll excuse my daughter. She is busy." + +"I just came over to ask how she was." + +"Thank you. She is much better. We want you to have dinner with us." + +"Thanks. But I got some beans going--" + +"But this is chicken, man! And it is Sunday." + +Lorry's gray eyes twinkled. "Chickens are right scarce up here. And +chicken sure tastes better on Sunday. Was you goin' to turn your stock +out with mine?" + +"That's so!" + +They turned Bronson's horses out, and watched them charge down the mesa +toward the three animals grazing lazily in the morning sunshine. + +"Your horses will stick with mine," said Lorry. "They won't stray now." + +"Did I hear a piano this morning, or did I dream that I heard some one +playing?" + +"Oh, it was me, foolin' with Bud's piano in there. Bud's got an amazin' +music-box. Ever see it?" + +"No. I haven't been in your cabin." + +"Well, come right along over. This was Bud's camp when he was +homesteadin'. Ever see a piano like that?" + +Bronson gazed at the carved and battered piano, stepping close to it to +inspect the various brands. "It is rather amazing. I didn't know Mr. +Shoop was fond of music." + +"Well, he can't play reg'lar. But he sure likes to try. You ought to +hear him and Bondsman workin' out that 'Annie Laurie' duet. First off, +you feel like laughin'. But Bud gets so darned serious you kind of +forget he ain't a professional. 'Annie Laurie' ain't no dance tune--and +when Bud and the dog get at it, it is right mournful." + +"I have seen a few queer things,"--and Bronson laughed,--"but this beats +them all." + +"You'd be steppin' square on Bud's soul if you was to josh him about +that piano," said Lorry. + +"I wouldn't. But thank you just the same. You have a neat place here, +Adams." + +"When you say 'neat' you say it all." + +"I detest a fussy camp. One gets enough of that sort of thing in town. +Is that a Gallup saddle or a Frazier?" + +"Frazier." + +"I used a Heiser when I was in Mexico. They're all good." + +"That's what I say. But there's a hundred cranks to every make of saddle +and every rig. You said you were in Mexico?" + +"Before I was married. As a young man I worked for some of the mines. I +went there from college." + +"I reckon you've rambled some." And a new interest lightened Lorry's +eyes. Perhaps this man wasn't a "plumb tenderfoot," after all. + +"Oh, not so much. I punched cattle down on the Hassayampa and in the +Mogollons. Then I drifted up to Alaska. But I always came back to +Arizona. New Mexico is mighty interesting, and so is Colorado. +California is really the most wonderful State of all, but somehow I +can't keep away from Arizona." + +"Shake! I never been out of Arizona, except when I was a kid, but she's +the State for me." + +A shadow flickered in the doorway. Lorry turned to gaze at a delicate +slip of a girl, whose big brown eyes expressed both humor and +trepidation. + +"My daughter Dorothy, Mr. Adams. This is our neighbor, Dorothy." + +"I'm right glad to meet you, miss." + +And Lorry's strong fingers closed on her slender hand. To his robust +sense of the physical she appealed as something exceedingly fragile and +beautiful, with her delicate, clear coloring and her softly glowing +eyes. What a little hand! And what a slender arm! And yet Lorry thought +her arm pretty in its rounded slenderness. He smiled as he saw a turkey +feather fluttering on her shoulder. + +"Looks like that chicken was gettin' the best of you," he said, smiling. + +"That's just it," she agreed, nothing abashed. "Father, you'll have to +help." + +"You'll excuse us, won't you? We'll finish our visit at dinner." + +Lorry had reports to make out. He dragged a chair to the table. That man +Bronson was all right. Let's see--the thirtieth--looked stockier in +daylight. Had a good grip, too, and a clear, level eye. One mattock +missing in the lookout cabin--and the girl; such a slender whip of a +girl! Just like a young willow, but not a bit like an invalid. Buckley +reports that his man will have the sheep across the reservation by the +fourth of the month. Her father had said she was not over-strong. And +her eyes! Lorry had seen little fawns with eyes like that--big, +questioning eyes, startled rather than afraid. + +"Reckon everything she sees up here is just amazin' her at every jump. +I'll bet she's happy, even if she _has_ got lungs. Now, a fella couldn't +help but to like a girl like that. She would made a dandy sister, and a +fella would just about do anything in the world for such a sister. And +she wouldn't have to ask, at that. He would just naturally want to do +things for her, because--well, because he couldn't help feeling that +way. Funny how some wimmin made a man feel like he wanted to just about +worship them, and not because they did anything except be just +themselves. Now, there was that Mrs. Weston. She was a jim-dandy +woman--but she was different. She always seemed to know just what she +was going to say and do. And Mrs. Weston's girl, Alice. Reckon I'd scrap +with her right frequent. She was still--" + +Dog-gone it! Where was he drifting to? Sylvestre's sheep were five days +crossing the reserve. Smith reported a small fire north of the lookout. +The Ainslee boys put the fire out. It hadn't done any great damage. + +Lorry sat back and chewed the lead pencil. As he gazed out of the window +across the noon mesa a faint fragrance was wafted through the doorway. +He sniffed and grinned. It was the warm flavor of wild turkey, a flavor +that suggested crispness, with juicy white meat beneath. Lorry jumped up +and grabbed a pail as he left the cabin. On his way back from the +spring, Bronson waved to him. Lorry nodded. And presently he presented +himself at Bronson's cabin, his face glowing, his flannel shirt neatly +brushed, and a dark-blue silk bandanna knotted gracefully at his throat. + +"This is the princess," said Bronson, gesturing toward his daughter. +"And here is the feast." + +"And it was a piano," continued Bronson as they sat down. + +"Really? 'Way up here?" + +"My daughter plays a little," explained Bronson. + +"Well, you're sure welcome to use that piano any time. If I'm gone, the +door is unlocked just the same." + +"Thank you, Mr. Adams, I only play to amuse myself now." + +Lorry fancied there was a note of regret in her last word. He glanced at +her. She was gazing wistfully out of the window. It hurt him to see that +tinge of hopelessness on her young face. + +"This here chicken is fine!" he asserted. + +The girl's eyes were turned to him. She smiled and glanced roguishly at +her father. Lorry laughed outright. + +"What is the joke?" she demanded. + +"Nothin'; only my plate is empty, Miss Bronson." + +Bronson grabbed up carving-knife and fork. "Great Caesar! I must have +been dreaming. I _was_ dreaming. I was recalling a turkey hunt down in +Virginia with Colonel Stillwell and his man Plato. Plato was a good +caller--but we didn't get a turkey. Now, this is as tender as--as it +ought to be. A little more gravy? And as we came home, the colonel, who +was of the real mint-julep type, proposed as a joke that Plato see what +he could do toward getting some kind of bird for dinner that night. And +when Plato lifted the covers, sure enough there was a fine, fat roast +chicken. The colonel, who lived in town and did not keep chickens, asked +Plato how much he had paid for it. Plato almost dropped the cover. +'Mars' George,' he said with real solicitude in his voice,' is you +sick?' And speaking of turkeys--" + +"Who was speaking of turkeys?" asked Dorothy. + +"Why, I think this chicken is superior to any domestic turkey I ever +tasted," concluded Bronson. + +"Was you ever in politics?" queried Lorry. And they all laughed +heartily. + +After dinner Lorry asked for an apron. + +Dorothy shook her finger at him. "It's nice of you--but you don't mean +it." + +"Now, ma wouldn't 'a' said that, miss. She'd 'a' just tied one of her +aprons on me and turned me loose on the dishes. I used to help her like +that when I was a kid. Ma runs the hotel at Stacey." + +"Why, didn't we stop there for dinner?" asked Dorothy. + +"Yes, indeed. All right, Adams, I'll wash 'em and you can dry 'em, and +Dorothy can rest." + +"It's a right smilin' little apron," commented Lorry as Dorothy handed +it to him. + +"And you do look funny! My, I didn't know you were so big! I'll have to +get a pin." + +"I reckon it's the apron looks funny," said Lorry. + +"I made it," she said, teasing him. + +"Then that's why it is so pretty," said Lorry gravely. + +Dorothy decided to change the subject. "I think you should let me wash +the dishes, father." + +"You cooked the dinner, Peter Pan." + +"Then I'll go over and try the piano. May I?" + +"If you'll play for us when we come over, Miss Bronson." + +Bronson and Lorry sat on the veranda and smoked. Dorothy was playing a +sprightly melody. She ceased to play, and presently the sweet old tune +"Annie Laurie" came to them. Lorry, with cigarette poised in his +fingers, hummed the words to himself. Bronson was watching him +curiously. The melody came to an end. Lorry sighed. + +"Sounds like that ole piano was just singin' its heart out all by +itself," he said. "I wish Bud could hear that." + +Almost immediately came the sprightly notes of "Anitra's Dance." + +"And that's these here woods--and the water prancin' down the rocks, and +a slim kind of a girl dancin' in the sunshine and then runnin' away to +hide in the woods again." And Lorry laughed softly at his own conceit. + +"Do you know the tune?" queried Bronson. + +"Nope. I was just makin' that up." + +"That's just Dorothy," said Bronson. + +Lorry turned and gazed at him. And without knowing how it came about, +Lorry understood that there had been another Dorothy who had played and +sung and danced in the sunshine. And that this sprightly, slender girl +was a bud of that vanished flower, a bud whose unfolding Bronson watched +with such deep solicitude. + + + + +Chapter XXII + + +_A Tune for Uncle Bud_ + +Lorry had ridden to Jason, delivered his reports to the office, and +received instructions to ride to the southern line of the reservation. +He would be out many days. He had brought down a pack-horse, and he +returned to camp late that night with provisions and some mail for the +Bronsons. + +The next day he delayed starting until Dorothy had appeared. Bronson +told him frankly that he was sorry to see him go, especially for such a +length of time. + +"But I'm glad," said Dorothy. + +Lorry stared at her. Her face was grave, but there was a twinkle of +mischief in her eyes. She laughed. + +"Because it will be such fun welcoming you home again." + +"Oh, I thought it might be that piano--" + +"Now I shan't touch it!" she pouted, making a deliberate face at him. + +He laughed. She did such unexpected things, did them so unaffectedly. +Bronson put his arms about her shoulders. + +"We're keeping Mr. Adams, Peter Pan. He is anxious to be off. He has +been ready for quite a while and I think he has been waiting till you +appeared so that he could say good-bye." + +"Are you anxious to be off?" she queried. + +"Yes, ma'am. It's twenty miles over the ridge to good grass and water." + +"Why, twenty miles isn't so far!" + +"They's considerable up and down in them twenty miles, Miss Bronson. +Now, it wouldn't be so far for a turkey. He could fly most of the way. +But a horse is different, and I'm packin' a right fair jag of stuff." + +"Well, good-bye, ranger man. Good-bye, Gray Leg,--and you two poor +horses that have to carry the packs. Don't stay away all winter." + +Lorry swung up and started the pack-horses. At the edge of the timber he +turned and waved his hat. Dorothy and her father answered with a hearty +Good-bye that echoed through the slumbering wood lands. + +One of Bronson's horses raised his head and nickered. "Chinook is saying +'Adios,' too. Isn't the air good? And we're right on top of the world. +There is Jason, and there is St. Johns, and 'way over there ought to be +the railroad, but I can't see it." + +Bronson smiled down at her. + +She reached up and pinched his cheek. "Let's stay here forever, daddy." + +"We'll see how my girl is by September. And next year, if you want to +come back--" + +"Come back! Why, I don't want to go away--ever!" + +"But the snow, Peter Pan." + +"I forgot that. We'd be frozen in tight, shouldn't we?" + +"I'm afraid we should. Shall we look at the mail? Then I'll have to go +to work." + +"Mr. Adams thinks quite a lot of his horses, doesn't he?" she queried. + +"He has to. He depends on them, and they depend on him. He has to take +good care of them." + +"I shouldn't like it a bit if I thought he took care of them just +because he had to." + +"Oh, Adams is all right, Peter. I have noticed one or two things about +him." + +"Well, I have noticed that he has a tremendous appetite," laughed +Dorothy. + +"And you're going to have, before we leave here, Peter Pan." + +"Then you'd better hurry and get that story written. I want a new saddle +and, oh, lots of things!" + +Bronson patted her hand as she walked with him to the cabin. He sat down +to his typewriter, and she came out with a book. + +She glanced up occasionally to watch the ponies grazing on the mesa. She +was deeply absorbed in her story when some one called to her. She jumped +up, dropping her book. + +Bud Shoop was sitting his horse a few paces away, smiling. He had ridden +up quietly to surprise her. + +"A right lovely mornin', Miss Bronson. I reckon your daddy is busy." + +"Here I am," said Bronson, striding out and shaking hands with the +supervisor. "Won't you come in?" + +"About that lease," said Shoop, dismounting. "If you got time to talk +business." + +"Most certainly. Dorothy will excuse us." + +"Is Adams gone?" + +"He left this morning." + +"Uh-uh. Here, Bondsman, quit botherin' the young lady." + +"He isn't bothering. I know what he wants." And she ran to the kitchen. + +Shoop's face grew grave. "I didn't want to scare the little lady, +Bronson, but Lorry's father--Jim Waring--has been shot up bad over to +Criswell. He went in after that Brewster outfit that killed Pat. I +reckon he got 'em--but I ain't heard." + +"Adams's father!" + +"Yes, Jim Waring. Here comes the little missy. I'll tell you later. Now +Bondsman is sure happy." + +And Bud forced a smile as Dorothy gave the dog a pan of something that +looked suspiciously like bones and shreds of turkey meat. + +A little later Bud found excuse to call Bronson aside to show him a good +place to fence-in the corral. Dorothy was playing with Bondsman. + +"Jim's been shot up bad. I was goin' to tell you that Annie Adams, over +to Stacey, is his wife. She left him when they was livin' down in +Mexico. Lorry is their boy. Now, Jim is as straight as a ruler; I don't +know just why she left him. But let that rest. I got a telegram from the +marshal of Criswell. Reads like Jim was livin', but livin' mighty clost +to the edge. Now, if I was to send word to Lorry he'd just nacherally +buckle on a gun and go after them Brewster boys, if they's any of 'em +left. He might listen to me if I could talk to him. Writin' is no good. +And I ain't rigged up to follow him across the ridge. It's bad country +over there. I reckon I better leave word with you. If he gets word of +the shootin' while he's out there, he'll just up and cut across the +hills to Criswell a-smokin'. But if he gets this far back he's like to +come through Jason--and I can cool him down, mebby." + +"He ought to know; if his father is--" + +"That's just it. But I'm thinkin' of the boy. Jim Waring's lived a big +chunk of his life. But they ain't no use of the kid gettin' shot up. It +figures fifty that I ought to get word to him, and fifty that I ought to +keep him out of trouble--" + +"I didn't know he was that kind of a chap: that is, that he would go out +after those men--" + +"He's Jim Waring's boy," said Bud. + +"It's too bad. I heard of that other killing." + +"Yes. And I've a darned good mind to fly over to Criswell myself. I +knowed Pat better than I did Jim. But I can't ride like I used to. +But"--and the supervisor sighed heavily--"I reckon I'll go just the +same." + +"I'll give your message to Adams, Mr. Shoop." + +"All right. And tell him I want to see him. How's the little lady these +days?" + +"She seems to be much stronger, and she is in love with the hills and +canons." + +"I'm right glad of that. Kind of wish I was up here myself. Why, already +they're houndin' me down there to go into politics. I guess they want to +get me out of this job, 'cause I can't hear crooked money jingle. My +hands feels sticky ever' time I think of politics. And even if a fella's +hands ain't sticky--politics money is. Why, it's like to stick to his +feet if he ain't right careful where he walks!" + +"I wish you would stay to dinner, Mr. Shoop." + +"So I'll set and talk my fool notions--and you with a writin' machine +handy? Thanks, but I reckon I'll light a shuck for Jason. See my piano?" + +"Yes, indeed. Dorothy was trying it a few nights ago." + +"Then she can play. Missy," and he called to Dorothy, who was having an +extravagant romp with Bondsman, "could you play a tune for your Uncle +Bud?" + +"Of course." And she came to them. + +They walked to the cabin. Bondsman did not follow. He had had a hard +play, and was willing to rest. + +Dorothy drew up the piano stool and touched the keys. Bud sank into his +big chair. Bronson stood in the doorway. By some happy chance Dorothy +played Bud's beloved "Annie Laurie." + +When she had finished, Bud blew his nose sonorously. "I know that tune," +he said, gazing at Dorothy in a sort of huge wonderment. "But I never +knowed all that you made it say." + +He rose and shuffled to the doorway, stopping abruptly as he saw +Bondsman. Could it be possible that Bondsman had not recognized his own +tune? Bud shook his head. There was something wrong somewhere. Bondsman +had not offered to come in and accompany the pianist. He must have been +asleep. But Bondsman had not been asleep. He rose and padded to Shoop's +horse, where he stood, a statue of rugged patience, waiting for Shoop to +start back toward home. + +"Now, look at that!" exclaimed Bud. "He's tellin' me if I want to get +back to Jason in time to catch the stage to-morrow mornin' I got to +hustle. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +When Shoop had gone, Dorothy turned to her father. "Mr. Shoop didn't ask +me to play very much. He seemed in a hurry." + +"That's all right, Peter Pan. He liked your playing. But he has a very +important matter to attend to." + +"He's really just delicious, isn't he?" + +"If you like that word, Peter. He is big and sincere and kind." + +"Oh, so were some of the saints for that matter," said Dorothy, making a +humorous mouth at her father. + + + + +Chapter XXIII + + +_Like One Who Sleeps_ + +Bondsman sat in the doorway of the supervisor's office, gazing +dejectedly at the store across the street. He knew that his master had +gone to St. Johns and would go to Stacey. He had been told all about +that, and had followed Shoop to the automobile stage, where it stood, +sand-scarred, muddy, and ragged as to tires, in front of the +post-office. Bondsman had watched the driver rope the lean mail bags to +the running-board, crank up the sturdy old road warrior of the desert, +and step in beside the supervisor. There had been no other passengers. +And while Shoop had told Bondsman that he would be away some little +time, Bondsman would have known it without the telling. His master had +worn a coat--a black coat--and a new black Stetson. Moreover, he had +donned a white shirt and a narrow hint of a collar with a black +"shoe-string" necktie. If Bondsman had lacked any further proof of his +master's intention to journey far, the canvas telescope suitcase would +have been conclusive evidence. + +The dog sat in the doorway of the office, oblivious to the clerk's +friendly assurances that his master would return poco tiempo. Bondsman +was not deceived by this kindly attempt to soothe his loneliness. + +Toward evening the up-stage buzzed into town. Bondsman trotted over to +it, watched a rancher and his wife alight, sniffed at them incuriously, +and trotted back to the office. That settled it. His master would be +away indefinitely. + +When the clerk locked up that evening, Bondsman had disappeared. + +As Bronson stepped from his cabin the following morning he was startled +to see the big Airedale leap from the veranda of Shoop's cabin and bound +toward him. Then he understood. The camp had been Bondsman's home. The +supervisor had gone to Criswell. Evidently the dog preferred the lonely +freedom of the Blue Mesa to the monotonous confines of town. + +Bronson called to his daughter. "We have a visitor this morning, +Dorothy." + +"Why, it's Bondsman! Where is Mr. Shoop?" + +"Most natural question. Mr. Shoop had to leave Jason on business. +Bondsman couldn't go, so he trotted up here to pay us a visit." + +"He's hungry. I know it. Come, Bondsman." + +From that moment he attached himself to Dorothy, following her about +that day and the next and the next. But when night came he invariably +trotted over to Shoop's cabin and slept on the veranda. Dorothy wondered +why he would not sleep at their camp. + +"He's very friendly," she told her father. "He will play and chase +sticks and growl, and pretend to bite when I tickle him, but he does it +all with a kind of mental reservation. Yesterday, when we were having +our regular frolic after breakfast, he stopped suddenly and stood +looking out across the mesa, and it was only my pony, just coming from +the edge of the woods. Bondsman tries to be polite, but he is really +just passing the time while he is waiting for Mr. Shoop." + +"You don't feel flattered, perhaps. But don't you admire him all the +more for it?" + +"I believe I do. Poor Bondsman! It's just like being a social pet, isn't +it? Have to appear happy whether you are or not." + +Bondsman knew that she proffered sympathy, and he licked her hand +lazily, gazing up at her with bright, unreadable eyes. + + * * * * * + +Bud Shoop wasted no time in Stacey. He puffed into the hotel, indecision +behind him and a definite object in view. + +"No use talkin'," he said to Mrs. Adams. "We got to go and take care of +Jim. I couldn't get word to Lorry. No tellin' where to locate him just +now. Mebby it's just as well. They's a train west along about midnight. +Now, you get somebody to stay here till we get back--" + +"But, Mr. Shoop! I can't leave like this. I haven't a thing ready. Anita +can't manage alone." + +"Well, if that's all, I admire to say that I'll set right down and run +this here hotel myself till you get back. But it ain't right, your +travelin' down there alone. We used to be right good friends, Annie. Do +you reckon I'd tell you to go see Jim if it wa'n't right? If he ever +needed you, it's right now. If he's goin' to get well, your bein' +there'll help him a pow'ful sight. And if he ain't, you ought to be +there, anyhow." + +"I know it, Bud. I wish Lorry was here." + +"I don't. I'm mighty glad he's out there where he is. What do you think +he'd do if he knowed Jim was shot up?" + +"He would go to his father--" + +"Uh-uh?" + +"And--" + +"Go ahead. You wa'n't born yesterday." + +"He would listen to me," she concluded weakly. + +"Yep. But only while you was talkin'. That boy is your boy all right, +but he's got a lot of Jim Waring under his hide. And if you want to keep +that there hide from gettin' shot full of holes by a no-account outlaw, +you'll just pack up and come along." + +Bud wiped his forehead, and puffed. This sort of thing was not exactly +in his line. + +"Here's the point, Annie," he continued. "If I get there afore Lorry, +and you're there, he won't get into trouble. Mebby you could hold him +with your hand on the bridle, but he's runnin' loose right where he is. +Can't you get some lady in town to run the place?" + +"I don't know. I'll see." + +Bud heaved a sigh. It was noticeably warmer in Stacey than at Jason. + +Bud's reasoning, while rough, had appealed to Mrs. Adams. She felt that +she ought to go. She had only needed some such impetus to send her +straight to Waring. The town marshal's telegram had stunned her. She +knew that her husband had followed the Brewsters, but she had not +anticipated the awful result of his quest. In former times he had always +come back to her, taking up the routine of their home life quietly. But +this time he had not come back. If only he had listened to her! And deep +in her heart she felt that old jealousy for the lure which had so often +called him from her to ride the grim trails of his profession. But this +time he had not come back. She would go to him, and never leave him +again. + +Anita thought she knew of a woman who would take charge of the hotel +during Mrs. Adams's absence. Without waiting for an assurance of this, +Bud purchased tickets, sent a letter to his clerk, and spent half an +hour in the barber shop. + +"Somebody dead?" queried the barber as Bud settled himself in the chair. + +"Not that I heard of. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing, Mr. Shoop. I seen that you was dressed in black and had on +a black tie--" + +Later, as Bud surveyed himself in the glass, trying ineffectually to +dodge the barber's persistent whisk-broom, he decided that he did look a +bit funereal. And when he appeared at the supper table that evening he +wore an ambitious four-in-hand tie of red and yellow. There was going to +be no funeral or anything that looked like it, if he knew it. + +Aboard the midnight train he made Mrs. Adams comfortable in the chair +car. It was but a few hours' run to The Junction. He went to the smoker, +took off his coat, and lit a cigar. Around him men sprawled in all sorts +of awkward attitudes, sleeping or trying to sleep. He had heard nothing +further about Waring's fight with the Brewsters. They might still be at +large. But he doubted it. If they were--Shoop recalled the friendly +shooting contest with High-Chin Bob. If High Chin were riding the +country, doubtless he would be headed south. But if he should happen to +cross Shoop's trail by accident--Bud shook his head. He would not look +for trouble, but if it came his way it would bump into something solid. + +Shoop had buckled on his gun before leaving Jason. His position as +supervisor made him automatically a deputy sheriff. But had he been +nothing more than a citizen homesteader, his aim would have been quite +as sincere. + +It was nearly daylight when they arrived at The Junction. Shoop +accompanied Mrs. Adams to a hotel. After breakfast he went out to get a +buck-board and team. Criswell was not on the line of the railroad. + +They arrived in Criswell that evening, and were directed to the +marshal's house, where Ramon met them. + +"How's Jim?" was Shoop's immediate query. + +"The Senor Jim is like one who sleeps," said Ramon. + +Mrs. Adams grasped Shoop's arm. + +"He wakens only when the doctor is come. He has spoken your name, +senora." + +The marshal's wife, a thin, worried-looking woman, apologized for the +untidy condition of her home, the reason for which she wished to make +obvious. She was of the type which Shoop designated to himself as +"vinegar and salt." + +"Reckon I better go in first, Annie?" + +"No." And Mrs. Adams opened the door indicated by the other woman. + +Shoop caught a glimpse of a white face. The door closed softly. Shoop +turned to Ramon. + +"Let's go take a smoke, eh?" + +Ramon led the way down the street and on out toward the desert. At the +edge of town, he paused and pointed across the spaces. + +"It was out there, senor. I found him. The others were not found until +the morning. I did not know that they were there." + +"The others? How many?" + +"Three. One will live, but he will never ride again. The others, High +of the Chin and his brother, were buried by the marshal. None came to +claim them." + +"Were you in it?" + +"No, senor. It was alone that Senor Jim fought them. He followed them +out there alone. I come and I ask where he is gone. I find him that +night. I do not know that he is alive." + +"What became of his horse?" + +"Dex he come back with no one on him. It is then that I tell Dex to find +for me the Senor Jim." + +"And he trailed back to where Jim went down, eh? Uh-uh! I got a dog +myself." + +"Will the Senor Jim ride again?" queried Ramon. + +"I dunno, boy, I dunno. But if you and me and the doc and the +senora--and mebby God--get busy, why, mebby he'll stand a chance. How +many times was he hit?" + +"Two times they shot him." + +"Two, eh? Well, speakin' from experience, they was three mighty fast +guns ag'in' him. Say five shots in each gun, which is fifteen. And he +had to reload, most-like, for he can empty a gun quicker than you can +think. Fifteen to five for a starter, and comin' at him from three ways +to once. And he got the whole three of 'em! Do you know what that means, +boy? But shucks! I'm forgettin' times has changed. How they been usin' +you down here?" + +"I am sleep in the hay by Dex." + +"Uh-uh. Let that rest. Mebby it's a good thing, anyhow. Got any money?" + +"No, senor. I have use all." + +"Where d' you eat?" + +"I have buy the can and the crackers at the store." + +"Can and crackers, eh? Bet you ain't had a square meal for a week. But +we'll fix that. Here, go 'long and buy some chuck till I get organized." + +"Gracias, senor. But I can pray better when I do not eat so much." + +"Good Lord! But, that's some idee! Well, if wishin' and hopin' and such +is prayin', I reckon Jim'll pull through. I reckon it's up to the missus +now." + +"Lorry is not come?" + +"Nope. Couldn't get to him. When does the mail go out of this +bone-hill?" + +"I do not know. To-morrow or perhaps the next day." + +"Uh-uh. Well, you get somethin' to eat, and then throw a saddle on Dex +and I'll give you a couple of letters to take to The Junction. And, come +to think, you might as well keep right on fannin' it for Stacey and +home. They can use you over to the ranch. The missus and me'll take care +of Senor Jim." + +"I take the letter," said Ramon, "but I am come back. I am with the +Senor Jim where he goes." + +"Oh, very well, amigo. Might as well give a duck a bar of soap and ask +him to take a bath as to tell you to leave Jim. Such is wastin' talk." + + + + +Chapter XXIV + + +_The Genial Bud_ + +"And just as soon as he can be moved, his wife aims to take him over to +Stacey." + +So Bud told the Marshal of Criswell, who, for want of better +accommodations, had his office in the rear of the general store. + +The marshal, a gaunt individual with a watery blue eye and a soiled +goatee, shook his head. "The law is the law," he stated sententiously. + +"And a gun's a gun," said Shoop. "But what evidence you got that Jim +Waring killed Bob Brewster and his brother Tony?" + +"All I need, pardner. When I thought Andy Brewster was goin' to pass +over, I took his antimortim. But he's livin'. And he is bound over to +appear ag'in' Waring. What you say about the killin' over by Stacey +ain't got nothin' to do with this here case. I got no orders to hold +Andy Brewster, but I'm holdin' him for evidence. And I'm holdin' Waring +for premeditated contempt and shootin' to death of said Bob Brewster and +his brother Tony. And I got said gun what did it." + +"So you pinched Jim's gun, eh? And when he couldn't lift a finger or say +a word to stop you. Do you want to know what would happen if you was to +try to get a holt of said gun if Jim Waring was on his two feet? Well, +Jim Waring would pull said trigger, and Criswell would bury said city +marshal." + +"The law is the law. This town's payin' me to do my duty, and I'm goin' +to do it." + +"Speakin' in general, how much do you owe the town so far?" + +"Look-a-here! You can't run no whizzer like that on me. I've heard tell +of you, Mr. Shoop. No dinky little ole forest ranger can come +cantelopin' round here tellin' me my business!" + +"Mebby I'm dinky, and mebby, I'm old, but your eyesight wants fixin' if +you callin' me little, old hoss. An' I ain't tryin' to tell you your +business. I'm tellin' you mine, which is that Jim Waring goes to Stacey +just the first minute he can put his foot in a buck-board. And he's +goin' peaceful. I got a gun on me that says so." + +"The law is the law. I can run you in for packin' concealed weapons, Mr. +Shoop." + +"Run me in!" chuckled Shoop. "Nope. You'd spile the door. But let me +tell you. A supervisor is a deputy sheriff--and that goes anywhere +they's a American flag. I don't see none here, but I reckon Criswell is +in America. What's the use of your actin' like a goat just because you +got chin whiskers? I'm tellin' you Jim Waring done a good job when he +beefed them coyotes." + +The marshal's pale-blue eyes blinked at the allusion to the goat. "Now, +don't you get pussonel, neighbor. The law is the law, and they ain't no +use you talkin'." + +Bud's lips tightened. The marshal's reiterated reference to the law was +becoming irksome. He would be decidedly impersonal henceforth. + +"I seen a pair of walkin' overalls once, hitched to a two-bit shirt with +a chewin'-tobacco tag on it. All that held that there fella together was +his suspenders. I don't recollec' whether he just had goat whiskers or +chewed tobacco, but somebody who had been liquorin' up told him he +looked like the Emperor Maximilian. And you know what happened to Maxy." + +"That's all right, neighbor. But mebby when I put in my bill for board +of said prisoner and feed for his hoss and one Mexican, mebby you'll +quit talkin' so much, 'less you got friends where you can borrow money." + +"Your bill will be paid. Don't you worry about that. What I want to know +is: Does Jim Waring leave town peaceful, or have I got to hang around +here till he gets well enough to travel, and then show you? I got +somethin' else to do besides set on a cracker barrel and swap lies with +my friends." + +"You can stay or you can go, but the law is the law--" + +"And a goat is a goat. All right, hombre, I'll stay." + +"As I was sayin'," continued the marshal, ignoring the deepening color +of Shoop's face, "you can stay. You're too durned fat to move around +safe, anyhow. You might bust." + +Shoop smiled. He had stirred the musty marshal to a show of feeling. The +marshal, who had keyed himself up to make the thrust, was disappointed. +He made that mistake, common to his kind, of imagining that he could +continue that sort of thing with impunity. + +"You come prancin' into this town with a strange woman, sayin' that she +is the wife of the defendant. Can you tell me how her name is Adams and +his'n is Waring?" + +"I can!" And with a motion so swift that the marshal had no time to help +himself, Bud Shoop seized the other's goatee and yanked him from the +cracker barrel. "I got a job for you," said Shoop, grinning until his +teeth showed. + +And without further argument on his part, he led the marshal through the +store and up the street to his own house. The marshal back-paddled and +struggled, but he had to follow his chin. + +Mrs. Adams answered Bud's knock. Bud jerked the marshal to his knees. + +"Apologize to this lady--quick!" + +"Why, Mr. Shoop!" + +"Yes, it's me, Annie. Talk up, you pizen lizard!" + +"But, Bud, you're hurting him!" + +"Well, I didn't aim to feed him ice-cream. Talk up, you Gila +monster--and talk quick!" + +"I apologize," mumbled the marshal. + +Bud released him and wiped his hand on his trousers. + +"Sticky!" he muttered. + +The marshal shook his fist at Bud. "You're under arrest for disturbin' +the peace. You're under arrest!" + +"What does it mean?" queried Mrs. Adams. + +"Nothin' what he ain't swallowed, Annie. Gosh 'mighty, but I wasted a +lot of steam on that there walkin' clothes-rack! The blamed horn toad +says he's holdin' Jim for shootin' the Brewsters." + +"But he can't," said Mrs. Adams. "Wait a minute; I'll be right out. Sit +down, Bud. You are tired out and nervous." + +Bud sat down heavily. "Gosh! I never come so clost to pullin' a gun in +my life. If he was a man, I reckon I'd 'a' done it. What makes me mad is +that I let him get _me_ mad." + +When Mrs. Adams came out to the porch she had a vest in her hand. Inside +the vest was pinned the little, round badge of a United States marshal. +Bud seized the vest, and without waiting to listen to her he plodded +down the street and marched into the general store, where the town +marshal was talking to a group of curious natives. + +"Can you read?" said Bud, and without waiting for an answer shoved the +little silver badge under the marshal's nose. "The law is the law," +said Bud. "And that there vest belongs to Jim Waring." + +Bud had regained his genial smile. He was too full of the happy +discovery to remain silent. + +"Gentlemen," he said, assuming a manner, "did your honorable peace +officer here tell you what he said about the wife of the man who is +layin' wounded and helpless in his own house? And did your honorable +peace officer tell you-all that it is her money that is payin' for the +board and doctorin' of Tony Brewster, likewise layin' wounded and +helpless in your midst? And did your honorable peace officer tell you +that Jim Waring is goin' to leave comfortable and peaceful just as soon +as the A'mighty and the doc'll turn him loose? Well, I seen he was +talkin' to you, and I figured he might 'a' been tellin' you these +things, but I wa'n't sure. Was you-all thinkin' of stoppin' me? Such +doin's! Why, when I was a kid I used to ride into towns like this +frequent, turn 'em bottom side up, spank 'em, and send 'em bawlin' to +their--to their city marshal, and I ain't dead yet. Now, I come peaceful +and payin' my way, but if they's any one here got any objections to how +I wear my vest or eat my pie, why, he can just oil up his objection, +load her, and see that she pulls easy and shoots straight. I ain't no +charity organization, but I'm handin' you some first-class life +insurance free." + +That afternoon Buck Hardy arrived, accompanied by a deputy. Andy +Brewster again made deposition that without cause Waring had attacked +and killed his brothers. Hardy had a long consultation with Shoop, and +later notified Brewster that he was under arrest as an accomplice in the +murder of Pat and for aiding the murderer to escape. While +circumstantial evidence pointed directly toward the Brewsters, who had +threatened openly from time to time to "get" Pat, there was valuable +evidence missing in Waco, who, it was almost certain, had been an +eye-witness of the tragedy. Waco had been traced to the town of Grant, +at which place Hardy and his men had lost the trail. The demolished +buckboard had been found by the roadside. Hardy had tracked the +automobile to Grant. + +Shoop suggested that Waco might have taken a freight out of town. +Despite Hardy's argument that Waco had nothing to fear so far as the +murder was concerned, Shoop realized that the tramp had been afraid to +face the law and had left that part of the country. + +Such men were born cowards, irresolute, weak, and treacherous even to +their own infrequent moments of indecision. There was no question but +that Waring had acted within the law in killing the Brewsters. Bob +Brewster had fired at him at sight. But the fact that one of the +brothers survived to testify against Waring opened up a question that +would have to be answered in court. Shoop offered the opinion that +possibly Andy Brewster, the youngest of the brothers, was not directly +implicated in the murder, only taking sides with his brother Bob when he +learned that he was a fugitive. In such a premise it was not unnatural +that his bitterness toward Waring should take the angle that it did. And +it would be difficult to prove that Andy Brewster was guilty of more +than aiding his brother to escape. + +The sheriff and Shoop talked the matter over, with the result that Hardy +dispatched a telegram from The Junction to all the Southern cities to +keep a sharp watch for Waco. + +Next morning Shoop left for Jason with Hardy and his deputy. + +Several days later Waring was taken to The Junction by Mrs. Adams and +Ramon, where Ramon left them waiting for the east-bound. The Mexican +rode the big buckskin. He had instructions to return to the ranch. + +Late that evening, Waring was assisted from the train to the hotel at +Stacey. He was given Lorry's old room. It would be many weeks before he +would be strong enough to walk again. + +For the first time in his life Waring relinquished the initiative. His +wife planned for the future, and Waring only asserted himself when she +took it for granted that the hotel would be his permanent home. + +"There's the ranch, Annie," he told her. "I can't give that up." + +"And you can't go back there till I let you," she asserted, smiling. + +"I'll get Lorry to talk to you about that. I'm thinking of making him an +offer of partnership. He may want to set up for himself some day. I +married young." + +"I'd like to see the girl that's good enough for my Lorry." + +Waring smiled. "Or good enough to call you 'mother.'" + +"Jim, you're trying to plague me." + +"But you will some day. There's always some girl. And Lorry is a pretty +live boy. He isn't going to ride a lone trail forever." + +Mrs. Adams affected an indifference that she by no means felt. + +"You're a lot better to-day, Jim." + +"And that's all your fault, Annie." + +She left the room, closing the door slowly. In her own room at the end +of the hall, she glanced at herself in the glass. A rosy face and +dark-brown eyes smiled back at her. + +But there were many things to attend to downstairs. She had been away +more than a week. And there was evidence of her absence in every room in +the place. + + + + +Chapter XXV + + +_The Little Fires_ + +With the coming of winter the Blue Mesa reclaimed its primordial +solitude. Mount Baldy's smooth, glittering roundness topped a world that +swept down in long waves of dark blue frosted with silver; the serried +minarets of spruce and pine bulked close and sprinkled with snow. +Blanketed in white, the upland mesas lay like great, tideless lakes, +silent and desolate from green-edged shore to shore. The shadowy caverns +of the timberlands, touched here and there with a ray of sunlight, +thrilled to the creeping fingers of the cold. Tough fibers of the +stiff-ranked pines parted with a crackling groan, as though unable to +bear silently the reiterant stabbing of the frost needles. The frozen +gum of the black spruce glowed like frosted topaz. The naked whips of +the quaking asp were brittle traceries against the hard blue of the sky. + +Below the rounded shoulders of the peaks ran an incessant whispering as +thin swirls of powdered snow spun down the wind and sifted through the +moving branches below. + +The tawny lynx and the mist-gray mountain lion hunted along snow-banked +ranger trails. The blue grouse sat stiff and close to the tree-trunk, +while gray squirrels with quaintly tufted ears peered curiously at +sinuous forms that nosed from side to side of the hidden trail below. + +The two cabins of the Blue Mesa, hooded in white, thrust their lean +stovepipes skyward through two feet of snow. The corrals were shallow +fortifications, banked breast-high. The silence seemed not the silence +of slumber, but that of a tense waiting, as though the whole winter +world yearned for the warmth of spring. + +No creak of saddle or plod of hoof broke the bleak stillness, save when +some wandering Apache hunted the wild turkey or the deer, knowing that +winter had locked the trails to his ancient heritage; that the white +man's law of boundaries was void until the snows were thin upon the +highest peaks. + +Thirty miles north of this white isolation the low country glowed in a +sun that made golden the far buttes and sparkled on the clay-red waters +of the Little Colorado. Four thousand feet below the hills cattle +drifted across the open lands. + +Across the ranges, to the south, the barren sands lay shimmering in a +blur of summer heat waves; the winter desert, beautiful in its golden +lights and purple, changing shadows. And in that Southern desert, where +the old Apache Trail melts into the made roads of ranchland and town, +Bronson toiled at his writing. And Dorothy, less slender, more +sprightly, growing stronger in the clean, clear air and the sun, +dreamed of her "ranger man" and the blue hills of her autumn wonderland. +With the warmth of summer around her, the lizards on the rocks, and the +chaparral still green, she could hardly realize that the Blue Mesa could +be desolate, white, and cold. As yet she had not lived long enough in +the desert to love it as she loved the wooded hills, where to her each +tree was a companion and each whisper of the wind a song. + +She often wondered what Lorry was doing, and whether Bondsman would come +to visit her when they returned to their cabin on the mesa. She often +recalled, with a kind of happy wonderment, Bondsman's singular visit and +how he had left suddenly one morning, heedless of her coaxing. The big +Airedale had appeared in Jason the day after Bud Shoop had returned from +Criswell. That Bondsman should know, miles from the town, that his +master had returned was a mystery to her. She had read of such +happenings; her father had written of them. But to know them for the +very truth! That was, indeed, the magic, and her mountains were towering +citadels of the true Romance. + +Long before Bronson ventured to return to his mountain camp, Lorry was +riding the hill trails again as spring loosened the upland snows and +filled the canons and arroyos with a red turbulence of waters bearing +driftwood and dead leaves. With a companion ranger he mended trail and +rode along the telephone lines, searching for sagging wires; made notes +of fresh down timber and the effect of the snow-fed torrents on the +major trails. + +Each day the air grew warmer. Tiny green shoots appeared in the rusty +tangle of last season's mesa grasses. Imperceptibly the dull-hued mesas +became fresh carpeted with green across which the wind bore a subtly +soft fragrance of sun-warmed spruce and pine. + +To Lorry the coming of the Bronsons was like the return of old friends. +Although he had known them but a short summer season, isolation had +brought them all close together. Their reunion was celebrated with an +old-fashioned dinner of roast beef and potatoes, hot biscuit and honey, +an apple pie that would have made a New England farmer dream of his +ancestors, and the inevitable coffee of the high country. + +And Dorothy had so much to tell him of the wonderful winter desert; the +old Mexican who looked after their horses, and his wife who cooked for +them. Of sunshine and sandstorms, the ruins of ancient pueblos in which +they discovered fragments of pottery, arrowheads, beads, and trinkets, +of the lean, bronzed cowboys of the South, of the cattle and sheep, +until in her enthusiasm she forgot that Lorry had always known of these +things. And Lorry, gravely attentive, listened without interrupting her +until she asked why he was so silent. + +"Because I'm right happy, miss, to see you lookin' so spry and pretty. +I'm thinkin' Arizona has been kind of a heaven for you." + +"And you?" she queried, laughing. + +"Well, it wasn't the heat that would make me call it what it was up here +last winter. I rode up once while you was gone. Gray Leg could just make +it to the cabin. It wasn't so bad in the timber. But comin' across the +mesa the cinchas sure scraped snow." + +"Right here on our mesa?" + +"Right here, miss. From the edge of the timber over there to this side +it was four feet deep on the level." + +"And now," she said, gesturing toward the wavering grasses. "But why did +you risk it?" + +Lorry laughed. He had not considered it a risk. "You remember that book +you lent me. Well, I left it in my cabin. There was one piece that kep' +botherin' me. I couldn't recollect the last part about those 'Little +Fires.' I was plumb worried tryin' to remember them verses. When I got +it, I sure learned that piece from the jump to the finish." + +"The 'Little Fires'? I'm glad you like it. I do. + + "'From East to West they're burning in tower and forge + and home, + And on beyond the outlands, across the ocean foam; + On mountain crest and mesa, on land and sea and height, + The little fires along the trail that twinkle down the night.' + +"And about the sheep-herder; do you remember how-- + + "'The Andalusian herder rolls a smoke and points the way, + As he murmurs, "Caliente," "San Clemente," "Santa Fe," + Till the very names are music, waking memoried desires, + And we turn and foot it down the trail to find the little fires. + Adventuring! Adventuring! And, oh, the sights to see! + And little fires along the trail that wink at you and me.'" + +"That's it! But I couldn't say it like that. But I know some of them +little fires." + +"We must make one some day. Won't it be fun!" + +"It sure is when a fella ain't hustlin' to get grub. That poem sounds +better after grub, at night, when the stars are shinin' and the horses +grazin' and mebby the pack-horse bell jinglin' 'way off somewhere. Then +one of them little fires is sure friendly." + +"Have you been reading this winter?" + +"Oh, some. Mostly forestry and about the war. Bud was tellin' me to read +up on forestry. He's goin' to put me over west--and a bigger job this +summer." + +"You mean--to stay?" + +"About as much as I stay anywhere." + +Dorothy pouted. She had thought that the Blue Mesa and the timberlands +were more beautiful than ever that spring, but to think that the +neighboring cabin would be vacant all summer! No cheery whistling and no +wood smoke curling from the chimney and no blithe voice talking to the +ponies. No jolly "Good-mornin', miss, and the day is sure startin' out +proud to see you." Well, Dorothy had considered Mr. Shoop a friend. She +would have a very serious talk with Mr. Shoop when she saw him. + +She had read of Waring's fight in the desert and of his slow recovery, +and that Waring was Lorry's father; matters that she could not speak of +to Lorry, but the knowledge of them lent a kind of romance to her ranger +man. At times she studied Lorry, endeavoring to find in him some trace +of his father's qualities. She had not met Waring, but she imagined much +from what she had heard and read. And could Lorry, who had such kind +gray eyes and such a pleasant face, deliberately go out and kill men as +his father had done? Why should men kill each other? The world was so +beautiful, and there was so much to live for. + +Although the trail across the great forest terraces below was open clear +up to the Blue Mesa, the trails on the northern side of the range were +still impassable. The lookout man would not occupy his lonely cabin on +Mount Baldy for several weeks to come, and Lorry's work kept him within +a moderate radius of the home camp. + +Several times Dorothy and her father rode with Lorry, spending the day +searching for new vistas while he mended trail or repaired the telephone +line that ran from Mount Baldy to the main office. Frequently they would +have their evening meal in Bronson's camp, after which Lorry always +asked them to his cabin, where Dorothy would play for them while they +smoked contentedly in front of the log fire. To Dorothy it seemed that +they had always lived in a cabin on the Blue Mesa and that Lorry had +always been their neighbor, whom it was a joy to tease because he never +showed impatience, and whose attitude toward her was that of a brother. + +And without realizing it, Lorry grew to love the sprightly, slender +Dorothy with a wholesome, boyish affection. When she was well, he was +happy. When she became over-tired, and was obliged to stay in her room, +he was miserable, blaming himself for suggesting some expedition that +had been too much for her strength, so often buoyed above its natural +level by enthusiasm. At such times he would blame himself roundly. And +if there seemed no cause for her depression, he warred silently with the +power that stooped to harm so frail a creature. His own physical freedom +knew no such check. He could not quite understand sickness, save when it +came through some obvious physical injury. + +Bronson was glad that there was a Lorry; both as a companion to himself +and as a tower of strength to Dorothy. Her depression vanished in the +young ranger's presence. It was a case of the thoroughbred endeavoring +to live up to the thoroughbred standard. And Bronson considered anything +thoroughbred that was true to type. Yet the writer had known men +physically inconsequent who possessed a fine strain of courage, loyalty, +honor. The shell might be misshapen, malformed, and yet the spirit burn +high and clear. And Bronson reasoned that there was a divinity of blood, +despite the patents of democracy. + +Bronson found that he had to go to Jason for supplies. Dorothy asked to +go with him. Bronson hesitated. It was a long ride, although Dorothy had +made it upon occasion. She teased prettily. Lorry was away. She wasn't +afraid to stay alone, but she would be lonesome. If she kissed him three +times, one right on top of the other, would he let her come? Bronson +gave in to this argument. They would ride slowly, and stay a day longer +in Jason to rest. + +When they arrived at Jason, Dorothy immediately went to bed. She wanted +to be at her best on the following day. She was going to talk with Mr. +Shoop. It was a very serious matter. + +And next morning she excused herself while her father bought supplies. +She called at the supervisor's office. Bud Shoop beamed. She was so +alert, so vivacious, and so charming in her quick slenderness. The +genial Bud placed a chair for her with grandiloquent courtesy. + +"I'm going to ask a terrible favor," she began, crossing her legs and +clasping her knee. + +"I'm pow'ful scared," said Bud. + +"I don't want favors that way. I want you to like me, and then I will +tell you." + +"My goodness, missy! Like you! Who said I didn't?" + +"No one. But you have ordered Lorry Adams to close up his camp and go +over to work right near the Apache Reservation." + +"I sure did." + +"Well, Mr. Shoop, I don't like Apaches." + +"You got comp'ny, missy. But what's that got to do with Lorry?" + +"Oh, I suppose he doesn't care. But what do you think his _mother_ would +say to you if he--well, if he got _scalped_?" + +A slow grin spread across Bud's broad face. Dorothy looked solemn +disapproval. "I can't help it," he said as he shook all over. Two tears +welled in the corner of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I can't +help it, missy. I ain't laughin' at you. But Lorry gettin' scalped! Why, +here you been livin' up here, not five miles from the Apache line, and I +ain't heard you tell of bein' scared of Injuns. And you ain't no bigger +than a minute at that." + +"That's just it! Suppose the Apaches did come over the line? What could +we do if Lorry were gone?" + +"Well, you might repo't their trespassin' to me. And I reckon your daddy +might have somethin' to say to 'em. He's been around some." + +"Oh, I suppose so. But there is a lot of work to do in Lorry's district, +I noticed, coming down. The trails are in very bad condition." + +"I know it. But he's worth more to the Service doin' bigger work. I got +a young college man wished onto me that can mend trails." + +"Will he live at Lorry's cabin?" + +"No. He'll head in from here. I ain't givin' the use of my cabin and my +piano to everybody." + +Dorothy's eyes twinkled. "If Lorry were away some one might steal your +piano." + +"Now, see here, missy; you're joshin' your Uncle Bud. Do you know that +you're tryin' to bribe a Gov'ment officer? That means a pow'ful big +penalty if I was to repo't to Washington." + +Dorothy wrinkled her nose. "I don't care if you do! You'd get what-for, +too." + +"Well, I'll tell you, missy. Let's ask Bondsman about this here hocus. +Are you willin' to stand by what he says?" + +"Oh, that's not fair! He's _your_ dog." + +"But he's plumb square in his jedgments, missy. Now, I'll tell you. +We'll call him in and say nothin'. Then you ask him if he thinks I ought +to put Lorry Adams over west or leave him to my camp this summer. Now, +if Bondsman wiggles that stub tail of his, it means, 'yes.' If he don't +wiggle his tail, he says, 'no,'--huh?" + +"Of course he'll wiggle his tail. He always does when I talk to him." + +"Then suppose I do the talkin'?" + +"Oh, you can make him do just as you wish. But all right, Mr. Shoop. +And you will really let Bondsman decide?" + +"'Tain't accordin' to rules, but seein' it's you--" + +Bud called to the big Airedale. Bondsman trotted in, nosed Dorothy's +hand, and looked up at his master. + +"Come 'ere!" commanded Shoop brusquely. "Stand right there! Now, quit +tryin' to guess what's goin' on and listen to the boss. Accordin' to +your jedgment, which is plumb solid, do I put Lorry to work over on the +line this summer?" + +Bondsman cocked his ears, blinked, and a slight quiver began at his +shoulders, which would undoubtedly accentuate to the affirmative when it +reached his tail. + +"Rats!" cried Dorothy. + +The Airedale grew rigid, and his spike of a tail cocked up straight and +stiff. + +Bud Shoop waved his hands helplessly. "I might 'a' knowed it! A lady can +always get a man steppin' on his own foot when he tries to walk around a +argument with her. You done bribed me and corrupted Bondsman. But I'm +stayin' right by what I said." + +Dorothy jumped up and took Bud's big hand in her slender ones. "You're +just lovely to us!" And her brown eyes glowed softly. + +Bud coughed. His shirt-collar seemed tight. He tugged at it, and coughed +again. + +"Missy," he said, leaning forward and patting her hand,--"missy, I +would send Lorry plumb to--to--Phoenix and tell the Service to go find +him, just to see them brown eyes of yours lookin' at me like that. But +don't you say nothin' about this here committee meetin' to nobody. I +reckon you played a trick on me for teasin' you. So you think Lorry is a +right smart hombre, eh?" + +"Oh," indifferently, "he's rather nice at times. He's company for +father." + +"Then I reckon you set a whole lot of store by your daddy. Now, I wonder +if I was a young, bow-legged cow-puncher with kind of curly hair and +lookin' fierce and noble, and they was a gal whose daddy was plumb +lonesome for company, and I was to get notice from the boss that I was +to vamose the diggin's and go to work,--now, I wonder who'd ride twenty +miles of trail to talk up for me?" + +"Why, I would!" + +"You got everything off of me but my watch," laughed Bud. "I reckon +you'll let me keep that?" + +"Is it a good watch?" she asked, and her eyes sparkled with a great +idea. + +"Tol'able. Cost a dollar. I lost my old watch in Criswell. I reckon the +city marshal got it when I wa'n't lookin'." + +"Well, you may keep it--for a while yet. When are you coming up to visit +us?" + +"Just as soon as I can, missy. Here's your daddy. I want to talk to him +a minute." + +Three weeks later, when the wheels of the local stage were beginning to +throw a fine dust, instead of mud, as they whirred from St. Johns to +Jason, Bud Shoop received a tiny flat package addressed in an unfamiliar +hand. He laid it aside until he had read the mail. Then he opened it. In +a nest of cotton batting gleamed a plain gold watch. A thin watch, +reflecting something aristocratic in its well-proportioned simplicity. +As he examined it his genial face expressed a sort of childish +wonderment. There was no card to show from where it had come. He opened +the back of the case, and read a brief inscription. + +"And the little lady would be sendin' this to me! And it's that slim and +smooth; nothin' fancy, but a reg'lar thoroughbred, just like her." + +He laid the watch carefully on his desk, and sat for a while gazing out +of the window. It was the first time in his life that a woman had made +him a present. Turning to replace the watch in the box, he saw something +glitter in the cotton. He pulled out a layer of batting, and discovered +a plain gold chain of strong, serviceable pattern. + +That afternoon, as Bud came from luncheon at the hotel, a townsman +accosted him in the street. During their chat the townsman commented +upon the watch-chain. Bud drew the watch from his pocket and exhibited +it proudly. + +"Just a little present from a lady friend. And her name is inside the +cover, along with mine." + +"A lady friend, eh? Now, I thought it was politics mebby?" + +"Nope. Strictly pussonel." + +"Well, Bud, you want to watch out." + +"If you're meanin' that for a joke," retorted Bud, "it's that kind of a +joke what's foundered in its front laigs and can't do nothin' but walk +around itself. I got the same almanac over to my office." + + + + +Chapter XXVI + + +_Idle Noon_ + +The occasional raw winds of spring softened to the warm calm of summer. +The horses had shed their winter coats, and grew sleek and fat on the +lush grasses of the mesa. The mesa stream cleared from a ropy red to a +sparkling thread of silver banked with vivid green. If infrequent +thunderstorms left a haze in the canons, it soon vanished in the light +air. + +Bronson found it difficult to keep Dorothy from over-exerting herself. +They arose at daybreak and went to bed at dusk, save when Lorry came for +an after-dinner chat or when he prevailed upon Dorothy to play for them +in his cabin. On such occasions she would entertain them with old +melodies played softly as they smoked and listened, the lamp unlighted +and the door wide open to the stars. + +One evening, when Dorothy had ceased to play for them, Lorry mentioned +that he was to leave on the following day for an indefinite time. There +had been some trouble about a new outfit that was grazing cattle far to +the south. Shoop had already sent word to the foreman, who had ignored +the message. Lorry had been deputized to see the man and have an +understanding with him. The complaint had been brought to Shoop by one +of the Apache police that some cowboys had been grazing stock and +killing game on the Indian reservation. + +Dorothy realized that Lorry might be away for some time. She would miss +him. And that night she asked her father if she might not invite a girl +friend up for the summer. They were established. And Dorothy was much +stronger and able to attend to the housekeeping. Bronson was quite +willing. He realized that he was busy most of the time, writing. He was +not much of a companion except at the table. So Dorothy wrote to her +friend, who was in Los Angeles and had already planned to drive East +when the roads became passable. + +Lorry was roping the packs next morning when Dorothy appeared in her new +silver-gray corduroy riding-habit--a surprise that she had kept for an +occasion. She was proud of the well-tailored coat and breeches, the +snug-fitting black boots, and the small, new Stetson. Her gray silk +waist was brightened by a narrow four-in-hand of rich blue, and her tiny +gauntlets of soft gray buckskin were stitched with blue silk. + +She looked like some slender, young exquisite who had stepped from the +stage of an old play as she stood smoothing the fingers of her gloves +and smiling across at Lorry. He said nothing, but stared at her. She was +disappointed. She wanted him to tell her that he liked her new things, +she had spent so much time and thought on them. But there he stood, the +pack-rope slack in his hand, staring stupidly. + +She nodded, and waved her hand. + +"It's me," she called. "Good-morning!" + +Lorry managed to stammer a greeting. He felt as though she were some +strange person that looked like Dorothy, but like a new Dorothy of such +exquisite attitude and grace and so altogether charming that he could do +nothing but wonder how the transformation had come about. He had always +thought her pretty. But now she was more than that. She was alluring; +she was the girl he loved from the brim of her gray Stetson to the toe +of her tiny boot. + +"Would you catch my pony for me?" + +Lorry flushed. Of course she wanted Chinook. He swung up on Gray Leg and +spurred across the mesa. His heart was pounding hard. He rode with a +dash and a swing as he rounded up the ponies. As he caught up her horse +he happened to think of his own faded shirt and overalls. He was wearing +the essentially proper clothing for his work. For the first time he +realized the potency of carefully chosen attire. As he rode back with +the pastured pony trailing behind him, he felt peculiarly ashamed of +himself for feeling ashamed of his clothing. Silently he saddled +Chinook, accepted her thanks silently, and strode to his cabin. When he +reappeared he was wearing a new shirt, his blue silk bandanna, and his +silver-studded chaps. He would cache those chaps at his first camp out, +and get them when he returned. + +Bronson came to the doorway. + +Dorothy put her finger to her lips. "Lorry is stunned, I think. Do I +look as spiff as all that?" + +"Like a slim young cavalier; very dashing and wonderful, Peter Pan." + +"Not a bit like Dorothy?" + +"Well, the least bit; but more like Peter Pan." + +"I was getting tired of being just Dorothy. That was all very well when +I wasn't able to ride and camp and do all sorts of adventures. + +"And that isn't all," she continued. "I weigh twelve pounds more than I +did last summer. Mr. Shoop weighed me on the store scales. I wanted to +weigh him. He made an awful pun, but he wouldn't budge." + +Bronson nodded. "I wouldn't ride farther than the Big Spring, Peter. +It's getting hot now." + +"All right, daddy. I wish that horrid old story was finished. You never +ride with me." + +"You'll have some one to ride with you when Alice comes." + +"Yes; but Alice is only a girl." + +Bronson laughed, and she scolded him with her eyes. Just then Lorry +appeared. + +Bronson stooped and kissed her. "And don't ride too far," he cautioned. + +Lorry drove the pack-animals toward Bronson's cabin. He dismounted to +tighten the cinch on Chinook's saddle. + +The little cavalcade moved out across the mesa. Dorothy rode behind the +pack-animals, who knew their work too well to need a lead-rope. It was +_her_ adventure. At the Big Spring, she would graciously allow Lorry to +take charge of the expedition. + +Lorry, riding behind her, turned as they entered the forest, and waved +farewell to Bronson. + +To ride the high trails of the Arizona hills is in itself an +unadulterated joy. To ride these wooded uplands, eight thousand feet +above the world, with a sprightly Peter Pan clad in silver-gray +corduroys and chatting happily, is an enchantment. In such +companionship, when the morning sunlight dapples the dun forest carpet +with pools of gold, when vista after vista unfolds beneath the high +arches of the rusty-brown giants of the woodlands; when somewhere above +there is the open sky and the marching sun, the twilight underworld of +the green-roofed caverns is a magic land. + +The ponies plodded slowly upward, to turn and plod up the next angle of +the trail, without loitering and without haste. When Dorothy checked her +pony to gaze at some new vista, the pack-animals rested, waiting for the +word to go on again. Lorry, awakened to a new charm in Dorothy, rode in +a silence that needed no interpreter. + +At a bend in the trail, Dorothy reined up. "Oh, I just noticed! You are +wearing your chaps this morning." + +Lorry flushed, and turned to tie a saddle-string that was already quite +secure. + +Dorothy nodded to herself and spoke to the horses. They strained on up a +steeper pitch, pausing occasionally to rest. + +Lorry seemed to have regained his old manner. Her mention of the chaps +had wakened him to everyday affairs. After all, she was only a girl; not +yet eighteen, her father had said. "Just a kid," Lorry had thought; "but +mighty pretty in those city clothes." He imagined that some women he had +seen would look like heck in such a riding-coat and breeches. But +Dorothy looked like a kind of stylish boy-girl, slim and yet not quite +as slender as she had appeared in her ordinary clothes. Lorry could not +help associating her appearance with a thoroughbred he had once seen; a +dark-bay colt, satin smooth and as graceful as a flame. He had all but +worshiped that horse. Even as he knew horses, through that colt he had +seen perfection; his ideal of something beautiful beyond words. + +From his pondering, Lorry arrived at a conclusion having nothing to do +with ideals. He would buy a new suit of clothes the first time he went +to Phoenix. It would be a trim suit of corduroy and a dark-green flannel +shirt, like the suit and shirt worn by Lundy, the forestry expert. + +At the base of a great gray shoulder of granite, the Big Spring spread +in its natural rocky bowl which grew shallower toward the edges. Below +the spring in the black mud softened by the overflow were the tracks of +wild turkey and the occasional print of a lynx pad. The bush had been +cleared from around the spring, and the ashes of an old camp-fire marked +the spot where Lorry had often "bushed over-night" on his way to the +cabin. + +Lorry dismounted and tied the pack-horses. He explained that they were +still a little too close to home to be trusted untied. + +Dorothy decided that she was hungry, although they had been but two +hours on the trail. Could they have a real camp-fire and make coffee? + +"Yes, ma'am; right quick." + +"Lorry, don't say 'yes, ma'am.' I--it's nice of you, but just say +'Dorothy.'" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Dorothy's brown eyes twinkled. + +Lorry gazed at her, wondering why she smiled. + +"Yes, ma'am," she said stiffly, as though to a superior whom she feared. + +Lorry grinned. She was always doing something sprightly, either making +him laugh or laughing at him, talking to the horses, planning some +little surprise for their occasional dinners in the Bronson cabin, +quoting some fragment of poetry from an outland song,--she called these +songs "outlandish," and had explained her delight in teasing her father +with "outlandish" adjectives; whistling in answer to the birds, and +amusing herself and her "men-folks" in a thousand ways as spontaneous as +they were delightful. + +With an armful of firewood, Lorry returned to the spring. The ponies +nodded in the heat of noon. Dorothy, spreading their modest luncheon on +a bright new Navajo blanket, seemed daintier than ever against the +background of the forest. They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she +had prepared. After luncheon Lorry smoked, leaning back against the +granite rock, his hat off, and his legs crossed in lazy content. + +"If it could only be like this forever," sighed Dorothy. + +Lorry promptly shook his head. "We'd get hungry after a spell." + +"Men are always hungry. And you've just eaten." + +"But I could listen to a poem," he said, and he winked at a tree-trunk. + +"It's really too warm even to speak of 'The Little Fires,' isn't it? Oh, +I know! Do you remember the camp we made?" + +"Where?" + +"Oh, silly!" + +"Well, I ain't had time to remember this one yet--and this is the first +for us." + +"Lorry, you're awfully practical." + +"I got to be." + +"And I don't believe you know a poem when you see one." + +"I reckon you're right. But I can tell one when I hear it." + +"Very well, then. Shut your eyes tight and listen:-- + +"'Do you remember the camp we made as we nooned on the mesa + floor, + Where the grass rolled down like a running sea in the wind-- + and the world our own? +You laughed as you sat in the cedar shade and said 't was the + ocean shore + Of an island lost in a wizardry of dreams, for ourselves alone. + +"'Our ponies grazed in the idle noon, unsaddled, at ease, and + slow; + The ranges dim were a faeryland; blue hills in a haze of gray. +Hands clasped on knee, you hummed a tune, a melody light and + low; + And do you remember the venture planned in jest--for your + heart was gay?'" + +Dorothy paused. "You may open your eyes. That's all." + +"Well, it's noon," said Lorry, "and there are the ponies, and the hills +are over there. Won't you say the rest of it?" + +"Oh, the rest of it is about a venture planned that never came true. It +couldn't, even in a poem. But I'll tell you about it some day." + +"I could listen right now." + +Dorothy shook her head. "I am afraid it would spoil our real adventure. +But if I were a boy--wouldn't it be fun! We would ride and camp in the +hills at night and find all the little fires along the trail--" + +"We'd make our own," said Lorry. + +"Of course, Mr. Practical Man." + +"Well, I can't help bein' like I am. But sometimes I get lazy and sit +and look at the hills and the canons and mesas down below, and wonder +what's the good of hustlin'. But somehow I got to quit loafin' after a +spell--and go right to hustlin' again. It's a sure good way to get +rested up; just to sit down and forget everything but the big world +rollin' down to the edge of nothin'. It makes a fella's kickin' and +complainin' look kind of small and ornery." + +"I never heard you complain, Lorry." + +"Huh! You ain't been along with me when I been right up against it and +mebby had to sweat my way out of some darned box canon or make a ride +through some down timber at night. I've said some lovely things them +times." + +"Oh, I get cross. But, then, I'm a girl. Men shouldn't get cross." + +"I reckon you're right. The sun's comin' through that pine there. +Gettin' too hot?" + +"No, I love it. But I must go. I'll just ride down to the cabin and +unsaddle Chinook and say 'Hello' to father--and that's the end of our +adventure." + +"Won't those city folks be comin' in soon?" + +"Yes. And Alice Weston is lovely. I know you'll like her." + +"Alice who, did you say?" + +"Weston. Alice and her mother are touring overland from Los Angeles. I +know you will admire Alice." + +"Mebby. If she's as pretty as you." + +"Oh, fudge! You like my new suit. And Alice isn't like me at all. She is +nearly as tall as you, and big and strong and really pretty. Bud Shoop +told me I wasn't bigger than a minute." + +"A minute is a whole lot sometimes," said Lorry. + +"You're not so practical as you were, are you?" + +"More. I meant that." + +Dorothy rose and began to roll the Navajo blanket. + +Lorry stepped up and took it from her. "Roll it long and let it hang +down. Then it won't bother you gettin' on or off your horse. That's the +way the Indians roll 'em." + +He jerked the tie-strings tight. "Well, I reckon I'll be goin'," he +said, holding out his hand. + +"Good-bye, ranger man." + +"Good-bye, Dorothy." + +Her slender hand was warm in his. She looked up at him, smiling. He had +never looked at her that way before. She hoped so much that he would say +nothing to spoil the happiness of their idle noon. + +"Lorry, we're great friends, aren't we?" + +"You bet. And I'd do most anything to make you happy." + +"But you don't have to do anything to make me happy. I _am_ happy. +Aren't you?" + +"I aim to be. But what makes you ask?" + +"Oh, you looked so solemn a minute ago. We'll be just friends always, +won't we?" + +"Just friends," he echoed, "always." + +Her brown eyes grew big as he stooped and kissed her. She had not +expected that he would do that. + +"Oh, I thought you liked me!" she said, clasping her hands. + +Lorry bit his lips, and the hot flush died from his face. + +"But I didn't know that you cared--like that! I really don't mind +because you kissed me good-bye--if it was just good-bye and nothing +else." And she smiled a little timidly. + +"I--I reckon I was wrong," he said, "for I was tryin' not to kiss you. +If you say the word, I'll ride back with you and tell your father. I +ain't ashamed of it--only if you say it was wrong." + +Dorothy had recovered herself. A twinkle of fun danced in her eyes. "I +can't scold you now. You're going away. But when you get back--" And she +shook her finger at him and tried to look very grave, which made him +smile. + +"Then I'll keep right on ridin' south," he said. + +"But you'd get lonesome and come back to your hills. I know! And it's +awfully hot in the desert." + +"Would you be wantin' me to come back?" + +"Of course. Father would miss you." + +[Illustration: They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had +prepared] "And that would make you unhappy--him bein' lonesome, so I +reckon I'll come back." + +"I shall be very busy entertaining my guests," she told him with a +charming tilt of her chin. And she straightway swung to the saddle. + +Lorry started the pack-horses up the hill and mounted Gray Leg. She sat +watching him as he rode sideways gazing back at her. + +As he turned to follow the pack-horses up the next ascent she called to +him:-- + +"Perhaps I won't scold you when you come back." + +He laughed, and flung up his arm in farewell. Dorothy reined Chinook +round, and rode slowly down through the silent woodlands. + +Her father came out and took her horse. She told him of their most +wonderful camp at the Big Spring. Bronson smiled. + +"And Lorry kissed me good-bye," she concluded. "Wasn't it silly of him?" + +Bronson glanced at her quickly. "Do you really care for Lorry, Peter +Pan?" + +"Heaps! He's the nicest boy I ever met. Why shouldn't I?" + +"There's no reason in the world why you shouldn't. But I thought you two +were just friends." + +"Why, that's what I said to Lorry. Don't look so mournful, daddy. You +didn't think for a minute that I'd _marry_ him, did you?" + +"Of course not. What would I do without you?" + + + + +Chapter XXVII + + +_Waco_ + +The tramp Waco, drifting south through Prescott, fell in with a quartet +of his kind camped along the railroad track. He stumbled down the +embankment and "sat in" beside their night fire. He was hungry. He had +no money, and he had tramped all that day. They were eating bread and +canned peaches, and had coffee simmering in a pail. They asked no +questions until he had eaten. Then the usual talk began. + +The hobos cursed the country, its people, the railroad, work and the +lack of it, the administration, and themselves. Waco did not agree with +everything they said, but he wished to tramp with them until something +better offered. So he fell in with their humor, but made the mistake of +cursing the trainmen's union. A brakeman had kicked him off a freight +car just outside of Prescott. + +One of the hobos checked Waco sharply. + +"We ain't here to listen to your cussin' any union," he said. "And seem' +you're so mouthy, just show your card." + +"Left it over to the White House," said Waco. + +"That don't go. You got your three letters?" + +"Sure! W.B.Y. Catch onto that?" + +"No. And this ain't no josh." + +"Why, W.B.Y. is for 'What's bitin' you?' Know the answer?" + +"If you can't show your I.W.W., you can beat it," said the tramp. + +"Tryin' to kid me?" + +"Not so as your mother would notice. Got your card?" + +Waco finally realized that they meant business. "No, I ain't got no +I.W.W. card. I'm a bo, same as you fellas. What's bitin' you, anyway?" + +"Let's give him the third, fellas." + +Waco jumped to his feet and backed away. The leader of the group +hesitated wisely, because Waco had a gun in his hand. + +"So that's your game, eh? Collectin' internal revenue. Well, we're union +men. You better sift along." And the leader sat down. + +"I've a dam' good mind to sift you," said Waco, backing toward the +embankment. "Got to have a card to travel with a lousy bunch like you, +eh?" + +He climbed to the top of the embankment, and, turning, ran down the +track. Things were in a fine state when a guy couldn't roll in with a +bunch of willies without showing a card. Workmen often tramped the +country looking for work. But hobos forming a union and calling +themselves workmen! Even Waco could not digest that. + +But he had learned a lesson, and the next group that he overtook +treading the cinders were more genial. One of them gave him some bread +and cold meat. They tramped until nightfall. That evening Waco +industriously "lifted" a chicken from a convenient hencoop. The hen was +old and tough and most probably a grandmother of many years' setting, +but she was a welcome contribution to their evening meal. While they ate +Waco asked them if they belonged to the I.W.W. They did to a man. He had +lost his card. Where could he get a renewal? From headquarters, of +course. But he had been given his card up in Portland; he had cooked in +a lumber camp. In that case he would have to see the "boss" at Phoenix. + +There were three men in the party besides Waco. One of them claimed to +be a carpenter, another an ex-railroad man, and the third an iron +moulder. Waco, to keep up appearances, said that he was a cook; that he +had lost his job in the Northern camps on account of trouble between the +independent lumbermen and the I.W.W. It happened that there had been +some trouble of that kind recently, so his word was taken at its face +value. + +In Phoenix, he was directed to the "headquarters," a disreputable +lounging-room in an abandoned store on the outskirts of the town. There +were papers and magazines scattered about; socialistic journals and many +newspapers printed in German, Russian, and Italian. The place smelled of +stale tobacco smoke and unwashed clothing. But the organization +evidently had money. No one seemed to want for food, tobacco, or +whiskey. + +The "boss," a sharp-featured young man, aggressive and apparently +educated, asked Waco some questions which the tramp answered lamely. The +boss, eager for recruits of Waco's stamp, nevertheless demurred until +Waco reiterated the statement that he could cook, was a good cook and +had earned good money. + +"I'll give you a renewal of your card. What was the number?" queried the +boss. + +"Thirteen," said Waco, grinning. + +"Well, we may be able to use you. We want cooks at Sterling." + +"All right. Nothin' doin' here, anyway." + +The boss smiled to himself. He knew that Waco had never belonged to the +I.W.W., but if the impending strike at the Sterling smelter became a +reality a good cook would do much to hold the I.W.W. camp together. Any +tool that could be used was not overlooked by the boss. He was paid to +hire men for a purpose. + +In groups of from ten to thirty the scattered aggregation made its way +to Sterling and mingled with the workmen after hours. A sinister +restlessness grew and spread insidiously among the smelter hands. Men +laid off before pay-day and were seen drunk in the streets. Others +appeared at the smelter in a like condition. They seemed to have money +with which to pay for drinks and cigars. The heads of the different +departments of the smelter became worried. Local papers began to make +mention of an impending strike when no such word had as yet come to the +smelter operators. Outside papers took it up. Surmises were many and +various. Few of the papers dared charge the origin of the disturbances +to the I.W.W. The law had not been infringed upon, yet lawlessness was +everywhere, conniving in dark corners, boasting openly on the street, +setting men's brains afire with whiskey, playing upon the ignorance of +the foreign element, and defying the intelligence of Americans who +strove to forfend the threatened calamity. + +The straight union workmen were divided in sentiment. Some of them voted +to work; others voted loudly to throw in with the I.W.W., and among +these were many foreigners--Swedes, Hungarians, Germans, Poles, +Italians; the usual and undesirable agglomeration to be found in a +smelter town. + +Left to themselves, they would have continued to work. They were in +reality the cheaper tools of the trouble-makers. There were fewer and +keener tools to be used, and these were selected and turned against +their employers by that irresistible potency, gold; gold that came from +no one knew where, and came in abundance. Finally open threats of a +strike were made. Circulars were distributed throughout town +over-night, cleverly misstating conditions. A grain of truth was +dissolved in the slaver of anarchy into a hundred lies. + +Waco, installed in the main I.W.W. camp just outside the town, cooked +early and late, and received a good wage for his services. More men +appeared, coming casually from nowhere and taking up their abode with +the disturbers. + +A week before the strike began, a committee from the union met with a +committee of townsmen and representatives of the smelter interests. The +argument was long and inconclusive. Aside from this, a special committee +of townsmen, headed by the mayor, interviewed the I.W.W. leaders. + +Arriving at no definite understanding, the citizens finally threatened +to deport the trouble-makers in a body. The I.W.W. members laughed at +them. Socialism, in which many of the better class of workmen believed +sincerely, began to take on the red tinge of anarchy. A notable advocate +of arbitration, a foreman in the smelter, was found one morning beaten +into unconsciousness. And no union man had done this thing, for the +foreman was popular with the union, to a man. The mayor received an +anonymous letter threatening his life. A similar letter was received by +the chief of police. And some few politicians who had won to prominence +through questionable methods were threatened with exposure if they did +not side with the strikers. + +Conditions became deplorable. The papers dared not print everything +they knew for fear of political enmity. And they were not able to print +many things transpiring in that festering underworld for lack of +definite knowledge, even had they dared. + +Noon of an August day the strikers walked out. Mob rule threatened +Sterling. Women dared no longer send their children to school or to the +grocery stores for food. They hardly dared go themselves. A striker was +shot by a companion in a saloon brawl. The killing was immediately +charged to a corporation detective, and our noble press made much of the +incident before it found out the truth. + +Shortly after this a number of citizens representing the business +backbone of the town met quietly and drafted a letter to a score of +citizens whom they thought might be trusted. That was Saturday evening. +On Sunday night there were nearly a hundred men in town who had been +reached by the citizens' committee. They elected a sub-committee of +twelve, with the sheriff as chairman. Driven to desperation by +intolerable conditions, they decided to administer swift and conclusive +justice themselves. To send for troops would be an admission that the +town of Sterling could not handle her own community. + +It became whispered among the I.W.W. that "The Hundred" had organized. +Leaders of the strikers laughed at these rumors, telling the men that +the day of the vigilante was past. + +On the following Wednesday a rabid leader of the disturbers, not a +union man, but a man who had never done a day's work in his life, +mounted a table on a street corner and addressed the crowd which quickly +swelled to a mob. Members of "The Hundred," sprinkled thinly throughout +the mob, listened until the speaker had finished. Among other things, he +had made a statement about the National Government which should have +turned the mob to a tribunal of prompt justice and hanged him. But many +of the men were drunk, and all were inflamed with the poison of the +hour. When the man on the table continued to slander the Government, and +finally named a name, there was silence. A few of the better class of +workmen edged out of the crowd. The scattered members of "The Hundred" +stayed on to the last word. + +Next morning this speaker was found dead, hanging from a bridge a little +way out of town. Not a few of the strikers were startled to a sense of +broad justice in his death, and yet such a hanging was an outrage to any +community. One sin did not blot out another. And the loyal "Hundred" +realized too late that they had put a potent weapon in the hands of +their enemies. + +A secret meeting was called by "The Hundred." Wires were commandeered +and messages sent to several towns in the northern part of the State to +men known personally by members of "The Hundred" as fearless and loyal +to American institutions. Already the mob had begun rioting, but, +meeting with no resistance, it contented itself with insulting those +whom they knew were not sympathizers. Stores were closed, and were +straightway broken into and looted. Drunkenness and street fights were +so common as to evoke no comment. + +Two days later a small band of cowboys rode into town. They were +followed throughout the day by other riders, singly and in small groups. +It became noised about the I.W.W. camp that professional gunmen were +being hired by the authorities; were coming in on horseback and on the +trains. That night the roadbed of the railroad was dynamited on both +sides of town. "The Hundred" immediately dispatched automobiles with +armed guards to meet the trains. + +Later, strangers were seen in town; quiet men who carried themselves +coolly, said nothing, and paid no attention to catcalls and insults. It +was rumored that troops had been sent for. Meanwhile, the town seethed +with anarchy and drunkenness. But, as must ever be the case, anarchy was +slowly weaving a rope with which to hang itself. + +Up in the second story of the court-house a broad-shouldered, +heavy-jawed man sat at a flat-topped desk with a clerk beside him. The +clerk wrote names in a book. In front of the clerk was a cigar-box +filled with numbered brass checks. The rows of chairs from the desk to +the front windows were pretty well filled with men, lean, hard-muscled +men of the ranges in the majority. The room was quiet save for an +occasional word from the big man at the desk. The clerk drew a check +from the cigar-box. A man stepped up to the desk, gave his name, age, +occupation, and address, received the numbered check, and went to his +seat. The clerk drew another check. + +A fat, broad-shouldered man waddled up, smiling. + +"Why, hello, Bud!" said the heavy-jawed man, rising and shaking hands. +"I didn't expect to see you. Wired you thinking you might send one or +two men from your county." + +"I got 'em with me," said Bud. + +"Number thirty-seven," said the clerk. + +Bud stuffed the check in his vest pocket. He would receive ten dollars a +day while in the employ of "The Hundred." He would be known and +addressed while on duty as number thirty-seven. "The Hundred" were not +advertising the names of their supporters for future use by the I.W.W. + +Bud's name and address were entered in a notebook. He waddled back to +his seat. + +"Cow-punch," said someone behind him. + +Bud turned and grinned. "You seen my laigs," he retorted. + +"Number thirty-eight." + +Lorry came forward and received his check. + +"You're pretty young," said the man at the desk. Lorry flushed, but made +no answer. + +"Number thirty-nine." + +The giant sheepman of the high country strode up, nodded, and took his +check. + +"Stacey County is well represented," said the man at the desk. + +When the clerk had finished entering the names, there were forty-eight +numbers in his book. The man at the desk rose. + +"Men," he said grimly, "you know what you are here for. If you haven't +got guns, you will be outfitted downstairs. Some folks think that this +trouble is only local. It isn't. It is national. Providence seems to +have passed the buck to us to stop it. We are here to prove that we can. +Last night our flag--our country's flag--was torn from the halyards +above this building and trampled in the dust of the street. Sit still +and don't make a noise. We're not doing business that way. If there are +any married men here, they had better take their horses and ride home. +This community does not assume responsibility for any man's life. You +are volunteers. There are four ex-Rangers among you. They will tell you +what to do. But I'm going to tell you one thing first; don't shoot high +or low when you have to shoot. Draw plumb center, and don't quit as long +as you can feel to pull a trigger. For any man that isn't outfitted +there's a rifle and fifty rounds of soft-nosed ammunition downstairs." + +The heavy-shouldered man sat down and pulled the notebook toward him. +The men rose and filed quietly downstairs. + +As they gathered in the street and gazed up at the naked halyards, a +shot dropped one of them in his tracks. An eagle-faced cowman whipped +out his gun. With the report came the tinkle of breaking glass from a +window diagonally opposite. Feet clattered down the stairs of the +building, and a woman ran into the street, screaming and calling out +that a man had been murdered. + +"Reckon I got him," said the cowman. "Boys, I guess she's started." + +The men ran for their horses. As they mounted and assembled, the +heavy-shouldered man appeared astride a big bay horse. + +"We're going to clean house," he stated. "And we start right here." + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + + +_A Squared Account_ + +The housecleaning began at the building diagonally opposite the +assembled posse. In a squalid room upstairs they found the man who had +fired upon them. He was dead. Papers found upon him disclosed his +identity as an I.W.W. leader. He had evidently rented the room across +from the court-house that he might watch the movements of "The Hundred." +A cheap, inaccurate revolver was found beside him. Possibly he had +fired, thinking to momentarily disorganize the posse; that they would +not know from where the shot had come until he had had time to make his +escape and warn his fellows. + +The posse moved from building to building. Each tenement, private +rooming-house, and shack was entered and searched. Union men who chanced +to be at home were warned that any man seen on the street that day was +in danger of being killed. Several members of the I.W.W. were routed out +in different parts of the town and taken to the jail. + +Saloons were ordered to close. Saloon-keepers who argued their right to +keep open were promptly arrested. An I.W.W. agitator, defying the posse, +was handcuffed, loaded into a machine, and taken out of town. Groups of +strikers gathered at the street corners and jeered the armed posse. One +group, cornered in a side street, showed fight. + +"We'll burn your dam' town!" cried a voice. + +The sheriff swung from his horse and shouldered through the crowd. As he +did so, a light-haired, weasel-faced youth, with a cigarette dangling +from the corner of his loose mouth, backed away. The sheriff followed +and pressed him against a building. + +"I know you!" said the sheriff. "You never made or spent an honest +dollar in this town. Boys," he continued, turning to the strikers, "are +you proud of this skunk who wants to burn your town?" + +A workman laughed. + +"You said it!" asserted the sheriff. "When somebody tells you what he +is, you laugh. Why don't you laugh at him when he's telling you of the +buildings he has dynamited and how many deaths he is responsible for? +Did he ever sweat alongside of any of you doing a day's work? Do you +know him? Does he know anything about your work or conditions? Not a +damned thing! Just think it over. And, boys, remember he is paid easy +money to get you into trouble. Who pays him? Is there any decent +American paying him to do that sort of thing? Stop and think about it." + +The weasel-faced youth raised his arm and pointed at the sheriff. "Who +pays you to shoot down women and kids?" he snarled. + +"I'm taking orders from the Governor of this State." + +"To hell with the Governor! And there's where he'll wake up one of these +fine days." + +"Because he's enforcing the law and trying to keep the flag from being +insulted by whelps like you, eh?" + +"We'll show you what's law! And we'll show you the right kind of a +flag--" + +"Boys, are you going to stand for this kind of talk?" And the sheriff's +heavy face quivered with anger. "I'd admire to kill you!" he said, +turning on the youth. "But that wouldn't do any good." + +The agitator was taken to the jail. Later it was rumored that a machine +had left the jail that night with three men in it. Two of them were +armed guards. The third was a weasel-faced youth. He was never heard of +again. + +As the cavalcade moved on down the street, workmen gathered on street +corners and in upper rooms and discussed the situation. The strike had +got beyond their control. Many of them were for sending a delegation to +the I.W.W. camp demanding that they disband and leave. Others were +silent, and still others voted loudly to "fight to a finish." + +Out beyond the edge of town lay the I.W.W. camp, a conglomeration of +board shacks hastily erected, brush-covered hovels, and tents. Not +counting the scattered members in town, there were at least two hundred +of the malcontents loafing in camp. When the sheriff's posse appeared it +was met by a deputation. But there was no parley. + +"We'll give you till sundown to clear out," said the sheriff and, +turning, he and his men rode back to the court-house. + +That evening sentinels were posted at the street corners within hail of +each other. In a vacant lot back of the court-house the horses of the +posse were corralled under guard. The town was quiet. Occasionally a +figure crossed the street; some shawl-hooded striker's wife or some +workman heedless of the sheriff's warning. + +Lorry happened to be posted on a corner of the court-house square. +Across the street another sentinel paced back and forth, occasionally +pausing to talk with Lorry. + +This sentinel was halfway up the block when a figure appeared from the +shadow between two buildings. The sentinel challenged. + +"A friend," said the figure. "I was lookin' for young Adams." + +"What do you want with him?" + +"It's private. Know where I can find him?" + +"He's across the street there. Who are you, anyway?" + +"That's my business. He knows me." + +"This guy wants to talk to you," called the sentinel. + +Lorry stepped across the street. He stopped suddenly as he discovered +the man to be Waco, the tramp. + +"Is it all right?" asked the sentinel, addressing Lorry. + +"I guess so. What do you want?" + +"It's about Jim Waring," said Waco. "I seen you when the sheriff rode up +to our camp. I seen by the papers that Jim Waring was your father. I +wanted to tell you that it was High-Chin Bob what killed Pat. I was in +the buckboard with Pat when he done it. The horses went crazy at the +shootin' and ditched me. When I come to I was in Grant." + +"Why didn't you stay and tell what you knew? Nobody would 'a' hurt you." + +"I was takin' no chance of the third, and twenty years." + +"What you doin' in this town?" + +"Cookin' for the camp. But I can't hold that job long. My whole left +side is goin' flooey. The boss give me hallelujah to-day for bein' slow. +I'm sick of the job." + +"Well, you ought to be. Suppose you come over to the sheriff and tell +him what you know about the killin' of Pat." + +"Nope; I was scared you would say that. I'm tellin' _you_ because you +done me a good turn onct. I guess that lets me out." + +"Not if I make you sit in." + +"You can make me sit in all right. But you can't make me talk. Show me +a cop and I freeze. I ain't takin' no chances." + +"You're takin' bigger chances right now." + +"Bigger'n you know, kid. Listen! You and Jim Waring and Pat used me +white. I'm sore at that I.W.W. bunch, but I dassent make a break. They'd +get me. But listen! If the boys knowed I was tellin' you this they'd cut +me in two. Two trucks just came into camp from up north. Them trucks was +loaded to the guards. Every man in camp's got a automatic and fifty +rounds. And they was settin' up a machine gun when I slipped through and +beat it, lookin' for you. You better fan it out of this while you got +the chanct." + +"Did they send you over to push that bluff--or are you talkin' +straight?" + +"S' help me! It's the bleedin' truth!" + +"Well, I'm thankin' you. But get goin' afore I change my mind." + +"Would you shake with a bum?" queried Waco. + +"Why--all right. You're tryin' to play square, I reckon. Wait a minute! +Are you willin' to put in writin' that you seen High-Chin Bob kill Pat? +I got a pencil and a envelope on me. Will you put it down right here, +and me to call my friend and witness your name?" + +"You tryin' to pinch me?" + +"That ain't my style." + +"All right. I'll put it down." + +And in the flickering rays of the arc light Waco scribbled on the back +of the envelope and signed his name. Lorry's companion read the scrawl +and handed it back to Lorry. Waco humped his shoulders and shuffled +away. + +"Why didn't you nail him?" queried the other. + +"I don't know. Mebby because he was trustin' me." + +Shortly afterward Lorry and his companion were relieved from duty. Lorry +immediately reported to the sheriff, who heard him without interrupting, +dismissed him, and turned to the committee, who held night session +discussing the situation. + +"They've called our bluff," he said, twisting his cigar round in his +lips. + +A ballot was taken. The vote was eleven to one for immediate action. The +ballot was secret, but the member who had voted against action rose and +tendered his resignation. + +"It would be plain murder if we were to shoot up their camp. It would +place us on their level." + +Just before daybreak a guard stationed two blocks west of the +court-house noticed a flare of light in the windows of a building +opposite. He glanced toward the east. The dim, ruddy glow in the windows +was not that of dawn. He ran to the building and tried to open the door +to the stairway. As he wrenched at the door a subdued soft roar swelled +and grew louder. Turning, he ran to the next corner, calling to the +guard. The alarm of fire was relayed to the court-house. + +Meanwhile the two cowboys ran back to the building and hammered on the +door. Some one in an upstairs room screamed. Suddenly the door gave +inward. A woman carrying a cheap gilt clock pushed past them and sank in +a heap on the sidewalk. The guards heard some one running down the +street. One of them tied a handkerchief over his face and groped his way +up the narrow stairs. The hall above was thick with smoke. A door sprang +open, and a man carrying a baby and dragging a woman by the hand bumped +into the guard, cursed, and stumbled toward the stairway. + +The cowboy ran from door to door down the long, narrow hall, calling to +the inmates. In one room he found a lamp burning on a dresser and two +children asleep. He dragged them from bed and carried them to the +stairway. From below came the surge and snap of flames. He held his +breath and descended the stairs. A crowd of half-clothed workmen had +gathered. Among them he saw several of the guards. + +"Who belongs to these kids?" he cried. + +A woman ran up. "She's here," she said, pointing to the woman with the +gilt clock, who still lay on the sidewalk. A man was trying to revive +her. The cowboy noticed that the unconscious woman still gripped the +gilt clock. + +He called to a guard. Together they dashed up the stairs and ran from +room to room. Toward the back of the building they found a woman +insanely gathering together a few cheap trinkets and stuffing them into +a pillow-case. She was trying to work a gilt-framed lithograph into the +pillow-case when they seized her and led her toward the stairway. She +fought and cursed and begged them to let her go back and get her things. +A burst of flame swept up the stairway. The cowboys turned and ran back +along the hall. One of them kicked a window out. The other tied a sheet +under the woman's arms and together they lowered her to the ground. + +Suddenly the floor midway down the hall sank softly in a fountain of +flame and sparks. + +"Reckon we jump," said one of the cowboys. + +Lowering himself from the rear window, he dropped. His companion +followed. They limped to the front of the building. A crowd massed in +the street, heedless of the danger that threatened as a section of roof +curled like a piece of paper, writhed, and dropped to the sidewalk. + +A group of guards appeared with a hose-reel. They coupled to a hydrant. +A thin stream gurgled from the hose and subsided. The sheriff ran to the +steps of a building and called to the crowd. + +"Your friends," he cried, "have cut the water-main. There is no water." + +The mass groaned and swayed back and forth. + +From up the street came a cry--the call of a range rider. A score of +cowboys tried to force the crowd back from the burning building. + +"Look out for the front!" cried the guards. "She's coming!" + +The crowd surged back. The front of that flaming shell quivered, curved, +and crashed to the street. + +The sheriff called to his men. An old Texas Ranger touched his arm. +"There's somethin' doin' up yonder, Cap." + +"Keep the boys together," ordered the sheriff; "This fire was started to +draw us out. Tell the boys to get their horses." + +Dawn was breaking when the cowboys gathered in the vacant lot and +mounted their horses. In the clear light they could see a mob in the +distance; a mob that moved from the east toward the court-house. The +sheriff dispatched a man to wire for troops, divided his force in +halves, and, leading one contingent, he rode toward the oncoming mob. +The other half of the posse, led by an old Ranger, swung round to a back +street and halted. + +The shadows of the buildings grew shorter. A cowboy on a restive pony +asked what they were waiting for. Some one laughed. + +The old Ranger turned in his saddle. "It's a right lovely mornin'," he +remarked impersonally, tugging at his silver-gray mustache. + +Suddenly the waiting riders stiffened in their saddles. A ripple of +shots sounded, followed by the shrill cowboy yell. Still the old Ranger +sat his horse, coolly surveying his men. + +"Don't we get a look-in?" queried a cowboy. + +"Poco tiempo," said the Ranger softly. + +The sheriff bunched his men as he approached the invaders. Within fifty +yards of their front he halted and held up his hand. Massed in a solid +wall from curb to curb, the I.W.W. jeered and shouted as he tried to +speak. A parley was impossible. The vagrants were most of them drunk. + +The sheriff turned to the man nearest him. + +"Tell the boys that we'll go through, turn, and ride back. Tell them not +to fire a shot until we turn." + +As he gathered his horse under him, the sheriff's arm dropped. The +shrill "Yip! Yip!" of the range rose above the thunder of hoofs as +twenty ponies jumped to a run. The living thunder-bolt tore through the +mass. The staccato crack of guns sounded sharply above the deeper roar +of the mob. The ragged pathway closed again as the riders swung round, +bunched, and launched at the mass from the rear. Those who had turned to +face the second charge were crowded back as the cowboys, with guns +going, ate into the yelling crowd. The mob turned, and like a great, +black wave swept down the street and into the court-house square. + +The cowboys raced past, and reined in a block below the court-house. As +they paused to reload, a riderless horse, badly wounded, plunged among +them. A cowboy caught the horse and shot it. Another rider, gripping his +shirt above his abdomen, writhed and groaned, begging piteously for some +one to kill him. Before they could get him off his horse he spurred out, +and, pulling his carbine from the scabbard, charged into the mob, in the +square. With the lever going like lightning, he bored into the mob, +fired his last shot in the face of a man that had caught his horse's +bridle, and sank to the ground. Shattered and torn he lay, a red pulp +that the mob trampled into the dust. + +The upper windows of the court-house filled with figures. An irregular +fire drove the cowboys to the shelter of a side street. In the wide +doorway of the court-house several men crouched behind a blue-steel +tripod. Those still in the square crowded past and into the building. +Behind the stone pillars of the entrance, guarded by a machine gun, the +crazy mob cheered drunkenly and defied the guards to dislodge them. + +From a building opposite came a single shot, and the group round the +machine gun lifted one of their fellows and carried him back into the +building. Again came the peremptory snarl of a carbine, and another +figure sank in the doorway. The machine gun was dragged back. Its muzzle +still commanded the square, but its operators were now shielded by an +angle of the entrance. + +Back on the side street, the old ex-Ranger had difficulty in +restraining his men. They knew by the number of shots fired that some of +their companions had gone down. + +The sheriff was about to call for volunteers to capture the machine gun +when a white handkerchief fluttered from an upper window of the +court-house. Almost immediately a man appeared on the court-house steps, +alone and indicating by his gestures that he wished to parley with the +guard. The sheriff dismounted and stepped forward. + +One of his men checked him. "That's a trap, John. They want to get you, +special. Don't you try it." + +"It's up to me," said the sheriff, and shaking off the other's hand he +strode across the square. + +At the foot of the steps he met the man. The guard saw them converse for +a brief minute; saw the sheriff shake his fist in the other's face and +turn to walk back. As he turned, a shot from an upper window dropped him +in his stride. + +The cowboys yelled and charged across the square. The machine gun +stuttered and sprayed a fury of slugs that cut down horses and riders. A +cowboy, his horse shot from under him, sprang up the steps and dragged +the machine gun into the open. A rain of slugs from the upper windows +struck him down. His companions carried him back to cover. The machine +gun stood in the square, no longer a menace, yet no one dared approach +it from either side. + +When the old Ranger, who had orders to hold his men in reserve, heard +that the sheriff had been shot down under a flag of truce, he shook his +head. + +"Three men could 'a' stopped that gun as easy as twenty, and saved more +hosses. Who wants to take a little pasear after that gun?" + +Several of his men volunteered. + +"I only need two," he said, smiling. "I call by guess. Number +twenty-six, number thirty-eight, and number three." + +The last was his own number. + +In the wide hallway and massed on the court-house stairs the mob was +calling out to recover the gun. Beyond control of their leaders, crazed +with drink and killing, they surged forward, quarreling, and shoved from +behind by those above. + +"We're ridin'," said the old Ranger. + +With a man on each side of him he charged across the square. + +Waco, peering from behind a stone column in the entrance, saw that Lorry +was one of the riders. Lorry's lips were drawn tight. His face was pale, +but his gun arm swung up and down with the regularity of a machine as he +threw shot after shot into the black tide that welled from the +court-house doorway. A man near Waco pulled an automatic and leveled it. +Waco swung his arm and brained the man with an empty whiskey bottle. He +threw the bottle at another of his fellows, and, stumbling down the +steps, called to Lorry. The three riders paused for an instant as Waco +ran forward. The riders had won almost to the gun when Waco stooped and +jerked it round and poured a withering volley into the close-packed +doorway. + +Back in the side street the leader of the cowboys addressed his men. + +"We'll leave the horses here," he said. "Tex went after that gun, and I +reckon he's got it. We'll clean up afoot." + +But the I.W.W. had had enough. Their leaders had told them that with the +machine gun they could clean up the town, capture the court-house, and +make their own terms. They had captured the court-house, but they were +themselves trapped. One of their own number had planned that treachery. +And they knew that those lean, bronzed men out there would shoot them +down from room to room as mercilessly as they would kill coyotes. + +They surrendered, shuffling out and down the slippery stone steps. Each +man dropped his gun in the little pile that grew and grew until the old +Ranger shook his head, pondering. That men of this kind should have +access to arms and ammunition of the latest military type--and a machine +gun. What was behind it all? He tried to reason it out in his +old-fashioned way even as the trembling horde filed past, cordoned by +grim, silent cowboys. + +The vagrants were escorted out of town in a body. Fearful of the hate +of the guard, of treachery among themselves and of the townsfolk in +other places, they tramped across the hills, followed closely by the +stern-visaged riders. Several miles north of Sterling they disbanded. + +When a company of infantrymen arrived in Sterling they found several +cowboys sluicing down the court-house steps with water hauled +laboriously from the river. + +The captain stated that he would take charge of things, and suggested +that the cowboys take a rest. + +"That's all right, Cap," said a puncher, pointing toward the naked +flagstaff. "But we-all would admire to see the Stars and Stripes +floatin' up there afore we drift." + +"I'll have the flag run up," said the captain. + +"That's all right, Cap. But you don't sabe the idee. These here steps +got to be _clean_ afore that flag goes up." + + * * * * * + +"And they's some good in bein' fat," said Bud Shoop as he met Lorry next +morning. "The army doc just put a plaster on my arm where one of them +automatic pills nicked me. Now, if I'd been lean like you--" + +"Did you see Waco?" queried Lorry. + +"Waco? What's ailin' you, son?" + +"Nothin'. It was Waco went down, workin' that machine gun against his +own crowd. I didn't sabe that at first." + +"Him? Didn't know he was in town." + +"I didn't, either, till last night. He sneaked in to tell me about the +killin' of Pat. Next I seen him was when he brained a fella that was +shootin' at me. Then somehow he got to the gun--and you know the rest." + +"Looks like he was crazy," suggested Shoop. + +"I don' know about that. I got to him before he cashed in. He pawed +around like he couldn't see. I asked what I could do. He kind of braced +up then. 'That you, kid?' he says. 'They didn't get you?' I told him no. +'Then I reckon we're square,' he says. I thought he was gone, but he +reached out his hand. Seems he couldn't see. 'Would you mind shakin' +hands with a bum?' he says. I did. And then he let go my hand. He was +done." + +"H'm! And him! But you can't always tell. Sometimes it takes a bullet +placed just right, and sometimes religion, and sometimes a woman to make +a man show what's in him. I reckon Waco done you a good turn that +journey. But ain't it hard luck when a fella waits till he's got to +cross over afore he shows white?" + +"He must 'a' had a hunch he was goin' to get his," said Lorry. "Or he +wouldn't chanced sneakin' into town last night. When do we go north?" + +"To-morrow. The doc says the sheriff will pull through. He sure ought to +get the benefit of the big doubt. There's a man that God A'mighty took +some trouble in makin'." + +"Well, I'm mighty glad it's over. I don't want any more like this. I +come through all right, but this ain't fightin'; it's plumb killin' and +murder." + +"And both sides thinks so," said Bud. "And lemme tell you; you can read +your eyes out about peace and equality and fraternity, but they's goin' +to be killin' in this here world just as long as they's fools willin' to +listen to other fools talk. And they's always goin' to be some fools." + +"You ain't strong on socialism, eh, Bud?" + +"Socialism? You mean when all men is born fools and equal? Not this +mawnin', son. I got all I can do figurin' out my own trail." + + + + +Chapter XXIX + + +_Bud's Conscience_ + +Those riders who had come from the northern part of the State to +Sterling were given transportation for themselves and their horses to +The Junction. From there they rode to their respective homes. Among them +were Bud Shoop, the giant sheepman, and Lorry, who seemed more anxious +than did Shoop to stop at Stacey on their way to the reserve. + +"Your maw don't know you been to Sterling," Shoop said as they rode +toward Stacey. + +"But she won't care, now we're back again. She'll find out some time." + +"I'm willin' to wait," said Bud. "I got you into that hocus. But I had +no more idee than a cat that we'd bump into what we did. They was a time +when a outfit like ours could 'a' kep' peace in a town by just bein' +there. Things are changin'--fast. If the Gov'ment don't do somethin' +about allowin' the scum of this country to get hold of guns and +ca'tridges wholesale, they's goin' to be a whole lot of extra +book-keepin' for the recordin' angel. I tell you what, son, allowin' +that I seen enough killin' in my time so as just seein' it don't set too +hard on my chest, that mess down to Sterling made me plumb sick to my +stummick. I'm wonderin' what would 'a' happened if Sterling hadn't made +that fight and the I.W.W. had run loose. It ain't what we did. That had +to be did. But it's the idee that decent folks, livin' under the +American flag, has got to shoot their way back to the law, like we +done." + +"Mebby the law ain't right," suggested Lorry. + +"Don't you get that idee, son. The law is all right. Mebby it ain't +handled right sometimes." + +"But what can anybody do about it?" + +"Trouble is that folks who want to do the right thing ain't always got +the say. Or mebby if they have got the say they leave it to the other +fella. + +"What did the folks in Arizona do long back in eighty, when the sheep +disease got bad. First off they doctored up the sick sheep, tryin' to +save 'em. That didn't work, so they took to killin' 'em to save the good +sheep. But the disease had got into the blood of some of the good sheep. +Then some of the big sheepmen got busy. Arizona made a law that no stock +was to be shipped into any of her territory without bein' inspected. +That helped some. But inspectors is human, and some sick sheep got by. + +"Then one day a fella that had some brains got up in the State House and +spoke for the shuttin' out of all stock until the disease was stomped +out. You see, that disease didn't start in this here country. But who +downed that fella? Why, the sheepmen themselves. It would hurt their +business. And the funny part of it is them sheepmen was willin' enough +to ship sick sheep anywhere they could sell 'em. But some States was +wise. California, she put a inspection tax of twenty-five dollars on +every carload of stock enterin' her State--or on one animal; didn't make +no difference. That inspection tax had to be paid by the shipper of the +stock, as I said, whether he shipped one head or a hundred. And the +stock had to be inspected before loadin'." + +"You mean immigrants?" queried Lorry. + +"The same. The gate is open too wide. If I had the handlin' of them +gates I would shut 'em for ten years and kind of let what we got settle +down and get acquainted. But the man hirin' cheap labor wouldn't. He'll +take anything that will work cheap, and the country pays the difference, +like we done down to Sterling." + +"You mean there can't be cheap labor?" + +"The same. Somebody's got to pay." + +"Well, Sterling paid," said Lorry, "if a man's life is worth anything." + +"Yes, she paid. And the worst part of the whole business is that the men +what paid didn't owe anything to the smelter or to them others. They +just made a present of their lives to this here country. And the country +ain't goin' to even say 'thanks.'" + +"You're pretty sore about it, aren't you, Bud?" + +"I be. And if you had my years you'd be likewise. But what's worryin' me +right now is I'm wonderin' what your maw'll say to me when she finds +out." + +"You can say we been south on business." + +"Yes," grunted Bud, "and I got the receipt right here on my left wing." + +"Hurtin' you much?" + +"Just enough to let me know I'm livin' and ain't ridin' through hell +shootin' down a lot of pore, drunk fools that's tryin' to run the oven. +And them kind would kick if they was ridin' in hell on a free pass and +their hotel bills paid. But over there is the hills, and we can thank +God A'mighty for the high trails and the open country. I ain't got the +smell of that town out of my nose yet." + + * * * * * + +When they arrived at Stacey, Lorry learned that his father had recently +gone to the ranch. After supper that evening, Mrs. Adams mentioned the +strike. The papers printed columns of the awful details; outrages and +killings beyond the thought of possibility. And Mrs. Adams spoke of the +curious circumstance that the men who put down the lawlessness were +unnamed; that all that could be learned of them was that there were +ranchers and cowmen who were known by number alone. + +"And I'm glad that you didn't go riding off down there," she said to +Lorry. "The paper says men from all over the State volunteered." + +"So am I," said Shoop promptly. "I was readin' about that strike when +we was over to The Junction. Lorry and me been over that way on +business. I seen that that young fella, number thirty-eight, was one of +the men who went after that machine gun." + +"How do you know that he was a young man?" queried Mrs. Adams. + +"Why--er--only a young fella would act that foolish, I reckon. You say +Jim is feelin' spry ag'in?" + +"Oh, much better! He's lame yet. But he can ride." + +"That's good." + +"And did you see that the paper says men are volunteering to go to +France? I wonder what will happen next?" + +"I dunno," said Shoop gravely. "I been thinkin' about that." + +"Well, I hope Lorry won't think that he has to go. Some of the boys in +town are talking about it." + +"It's in the air," said Shoop. + +"And his father will need him now. Could you spare him, if Jim finds he +can't get along alone?" + +"I don't know," laughed Bud. "I reckon I need somebody to look after +them campers up to my old place." + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you; the folks that were here last summer stopped +by on their way to Jason. Mrs. Weston and her girl. They said they were +going to visit Mr. Bronson." + +"H'm! Then I reckon I got to keep Lorry. Don't know what three females +would do with just Bronson for comp'ny. He's a-tickin' at that writin' +machine of his most all day, and sometimes nights. It must be like +livin' in a cave." + +"But Dorothy hasn't," said Lorry. + +"That's right! My, but that little gal has built up wonderful since +she's been up there! Did you see my watch?" + +"Why, no!" + +"Some style to that!" And Shoop displayed the new watch with pride. "And +here's the name of the lady what give it to me." + +Lorry's mother examined the watch, and handed it to Lorry, to whom the +news of the gift was a surprise. + +"But she didn't give him a watch," said Shoop, chuckling. + + * * * * * + +Up in their room that night, Lorry helped Bud out of his coat. Shoop's +arm was stiff and sore. + +"And your mother would think it was a mighty queer business, if she +knowed this," said Bud, "or who that number thirty-eight was down +there." + +"You sure made a good bluff, Bud." + +"Mebby. But I was scared to death. When I was talkin' about Sterling so +free and easy, and your maw mighty near ketched me that time, my arm was +itchin' like hell-fire, and I dassen scratch it. I never knowed a +fella's conscience could get to workin' around his system like that. +Now, if it was my laig, I could 'a' scratched it with my other foot +under the table. Say, but you sure showed red in your face when your maw +said them Weston folks was up to the camp." + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, I do. Here, hook onto your Uncle Bud's boot. I'm set: go ahead +and pull. You can't do nothin' but shake the buildin'. Say, what does +Bronson call his gal 'Peter Pan' for?" + +"Why, it's a kind of foreign name," flashed Lorry. "And it sounds all +right when you say it right. You said it like the 'pan' was settin' a +mile off." + +"Well, you needn't to get mad." + + + + +Chapter XXX + + +_In the Hills_ + +Lorry's return to the mountains was somewhat of a disappointment to his +expectations. Dorothy had greeted him quite casually and naturally +enough, in that she knew nothing of his recent venture. He was again +introduced to Mrs. Weston and her daughter. For the first time Dorothy +heard of the automobile accident and Lorry's share in the subsequent +proceedings. She asked Lorry why he had not told her that he knew the +Westons. He had no reply save "Oh, I don't know," which rather piqued +Dorothy. He was usually definite and frank. + +The Westons occupied Bronson's cabin with Dorothy. Bronson pitched a +tent, moved his belongings into it, and declared himself, jokingly, free +from Dorothy's immediate tyranny. + +Dorothy, busy in the kitchen, asked her father to invite Lorry to dinner +that evening. Through a sort of youthful perverseness not unmixed with +bucolic pride, Lorry declined the invitation. He would be busy making +ready for another trip in the hills. He had already planned his own +evening meal. He appreciated the invitation, but they could get along +without him. These excuses satisfied Bronson. Lorry's real reason for +declining was that Dorothy had not invited him in person. He knew it, +and felt ashamed of himself. What reason had he to expect her to invite +him personally, except that she had almost invariably done so +heretofore? And back of this was the subtle jealousy of caste. The +Westons were "her kind of folks." He was not really one of them. +Boyishly he fancied that he would do as a companion when there was no +one else available. He was very much in love with Dorothy and did not +realize it. + +And Dorothy was disappointed in him. She had wanted the Westons to know +what a really fine fellow he was. + +Alice Weston at once recalled Lorry's attitude toward her on a former +occasion when he had been tacitly invited to go with them to the +Horseshoe Hills and he had stayed at the hotel. She told Dorothy that +Mr. Adams was not to be taken too seriously. After all, he was nothing +more than a boy, and perhaps he would feel better, having declined to +risk possible embarrassment at their table. + +Dorothy was inwardly furious on the instant, but she checked herself. +What did Alice Weston know about Lorry? Well, Alice knew that he was a +good-looking young savage who seemed quite satisfied with himself. She +thought that possibly she could tame him if she cared to try. Dorothy, +with feminine graciousness, dared Alice to invite Lorry to the dinner. +Alice was to know nothing of his having declined an earlier invitation. +Greatly to Dorothy's surprise, Alice Weston accepted the challenge. + +She waited until just before the dinner hour. Lorry was mending a +pack-saddle when she came to his cabin. He dropped his work and stood +up. + +"I have been thinking about that tramp you arrested," she began. "And I +think you were right in what you did." + +"Yes, ma'am," stammered Lorry. + +Her manner had been especially gracious. + +"And I didn't have a chance to say good-bye--that time"--and she +smiled--"when you rode off waving your scarf--" + +"It was a leg of lamb," corrected Lorry. + +"Well, you waved it very gracefully. What big, strong arms! They don't +look so big when your sleeves are down." + +Lorry promptly rolled down his sleeves. He felt that he had to do +something. + +"And there is so much to talk about I hardly know where to begin. Oh, +yes! Thank you so much for repairing our car." + +"That was nothin'." + +"It meant a great deal to us. Is that your horse--the one standing alone +over there?" + +"Yes, ma'am. That's Gray Leg." + +"I remember him. I couldn't ever forget that morning--but I don't want +to hinder your work. I see you are mending something." + +"Just fittin' a new pad to this pack-saddle. I was figurin' to light +out to-morrow." + +"So soon? That's too bad. But, then, we can visit at dinner this +evening. Dorothy said she expected you. I believe it is almost ready." + +"I don't know, Miss Weston. It's like this--" + +"And I know Mr. Bronson meant to ask you. He has been quite busy. +Perhaps he forgot." + +"He--" + +"So I am here as ambassador. Will I do?" + +"Why, sure! But--" + +"And mother would be so disappointed if you didn't come. So should I, +especially as you are leaving to-morrow. What is it they say in Mexico, +'Adios'? I must run back." + +She proffered her hand gracefully. Lorry shook hands with her. She gave +his fingers a little, lingering squeeze that set his pulses racing. She +was a mighty pretty girl. + +"We shall expect you," she called, halfway to the cabin. + +And she sure could change a fellow's mind for him without half trying. +She hadn't given him a chance to refuse her invitation. She just knew +that he was coming to supper. And so did he. + +Alice Weston held Lorry's attention from the beginning, as she had +intended. She was gowned in some pale-green material touched here and +there with a film of lace. Lorry was fascinated by her full, rounded +arms, her beautifully strong wrists, and by the way in which she had +arranged her heavy, dark hair. In the daylight that afternoon he had +noticed that her eyes were blue. He had thought them brown. But they +were the color of wood violets untouched by the sun. While she lacked +the positive outdoor coloring of Dorothy, her complexion was radiant +with youth and health. Lorry felt subdued, disinclined to talk despite +Dorothy's obvious attempts to be entertaining. He realized that Dorothy +was being exceedingly nice to him, although he knew that she was a +little high-strung and nervous that evening. + +After dinner Bronson and Lorry smoked out on the veranda. When the +others came out, Bronson suggested that they have some music. Lorry +promptly invited them to his cabin. + +"Alice plays wonderfully," said Dorothy. + +Bronson, talking with Mrs. Weston, enjoyed himself. He had been isolated +so long that news from the "outside" interested him. + +Lorry, gravely attentive to the playing, happened to glance up. Dorothy +was gazing at him with a most peculiar expression. He flushed. He had +not realized that he had been staring at Alice Weston; at her round, +white throat and graceful arms. But just then she ceased playing. + +"Have you any music that you would like?" she asked Lorry. + +"There's some here. I don't know what it's like. Some songs and dances +the boys fetched up for Bud." + +"What fun!" said Alice. "And what an assortment! Shall we try this?" + +And she began to play a flimsy tune printed on a flimsy sheet that +doubled and slid to the keys. Lorry jumped up, spread it out, and stood +holding a corner of it while she played. Close to her, he was sensible +of a desire to caress her hair, to kiss her vivid lips as she glanced up +at him and smiled. He had no idea then that she was deliberately +enthralling him with every grace she possessed. + +The fact that she rather liked him made her subtleties all the more +potent. It flattered her to see the frank admiration in his gray eyes. +She knew he was anything but "soft," which made the game all the more +alluring. He was to leave soon--to-morrow. Meanwhile, she determined +that he should remember her. + +Late that evening Bronson and the others said good-night. Alice, not +Dorothy, asked Lorry when he was to leave. His "some time to-morrow" +sounded unnaturally indefinite. + +He was standing in the doorway of his camp as the others entered +Bronson's cabin. Alice Weston was the last to enter. For an instant she +stood in the lamplight that floated through the doorway, looking back +toward him. Impulsively he waved good-night. Her attitude had seemed to +call for it. He saw her fingers flash to her lips. She tilted her chin +and threw him a kiss. + +"Dog-gone the luck!" he growled as he entered his cabin. And with the +brief expletive he condemned his disloyalty to the sprightly, slender +Dorothy; the Peter Pan of the Blue Mesa; the dream girl of that idle +noon at the Big Spring. The other girl--well, she was just playing with +him. + + * * * * * + +In view of Lorry's training and natural carefulness it was especially +significant that he decided next day that he had forgotten to lay in +enough supplies for his journey south. He would ride to Jason and pack +in what he needed. He had a fair excuse. Bronson had recently borrowed +some of his canned provisions. He was well on his way to Jason that +morning before the others had arisen. + +He was back at the camp shortly after nine that night. As he passed +Bronson's cabin he saw a light in the window. Mrs. Weston was talking +with Dorothy. Lorry had hoped to catch a glimpse of Alice Weston. He had +been hoping all that day that he would see her again before he left. +Perhaps she was asleep. + +As he passed the corral a greeting came from the darkness:-- + +"Good-evening! I thought you had gone." + +"I--I didn't see you," he stammered. + +Alice Weston laughed softly. "Oh, I was just out here looking at the +stars. It's cooler out here. Then you changed your mind about going?" + +"Nope. I had to go to Jason for grub. I'm going to-morrow." + +"Oh, I see! We thought you had gone." + +"Got a headache?" queried Lorry. + +Her voice had been so unnaturally low, almost sad. + +"No. I just wanted to be alone." + +Lorry fumbled in his pockets. "I got the mail," he stated. + +"I'll give it to Mr. Bronson." + +Lorry leaned down and gave her the packet of letters and papers. + +"Good-bye. I won't see you in the mornin'" + +"We'll miss you." + +"Honest?" + +"Of course!" And she gave him her hand. + +He drew his foot from the stirrup. "Put your foot in there," he said, +still holding her hand. + +"But why?" + +"'Cause I'm goin' to ride off with you, like in books." He laughed, but +his laughter was tense and unnatural. + +It was dark. The stars shone faintly. The air was soft with a subtle +fragrance; the fragrance of sun-warmed pine that the night had stolen +from the slumbering woodlands. She slipped her foot in the wide stirrup. +Half laughing, she allowed him to draw her up. She felt the hard +strength of his arm, and was thrilled. She had not meant to do anything +like this. + +"You been playin' with me," he told her, whispering, "and I take my +pay." + +She turned her face away, but he found her lips and crushed her to him. + +"Oh!" she whispered as he kissed her again and again. + +Slowly his arm relaxed. White-faced and trembling, she slid to the +ground and stood looking up at him. + +"I hate you!" she said. + +"No, you don't," said Lorry quite cheerfully. + +And he reached out his hand as though to take her hand again. + +She stood still, making no effort to avoid him. Then--"No, please!" she +begged. + +Lorry sat for a moment looking down at her. There had been no +make-believe on her part when he held her in his arms. He knew that. And +now? She had said that she hated him. Perhaps she did for having made +her do that which she had never dreamed of doing. But he told himself +that he could stand a whole lot of that kind of hate. And did he really +care for her? Could a girl give what she had given and forget on the +morrow? He would never forget. + +She had told herself that he should have reason to remember her. + +After he had gone she stood gazing across the starlit mesa. She heard +Lorry whistling cheerily as he unsaddled his pony. A falling star flamed +and faded across the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +_In the Pines_ + +Alice Weston pleaded headache next morning. She did not get up until +noon. Meanwhile Dorothy came, bringing hot coffee and toast. + +"Does it really hurt?" queried Dorothy. "Or is it one of those headaches +that is always going to hurt, but never does?" + +Alice smiled and sipped her coffee. "Oh, it's not bad. I want to rest. +Perhaps it's the altitude." + +"Perhaps," said Dorothy. "I'm sorry, Alice." + +They chatted awhile. Suddenly Alice thought of the letters Lorry had +given her. She had carried them to her room, and had forgotten them. + +"Mr. Adams left some mail with me last night. I happened to be outside +when he rode past." + +"Why, I thought he had gone!" + +"He said he had to go to Jason for something or other. He left early +this morning, I think." + +Dorothy glanced at the mail. "All for daddy--except this circular. H'm! +'Intelligent clothing for Intelligent People.' Isn't that awful? How in +the world do such firms get one's address when one lives 'way up here +in the sky. Do you ever get advertisements like this?" + +"Oh, yes; heaps of them." + +"Well, _your_ gowns are beautiful," sighed Dorothy. + +"You are a darling," said Alice, caressing Dorothy's cheek. + +"So are you, dear." And Dorothy kissed her. "And you coaxed Lorry to +come to dinner, after all! I don't know what made him so grumpy, though. +I would have been sorry if he hadn't come to dinner, even if he was +grumpy." + +"Do you like him?" queried Alice. + +"Of course; he has been so nice to us. Don't you?" + +Alice's lips trembled. Suddenly she hid her face in her hands and burst +into tears. + +"Why, Alice, what _is_ the matter?" + +"Nothing," she sobbed. "I'm just tired--of everything." + +"It must be the altitude," said Dorothy gravely. "Father says it does +make some persons nervous. Just rest, Allie, and I'll come in again." + +Without telling her father anything further than that she was going for +a ride, Dorothy saddled Chinook. + +Dorothy was exceedingly trustful, but she was not at all stupid. She +thought she understood Alice's headache. And while Dorothy did not dream +that her friend cared anything for Lorry, she was not so sure that +Lorry did not care for Alice. Perhaps he had said something to her. +Perhaps they had become rather well acquainted in Stacey last summer. + +Dorothy rode toward the Big Spring. She had no definite object in view +other than to be alone. She was hurt by Lorry's incomprehensible manner +of leaving. What had she done to cause him to act so strangely? And why +had he refused her invitation and accepted it again through Alice? "But +I'll never, never let him know that I care about that," she thought. +"And when he comes back everything will be all right again." + +Just before she reached the Big Spring her pony nickered. She imagined +she could see a horse standing back of the trees round the spring. Some +ranger returning to Jason or some cattle outfit from the south was +camped at the spring. But when Chinook nickered again and the other pony +answered, she knew at once that Lorry was there. Why had he stopped at +the spring? He had started early enough to have made a camp farther on. + +Lorry saw her coming, and busied himself adjusting one of the packs. As +she rode up he turned and took off his hat. His face was flushed. His +eyes did not meet hers as she greeted him. + +"I didn't look for you to ride up here," he said lamely. + +"And I didn't expect to find you here," she said as she dismounted. She +walked straight to him. "Lorry, what is the matter? You're not like my +ranger man at all! Are you in trouble?" + +Her question, so frank and sincere, and the deep solicitude in her +troubled eyes hurt him, and yet he was glad to feel that hot pain in his +throat. He knew now that he cared for her more than for any living +being; beyond all thought of passion or of selfishness. She looked and +seemed like a beautiful boy, with all the frankness of true comradeship +in her attitude and manner. And she was troubled because of him--and not +for herself. Lorry thought of the other girl. He had taken his pay. His +lips burned dry as he recalled that moment when he had held her in his +arms. + +Dorothy saw the dull pain in his eyes, a sort of dumb pleading for +forgiveness for something he had done; she could not imagine what. He +dropped to his knee, and taking her slender hand in his kissed her +fingers. + +"Don't be silly," she said, yet her free hand caressed his hair. "What +is it, ranger man?" + +"I been a regular dam' fool, Dorothy." + +"But, Lorry! You know--if there is anything, anything in the world that +I can do--Please, _please_ don't cry. If you were to do that I think I +should die. I couldn't stand it. You make me afraid. What is it? Surely +it is not--Alice?" + +He crushed her fingers. Suddenly he stood up and stepped back. The +sunlight shone on his bared head. He looked very boyish as he shrugged +his shoulders as though to free himself from an invisible hand that +oppressed and irritated him. His sense of fair play in so far as Alice +Weston was concerned would not allow him to actually regret that affair. +To him that had been a sort of conquest. But shame and repentance for +having been disloyal to Dorothy were stamped so clearly upon his +features that she understood. She knew what he was about to say, and +checked him. + +"Don't tell me," she said gently. "You have told me. I know Alice is +attractive; she can't help that. If you care for her--" + +"Care for her! She was playin' with me. When I found out that--" + +Dorothy caught her breath. Her eyes grew big. She had not thought that +Alice Weston--But then that did not matter now. Lorry was so abjectly +sorry about something or other. He felt her hand on his sleeve. She was +smiling. "You're just a great big, silly boy, ranger man. I'm really +years older than you. Please don't tell me anything. I don't want to +know. I just want you to be happy." + +"Happy? And you say that!" + +"Of course!" + +"Well, mebby I could be happy if you was to set to and walk all over +me." + +"Oh, but that wouldn't do any good. Tell me why you stopped here at the +spring. You didn't expect to meet any one, did you?" + +"I--stopped here--because we camped here that time." + +"Well, Lorry, it's really foolish of you to feel so badly when there's +nothing the matter. If you wanted to kiss Alice and she let you--why, +that isn't wrong. A boy kissed me once when I was going to school in the +East. I just boxed his ears and laughed at him. It is only when you act +grumpy or feel badly that I worry about you. I just want to be your +little mother then--and try to help you." + +"You make me feel like I wasn't fit to ever touch your hand again," he +told her. + +"But you mustn't feel that way," she said cheerily. "I want you to be +brave and strong and happy; just as you were that day we camped here. +And you will, won't you?" + +"Yes, ma'am. I'm takin' orders from you." + +"But you mustn't wait for me to tell you. Just be yourself, and then I +know you will never be ashamed of anything you do. I must go now. +Good-bye, Lorry." + +She gave her hand, and he drew her to him. But she turned her face away +as he bent his head above her. + +"No; not now, Lorry. I--can't. Please don't." + +"I--guess you're right. I reckon you showed me just where I stand. Yes, +you're plumb right about it, Dorothy. But I'm comin' back--" + +"I'll wait for you," she said softly. + +He turned briskly to the ponies. The pack-horses plodded up the trail as +he mounted Gray Leg and rode over to her. + +She reached up and patted Gray Leg's nose. "Good-bye, everybody!" she +chirruped. And she kissed Gray Leg's nose. + +Back in the ranges, far from the Big Spring, Lorry made his camp that +night. As he hobbled the horses he talked to them affectionately after +his manner when alone with them. + +"And you, you old trail-hitter," he said to Gray Leg, "I reckon you +think you're some ladies' man, don't you? Well, you got a right to be +proud. Step along there, and 'tend to your grazin' and don't go to +rubbin' noses with the other horses. You're a fool if you do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +_Politics_ + +The week following Lorry's departure the Westons left for the East. As +for Dorothy, she confessed to herself that she was not sorry. While +Alice had been unusually nice to every one, Dorothy felt that Alice was +forcing herself to appear natural and happy. Mrs. Weston knew this, and +wondered what the cause could be. Mrs. Weston had found Dorothy +delightful and Bronson interesting, but she had been so long in the West +that its novelty had worn thin. She did not regret it when they shipped +their machine from Stacey and took the Overland for New York. + +A few days after they had gone, Bud Shoop rode up to the Blue Mesa. It +was evident that he wanted to talk with Bronson, so Dorothy coaxed +Bondsman to her favorite tree, and sat stroking his shaggy head as she +read from a new book that Shoop had brought with the mail. + +The genial Bud was in a fix. Perhaps Bronson, who had been a newspaper +man and knew something about politics, could help him out. Bronson +disclaimed any special keenness of political intelligence, but said he +would be glad to do anything he could for Shoop. + +"It's like this," Bud began, seating himself on the edge of the +veranda; "John Torrance, who was supervisor before you came in, got me +this job and put it up to me to stick. Now, I like John, and I figure +John ain't scared of me. But here's where I lose the trail. A ole +friend, the biggest shipper of sheep in this State, goes and gets it +into his head that they's a State Senator over there drawin' down pay +that ought to come to me. Recollec', I said he was a sheepman--and I +been for the longhorns all my days. And he's got the nerve to tell me +that all the sheepmen in this here county are strong for me if I run for +the job. If I didn't know him like I know this here right hand, I would +say he was gettin' hardenin' of the brain in his ole aige. But he's a +long ways from havin' his head examined yet. + +"Then along comes a representative of the Cattlemen's Association and +says they want me to run for State Senator. Then along comes a committee +of hay-tossers from up around St. Johns and says, polite, that they are +waitin' my pleasure in the matter of framin' up their ticket for +senatorial candidate from this mesa country. They say that the present +encumbrance in the senatorial chair is such a dog-gone thief that he +steals from hisself just to keep in practice. I don't say so. 'Course, +if I can get to a chair that looks big and easy, without stompin' on +anybody--why, I'm like to set down. But if I can't, I figure to set +where I be. + +"Now, this here war talk is gettin' folks excited. And ridin' +excitement down the trail of politics is like tryin' to ride white +lightnin' bareback. It's like to leave you so your friends can't tell +what you looked like. And somebody that ain't got brains enough to plug +the hole in a watch-key has been talkin' around that Bud Shoop is a +fighter, with a record for gettin' what he goes after. And that this +same Bud Shoop is as honest as the day is long. Now, I've seen some +mighty short days when I was tradin' hosses. And then this here stingin' +lizard goes to work and digs up my deputy number over to Sterling and +sets the papers to printin' as how it was me, with the help of a few +parties whose names are of no special int'rest, settled that strike." + +"So you were at Sterling?" + +"Uh-uh. Between you and me, I was. And it wa'n't what you'd call a +girl's school for boys, neither. But that's done. What I'm gettin' at +is: If I resign here, after givin' my word to Torrance to stick, it +looks like I been playin' with one hand under the table. The papers will +lie like hell boostin' me, and if I don't lie like hell, boostin' +myself, folks'll think I'm a liar, anyhow. Now, takin' such folks one at +a time, out back of the store, mebby, where they ain't no wimmin-folks, +I reckon I could make 'em think different. But I can't lick the county. +I ain't no angel. I never found that tellin' the truth kep' me awake +nights. And I sleep pretty good. Now, I writ to Torrance, tellin' him +just how things was headed. What do you think he writ back?" + +"Why, he told you to go ahead and win, didn't he?" + +"Yep. And he said that it was apparent that the State needed my services +more than the Service did. That's somethin' like a train with a engine +on each end. You don't know which way it's headed." + +"I'd take it as a sincere compliment." + +"Well, I did swell up some. Then I says to myself: 'Bud, you ain't no +fancy office man, and even if you are doin' good work here, you can't +put it in writin' for them big bugs at Washington.' Mebby John is so +dog-gone busy--like the fella with both bands full and his suspenders +broke--- that he'd be glad to get behind 'most anything to get shut of +me." + +"I think you're mistaken. You know you can't keep a born politician out +of politics." + +"Meanin' me?" + +"You're the type." + +"By gravy, Bronson! I never seen you hidin' your watch when I come up to +visit you before." + +"See here, Shoop. Why don't you write to Torrance and ask him +point-blank if he has had a hand in getting you nominated for Senator? +Torrance is a big man in his line, and he probably knows what he is +doing." + +Shoop grinned. "You win the pot!" he exclaimed. "That's just what I been +thinkin' right along. I kind of wanted somebody who wasn't interested in +this deal to say it. Well, I reckon I bothered you long enough. You got +your alfalfa to--I--you got your writin' to do. But they's one thing. If +I get roped in and got to run, and some new supervisor comes botherin' +around up here, puttin' some ranger in my camp that ain't like Lorry, +all you got to do is to move over into my cabin and tell 'em to keep off +the grass. That there four hundred and eighty is mine. I homesteaded it, +and I got the papers. It ain't on the reserve." + +"I thought it was." + +"So do some yet. Nope. I'm just east of the reservation line; outside +the reserve. I aimed to know what I was doin' when I homesteaded that +piece of sky farm." + +"And yet you took exception to my calling you a born politician." + +Shoop chuckled. "Speakin' personal, I been thinkin' about that job of +State Senator for quite a spell. Now, I reckon you got sense enough not +to get mad when I tell you that I just been tryin' out a little speech I +framed up for my constituents. Just a kind of little alfalfa-seed talk. +Outside of ijuts and Mexicans, it's about what I aim to hand to the +voters of this here district, puttin' it up to them that I was roped +into this hocus and been settin' back on the rope right along. And +that's a fact. But you got to rub some folks' noses in a fact afore they +can even smell it." + +"And you have the nerve to tell me that you framed up all that stuff to +get my sympathy? Shoop, you are wasting time in Arizona. Go East. And +forgive me for falling for your most natural appeal." + +The genial Bud chuckled and wiped his eyes. "But it's true from the +start to the wire." + +"I must congratulate you." And, "Dorothy!" called Bronson. "Come and +shake hands with our next Senator from the mesa country." + +"Really?" exclaimed Dorothy. "But we will lose our supervisor. Still, I +think Mr. Shoop will make a lovely Senator. You are just the right +size--and--everything." + +"I reckon you're right, missy. Half of the game is lookin' the part +afore election. The other half is not sayin' too much after election. If +any man gets a promise out of me afore election, it'll have to be did +with a stump-puller." + +"But we won't see you any more," said Dorothy. "You will be so busy and +so important. Senator Shoop will speak here. And Senator Shoop will +speak there. And--let me see! Oh, yes! The Senate adjourned after a +stormy session in which the Senator from Mesa County, supported by an +intelligent majority, passed his bill for the appropriation of twenty +thousand dollars to build a road from Jason to the Blue Mesa. What fun!" + +Bud polished his bald head. "Now, I reckon that ain't such a joke. We'll +build a road plumb through to the old Apache Trail and ketch them +tourists goin' into Phoenix." + +"You see," said Dorothy, turning to her father, "I know something about +politics. I read the local papers. Mr. Shoop's name is in every one of +them. I read that article about the Sterling strike. I have been +wondering--" + +Shoop immediately called attention to Bondsman, who was gently tugging +at the supervisor's pants leg. + +"Now, look at that! Do you know what he's tellin' me? He's tellin' me I +got a piano in that there cabin and we ain't had a duet for quite a +spell. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Bondsman slipped from beneath Dorothy's hand as she stooped to pat him. +He trotted to Shoop's cabin, and stood looking up at the door. + +"Would you be playin' 'Annie Laurie' for us?" queried Shoop. + +Dorothy played for them, unaccompanied by Bondsman. Shoop shook his +head. Either the tune had lost its charm for the Airedale or else +Dorothy's interpretation differed from Bud's own. + +"Thanks, missy," said Shoop when she had finished playing. "Guess I'll +be movin' along." + +"Oh, no! You'll stay to-night. I'll play for you. Make him stay, +father." + +"I wish you would, Shoop. I'd like to talk with you about the election." + +"Well, now, that's right neighborly of you folks. I was aimin' to ride +back this evening. But I reckon we'll stay. Bondsman and me ain't so +spry as we was." + +After supper Dorothy played for them again, with no light except the +dancing red shadows from the pine logs that flamed in the fireplace. + +Shoop thanked her. "I'll be livin' in town,"--and he sighed +heavily,--"where my kind of piano-playin' would bring the law on me, +most-like. Now, that ole piano is hacked up some outside, but she's got +all her innards yet and her heart's right. If you would be takin' it as +a kind of birthday present, it's yours." + +"You don't mean _me_?" + +"I sure do." + +"But I couldn't accept such a big present. And then, when we go away +this winter--" + +"Listen to your Uncle Bud, missy. A little lady give me a watch onct. 'T +wa'n't a big watch, but it was a big thing. 'Cause why? 'Cause that +little lady was the first lady to give me a present in my life. I was +raised up by men-folks. My mammy she wa'n't there long after I come. +Reckon that's why I never was much of a hand with wimmin-folks. I wa'n't +used to 'em. And I don't care how old and ornery a man is; the first +time he gets a present from a gal, it kind of hits him where he +breathes. And if it don't make him feel warm inside and mighty proud of +bein' who he is, why, it's because he's so dog-gone old he can't think. +I ain't tellin' no secret when I say that the little lady put her name +in that watch alongside of mine. And her name bein' there is what makes +that present a big thing--bigger than any piano that was ever built. + +"Why, just a spell ago I was settin' in my office, madder'n a cat what +had tore his Sunday pants, 'cause at twelve o'clock I was goin' over to +the saloon to fire that young ranger, Lusk, for gettin' drunk. I pulled +out this here watch, and I says to myself: 'Bud, it was clost around +twelve o'clock by a young fella's watch onct when he was filled up on +liquor and rampin' round town when he ought to been to work. And it was +the ole foreman's gal that begged that boy's job back for him, askin' +her daddy to give him another chanct.' And the boy he come through all +right. I know--for I owned the watch. And so I give Lusk another +chanct." + +Dorothy stepped to Shoop's chair, and, stooping quickly, kissed his +cheek. Bondsman, not to be outdone, leaped jealously into Bud's lap and +licked the supervisor's face. Shoop spluttered, and thrust Bondsman +down. + +"Things is comin' too fast!" he cried, wiping his face. "I was just +goin' to say something when that dog just up and took the words right +out of my mouth. Oh, yes! I was just wishin' I owned a piano factory." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +_The Fires of Home_ + + +Bud Shoop read the newspaper notice twice before he realized fully its +import. The Adams House at Stacey was for sale. "Then Jim and Annie's +patched it up," he soliloquized. And the genial Bud did not refer to the +Adams House. + +Because his master seemed pleased, Bondsman waited to hear the rest of +it with head cocked sideways and tail at a stiff angle. + +"That's all they is to it," said Shoop. + +Bondsman lay down and yawned. He was growing old. It was only Bud's +voice that could key the big Airedale up to his earlier alertness. The +office was quiet. The clerk had gone out for his noon meal. The fall +sunshine slanted lazily through the front-office windows. The room was +warm, but there was a tang of autumn in the air. Shoop glanced at the +paper again. He became absorbed in an article proposing conscription. He +shook his head and muttered to himself. He turned the page, and glanced +at the livestock reports, the copper market, railroad stocks, and passed +on to an article having to do with local politics. + +Bondsman, who constituted himself the guard of Shoop's leisure, rapped +the floor with his tail. Shoop glanced over the top of his paper as +light footsteps sounded in the outer office. Dorothy tapped on the +lintel and stepped in. Shoop crumpled the paper and rose. Bondsman was +at her side as she shook hands with the supervisor. + +"My new saddle came," she said, patting Bondsman. "And father's latest +book. Why don't you cheer?" + +"Goodness, missy! I started cheerin' inside the minute I seen you. Now, +I reckon you just had to have that new saddle." + +"It's at the store. Father is over there talking politics and war with +Mr. Handley." + +"Then you just set down and tell your Uncle Bud the news while you're +waitin'." + +"But I am not _waiting_. I am visiting _you_. And I told you the news." + +"And to think a new saddle could make your eyes shine like that! Ain't +you 'shamed to fool your Uncle Bud?" + +"I haven't--if you say you know I have." + +"'Course. Most any little gal can get the best of me." + +"Well, because you are so curious--Lorry is back." + +"I reckoned that was it." + +"He rode part-way down with us. He has gone to see his father." + +"And forgot to repo't here first." + +"No. He gave me the reports to give to you. Here they are. One of Mr. +Waring's men, that young Mexican, rode up to the mesa last week and left +word that Lorry's father wanted to see him." + +"I aim to know about that," chuckled Shoop. And he smoothed out the +paper and pointed to the Adams House sale notice. + +"The Adams House for sale? Why--" + +"Jim and Annie--that's Jim Waring and Mrs. Waring now--are goin' to run +the ranch. I'm mighty glad." + +"Oh, I see! And Lorry is really Laurence Waring?" + +"You bet! And I reckon Lorry'll be fo'man of that ranch one of these +days. Cattle is sky-high and goin' up. I don't blame him." + +"He didn't say a word about that to me." + +"'Course not. He's not one to say anything till he's plumb sure." + +"He might have said _something_" asserted Dorothy. + +"Didn't he?" chuckled Shoop. + +Dorothy's face grew rosy. "Your master is very inquisitive," she told +Bondsman. + +"And your little missy is right beautiful this mawnin'," said Shoop. +"Now, if I was a bow-legged young cow-puncher with curly hair, and +looked fierce and noble and could make a gal's eyes shine like stars in +the evenin', I reckon I wouldn't be sittin' here signin' letters." + +"He _isn't_ bow-legged!" flashed Dorothy. She was very definite about +that. "And he's not a cowboy. He is a ranger." + +"My goodness! I done put my foot in a gopher hole that shake. I sure am +standin' on my head, waitin' for somebody to set me up straight ag'in. +You ain't mad at your Uncle Bud, be you?" + +Dorothy tossed her head, but her eyes twinkled, and suddenly she +laughed. "You know I like you--heaps! You're just jealous." + +"Reckon you said it! But I only got one ear laid back yet. Wait till I +see that boy." + +"Oh, pshaw! You can't help being nice to him." + +"And I got comp'ny." + +"But really I want to talk seriously, if you will let me. Lorry has been +talking about enlisting. He didn't say that he was going to enlist, but +he has been talking about it so much. Do you think he will?" + +"Well, now, missy that's a right peart question. I know if I was his age +I'd go. Most any fella that can read would. I been readin' the papers +for two years, and b'ilin' inside. I reckon Lorry's just woke up to +what's goin' on. We been kind of slow wakin' up out here. Folks livin' +off in this neck of the woods gets to thinkin' that the sun rises on +their east-line fence and sets on their west line. It takes somethin' +strong to make 'em recollec' the sun's got a bigger job'n that. But I +admire to say that when them kind of folks gets started onct they's +nothin' ever built that'll stop 'em. If I get elected I aim to tell some +folks over to the State House about this here war. And I'm goin' to +start by talkin' about what we got to set straight right here to home +first. They can _feel_ what's goin' on to home. It ain't all print. And +they got to feel what's goin' on over there afore they do anything." + +"It's all too terrible to talk about," said Dorothy. "But we must do our +share, if only to keep our self-respect, mustn't we?" + +"You said it--providin' we got any self-respect to keep." + +"But why don't our young men volunteer. They are not cowards." + +"It ain't that. Suppose you ask Lorry why." + +"I shouldn't want to know him if he didn't go," said Dorothy. + +"Missy, I'm lovin' you for sayin' that! If all the mothers and sisters +and sweethearts was like that, they wouldn't be no conscription. But +they ain't. I'm no hand at understandin' wimmin-folks, but I know the +mother of a strappin' young fella in this town that says she would +sooner see her boy dead in her front yard than for him to go off and +fight for foreigners. She don't know what this country's got to fight +for pretty quick or she wouldn't talk like that. And she ain't the only +one. Now, when wimmin talks that way, what do you expect of men? I +reckon the big trouble is that most folks got to see somethin' to fight +afore they get goin'. Fightin' for a principle looks just like poundin' +air to some folks. I don't believe in shootin' in the dark. How come, +I've plugged a rattlesnake by just shootin' at the sound when he was +coiled down where I couldn't see him. But this ain't no kind of talk for +you to listen to, missy." + +"I--you won't say that I spoke of Lorry?" + +"Bless your heart, no! And he'll figure it out hisself. But don't you +get disap'inted if he don't go right away. It's mighty easy to set back +and say 'Go!' to the other fella; and listen to the band and cheer the +flag. It makes a fella feel so durned patriotic he is like to forget he +ain't doin' nothin' hisself. + +"Now, missy, suppose you was a sprightin' kind of a boy 'bout nineteen +or twenty, and mebby some gal thought you was good-lookin' enough to +talk to after church on a Sunday; and suppose you had rustled like a +little nigger when you was a kid, helpin' your ma wash dishes in a hotel +and chop wood and sweep out and pack heavy valises for tourists and fill +the lamps and run to the store for groceries and milk a cow every night +and mornin'. + +"And say you growed up without breakin' your laig and went to punchin' +cattle and earnin' your own money, and then mebby you got a job in the +Ranger Service, ridin' the high trails and livin' free and independent; +and suppose a mighty pretty gal was to come along and kind of let you +take a shine to her, and you was doin' your plumb durndest to put by a +little money, aimin' to trot in double harness some day; and then +suppose your daddy was to offer you a half-interest in a growin' cattle +business, where you could be your own boss and put by a couple of +thousand a year. And you only nineteen or twenty. + +"Suppose you had been doin' all that when along comes word from 'way off +somewhere that folks was killin' each other and it was up to you to stop +'em. Wouldn't you do some hard thinkin' afore you jumped into your +fightin' clothes?" + +"But this war means more than that." + +"It sure does. But some of us ain't got the idee yet. 'Course all you +got to do to some folks is to say 'Fight' and they come a-runnin'. And +some of that kind make mighty good soldier boys. But the fella I'm +leavin' alone is the one what cinches up slow afore he climbs into the +saddle. When he goes into a fight it's like his day's work, and he don't +waste no talk or elbow action when he's workin'." + +"I wish I were a man!" + +"Well, some of us is right glad you ain't. A good woman can do just as +much for this country right now as any man. And I don't mean by dressin' +up in fancy clothes and givin' dances and shellin' out mebby four per +cent of the gate receipts to buy a ambulance with her name on it. + +"And I don't mean by payin' ten dollars for a outfit of gold-plated +knittin'-needles to make two-bit socks for the boys. What I mean is that +a good woman does her best work to home; mebby just by sayin' the right +word, or mebby by keepin' still or by smilin' cheerful when her heart is +breakin' account of her man goin' to war. + +"You can say all you like about patriotism, but patriotism ain't just +marchin' off to fight for your country. It's usin' your neighbors and +your country right every day in the week, includin' Sunday. Some folks +think patriotism is buildin' a big bonfire once a year and lettin' her +blaze up. But the real thing is keepin' your own little fire a-goin' +steady, right here where you live. And it's thinkin' of that little fire +to home that makes the best soldier. + +"He's got a big job to do. He's goin' to get it done so he can go back +to that there home and find the little fire a-burning bright. What do +some of our boys do fightin' alongside of them Frenchmen and under the +French flag, when they get wounded and get a furlough? Set around and +wait to go back to fightin'? I reckon not. Some of 'em pack up and come +four, five thousand miles just to see their folks for mebby two, three +days. And when they see them little fires to home a-burnin' bright, why, +they say: 'This here is what we're fighting for.' And they go back, +askin' God A'mighty to keep 'em facin' straight to the front till the +job is done." + +Dorothy, her chin in her hand, gazed at Bud. She had never known him to +be so intense, so earnest. + +"Oh, I know it is so!" she cried. "But what can I do? I have only a +little money in the bank, and father makes just enough to keep us +comfortable. You see, we spent such lots of money for those horrid old +doctors in the East, who didn't do me a bit of good." + +"You been doin' your share just gettin' well and strong, which is savin' +money. But seein' you asked me, you can do a whole lot if Lorry was to +say anything to you about goin'. And you know how better'n I can tell +you or your daddy or anybody." + +"But Lorry must do as he thinks best. We--we are not engaged." + +"'Course. And it ain't no time for a young fella to get engaged to a gal +and tie up her feelin's and march off with her heart in his pocket. +Mebby some day she's goin' to want it back ag'in, when he ain't livin' +to fetch it back to her. I see, by the Eastern papers Torrance has been +sendin' me, that some young fellas is marryin' just afore they go to +jine the Frenchmen on the front. Now, what are some of them gals goin' +to do if their boys don't come back? Or mebby come back crippled for +life? Some of them gals is goin' to pay a mighty high price for just a +few days of bein' married. It riles me to think of it." + +"I hadn't thought of it--as you do," said Dorothy. + +"Well, I hope you'll forgive your Uncle Bud for ragin' and rampin' +around like this. I can't talk what's in my heart to folks around here. +They're mostly narrow-gauge. I reckon I said enough. Let's go look at +that new saddle." + +"Isn't it strange," said Dorothy, "that I couldn't talk with father like +this? He'd be nice, of course, but he would be thinking of just me." + +"I reckon he would. And mebby some of Lorry." + +"If Lorry should ask me about his going--" + +"Just you tell him that you think one volunteer is worth four conscripts +any time and any place. And if that ain't a hint to him they's somethin' +wrong with his ears." + +Shoop rose and plodded out after Dorothy. Bondsman trailed lazily +behind. Because Shoop had not picked up his hat the big dog knew that +his master's errand, whatever it was, would be brief. Yet Bondsman +followed, stopping to yawn and stretch the stiffness of age from his +shaggy legs. There was really no sense in trotting across the street +with his master just to trot back again in a few minutes. But Bondsman's +unwavering loyalty to his master's every mood and every movement had +become such a matter of course that the fine example was lost in the +monotony of repetition. + +A dog's loyalty is so often taken for granted that it ceases to be +noticeable until in an unlooked-for hazard it shines forth in some act +of quick heroism or tireless faithfulness worthy of a greater tribute +than has yet been written. + +Bondsman was a good soldier. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +_Young Life_ + + +Ramon was busy that afternoon transferring mattresses and blankets from +the ranch-house to the new, low-roofed bunk-house that Waring had built. +Ramon fitted up three beds--one for the cook, one for an old range-rider +that Waring had hired when his men had left to enlist, and one for +himself. + +The partitions of the ranch-house had been taken down, the interior +rearranged, and the large living-room furnished in a plain, comfortable +way. + +As Ramon worked he sang softly. He was happy. The senora was coming to +live with them, and perhaps Senor Jim's son. Senor Jim had been more +active of late. His lameness was not so bad as it had been. It was true +the Senor Jim did not often smile, but his eyes were kindly. + +Ramon worked rapidly. There was much to do in the other house. The bale +of Navajo blankets was still unopened. Perhaps the Senor Jim would help +to arrange them in the big room with the stone fireplace. The senora +would not arrive until to-morrow, but then the home must be made ready, +that she would find it beautiful. And Ramon, accustomed to the meagerly +furnished adobes of old Mexico, thought that the ranch-house was +beautiful indeed. + +Waring ate with the men in the new bunk-house that evening. After supper +he went over to the larger building and sat alone in the living-room, +gazing out of the western window. His wounds ached, and in the memory of +almost forgotten trails he grew young again. Again in Old Mexico, the +land he loved, he saw the blue crest of the Sierras rise as in a dream, +and below the ranges a tiny Mexican village of adobe huts gold in the +setting sun. Between him and the village lay the outlands, ever +mysterious, ever calling to him. Across the desert ran a thin trail to +the village. And down the trail the light feet of Romance ran swiftly as +he followed. He could even recall the positions of the different adobes; +the strings of chiles dark red in the twilight; the old black-shawled +senora who had spoken a guttural word of greeting as he had ridden up. + +Back in Sonora men had said, "Waring has made his last ride." They had +told each other that a white man was a fool to go alone into that +country. Perhaps he had been a fool. But the thrill of those early days, +when he rode alone and free and men sang of him from Sonora to the +Sweetgrass Hills! And on that occasion he had found the fugitive he +sought, yet he had ridden back to Sonora alone. He had never forgotten +the face of the young Mexican woman who had pleaded with him to let her +lover go. Her eyes were big and velvet black. Her mouth was the mouth +of a Madonna. + +Waring had told her that it was useless to plead. He remembered how her +eyes had grown dull and sullen at his word. He told her that he was +simply doing his duty. She had turned on him like a panther, her little +knife glittering in the dusk as she drove it at his breast. The Mexican +lover had jerked free and was running toward the foothills. Waring +recalled his first surprise at the wiry strength of her wrist as he had +twisted the knife from her. If the Mexican lover had not turned and shot +at him--The black figure of the Mexican had dropped just where the road +entered the foothills. The light had almost gone. The vague bulk of the +Sierras wavered. Outlines vanished, leaving a sense of something +gigantic, invisible, that slumbered in the night. The stars were big and +softly brilliant as he had ridden north. + +The old wound in his shoulder ached. The Mexican had made a good +shot--for a Mexican. + +Out on the Arizona mesa, against the half disk of gold, was the black +silhouette of a horseman. Waring stepped to the doorway. Ramon was +seated just outside the door, smoking a cigarette. The southern stars +were almost visible. Each star seemed to have found its place, and yet +no star could be seen. + +"It is Lorry," said Ramon. "He has ridden far." + +Waring smiled. Fifty miles had not been considered a big day's ride in +his time. _In his time!_ But his day was past. The goddess he had +followed had left him older than his years, crippled, unable to ride +more than a few hours at a time; had left him fettered to the monotony +of the far mesa levels and the changeless hills. Was this his +punishment, or simply a black trick of fate, that the tang of life had +evaporated, leaving a stagnant pool wherein he gazed to meet the blurred +reflection of a face weary with waiting for--what end? + +Unused to physical inactivity, Waring had grown somber of mind these +latter days. Despite the promise of more comfortable years, he had never +felt more lonely. With the coming of Lorry the old order would change. +Young blood, new life would have its way. + +The sound of pattering hoofs grew louder. Waring heard the old familiar, +"Hi! Yippy! Yip!" of the range rider. Young blood? New life? It was his +own blood, his own life reincarnate in the cheery rider that swung down +and grasped his hand. Nothing had changed. Life was going on as it +always had. + +"Hello, dad! How's the leg?" + +Waring smiled in the dusk. "Pretty fair, Lorry. You didn't waste any +time getting here." + +"Well, not much. I rode down with Bronson and Dorothy." + +"Do you call her 'Dorothy'?" + +"Ever since she calls me 'Lorry.'" + +"Had anything to eat?" + +"Nope. I cut across. How's mother?" + +"She will be here to-morrow. We have been getting things ready. Let +Ramon take your horse--" + +"Thanks. I'll fix him in two shakes." + +And in two shakes bridle and saddle were off, and Gray Leg was rolling +in the corral. + +While Lorry ate, Ramon laid a fire in the big stone fireplace. Alter +supper Lorry and his father sat gazing at the flames. Lorry knew why he +had been sent for, but waited for his father to speak. + +Presently Waring turned to him. "I sent for you because I need some one +to help. And your mother wants you here. I won't urge you, but I can +offer you Pat's share in the ranch. I bought his share last week. You'll +have a working interest besides that. You know something about cattle. +Think it over." + +"That's a dandy offer," said Lorry. "I'm right obliged, dad. But there's +something else. You put your proposition straight, and I'm going to put +mine straight. Now, if you was in my boots, and she liked you enough, +would you marry her?" + +"You haven't told me who she is." + +"Why--Dorothy Bronson. I thought you knew." + +Waring smiled. "You're pretty young, Lorry." + +"But you married young, dad." + +"Yes. And I married the best woman in the world. But I can't say that I +made your mother happy." + +"I guess ma never cared for anybody but you," said Lorry. + +"It isn't just the caring for a person, Lorry." + +"Well, I thought it was. But I reckon you know. And Dorothy is the +prettiest and lovin'est kind of a girl _you_ ever seen. I was wishin' +you was acquainted." + +"I should like to meet her. Are you sure she is your kind of girl, +Lorry? Now, wait a minute; I know how you feel. A girl can be +good-looking and mighty nice and think a lot of a man, and yet not be +the right girl for him." + +"But how is he goin' to find that out?" + +"If he must find out--by marrying her." + +"Then I aim to find out, if she is willin'. But I wanted to tell +you--because you made me that offer. I was askin' your advice because +you been through a lot." + +"I wish I could advise you. But you're a man grown, so far as taking +care of yourself is concerned. And when a man thinks of getting married +he isn't looking for advice against it. Why don't you wait a year or +two?" + +"Well, mebbe I got to. Because--well, I didn't ask Dorothy yet. Then +there's somethin' else. A lot of the fellas up in the high country have +enlisted in the regulars, and some have gone over to Canada to join the +Foreign Legion. Now, I don't want to be the last hombre on this mesa to +go." + +"There has been no call for men by the Nation." + +"But it's comin', dad. Any fella can see that. I kind of hate to wait +till Uncle Sam says I got to go. I don't like going that way." + +"What do you think your mother will say?" + +"Gosh! I know! That's why I wanted to talk to you first. If I'm goin', I +want to know it so I can say to her that I _am_ goin' and not that I aim +to go." + +"Well, you will have to decide that." + +"Well, I'm goin' to--before ma comes. Dog-gone it! You know how it is +tryin' to explain things to a woman. Wimmin don't understand them kind +of things." + +"I don't know about that, Lorry." + +Lorry nodded. "I tell you, dad--you kind of set a pace for me. And I +figure I don't want folks to say: 'There goes Jim Waring's boy.' If +they're goin' to say anything, I want it to be: 'There goes Lorry +Waring.'" + +Waring knew that kind of pride if he knew anything. He was proud of his +son. And Waring's most difficult task was to keep from influencing him +in any way. He wanted the boy to feel free to do as he thought best. + +"You were in that fight at Sterling," said Waring, gesturing toward the +south. + +"But that was different," said Lorry. "Them coyotes was pluggin' at us, +and we just nacherally had to let 'em have it. And besides we was +workin' for the law." + +"I understand there wasn't any law in Sterling About that time." + +"Well, we made some," asserted Lorry. + +"And that's just what this war means. It's being fought to make law." + +"Then I'm for the law every time, big or little. I seen enough of that +other thing." + +"Think it over, Lorry. Remember, you're free to do as you want to. I +have made my offer. Then there is your mother--and the girl. It looks as +though you had your hands full." + +"You bet! Business and war and--and Dorothy is a right big order. I'm +gettin' a headache thinkin' of it!" + +Waring rose. "I'm going to turn in. I have to live pretty close to the +clock these days." + +"See you in the mornin'," said Lorry, giving his hand. "Good-night, +dad." + +"Good-night, boy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +_The High Trail_ + + +Black-edged against the silvery light of early dawn the rim of the world +lay dotted with far buttes and faint ranges fading into the spaces of +the north and south. The light deepened and spread to a great crimson +pool, tideless round the bases of magic citadels and mighty towers. +Golden minarets thrust their slender, fiery shafts athwart the wide +pathway of the ascending sun. The ruddy glow palpitated like a live +ember naked to the wind. The nearer buttes grew boldly beautiful. Slowly +their molten outlines hardened to rigid bronze. Like ancient castles of +some forgotten land, isolated in the vast mesa, empty of life, they +seemed to await the coming of a host that would reshape their fallen +arches and their wind-worn towers to old-time splendor, and perfect +their imageries. + +But the marching sun knew no such sentiment. Pitilessly he pierced their +enchanted walls, discovering their pretense, burning away their shadowy +glory, baring them for what they were--masses of jumbled rock and +splintered spires; rain-gutted wraiths of clay, volcanic rock, the +tumbled malpais and the tufa of the land. + +Black shadows shifted. That which had been the high-arched entrance to +a mighty fortress was now a shallow hollow in a hill. Here and there on +the western slope of the mounds cattle grazed in the chill morning air. +Enchantments of the dawn reshaped themselves to local landmarks. + +From his window Lorry could discern the distant peak of Mount Baldy +glimmering above the purple sea of forest. Not far below the peak lay +the viewless level of the Blue Mesa. The trail ran just below that patch +of quaking asp. + +The hills had never seemed so beautiful, nor had the still mesas, +carpeted with the brown stubble of the close-cropped bunch-grass. + +Arizona was his country--his home. And yet he had heard folk say that +Arizona was a desert, But then such folk had been interested chiefly in +guide-posts of the highways or the Overland dining-car menu. + +And he had been offered a fair holding in this land--twenty thousand +acres under fence on a long-term lease; a half-interest in the cattle +and their increase. He would be his own man, with a voice in the +management and sale of the stock. A year or two and he could afford to +marry--if Dorothy would have him. He thought she would. And to keep in +good health she must always live in the West. What better land than +Arizona, on the high mesa where the air was clean and clear; where the +keen August rains refreshed the sunburned grasses; where the light +snows of winter fell but to vanish in the retrieving sun? If Dorothy +loved this land, why should she leave it? Surely health meant more to +her than the streets and homes of the East? + +And Lorry had asked nothing of fortune save a chance to make good. And +fortune had been more than kind to him. He realized that it was through +no deliberate effort of his own that he had acquired the opportunity +which offered. Why not take advantage of it? It would give him prestige +with Bronson. A good living, a good home for her. Such luck didn't come +to a man's door every day. + +He had slept soundly that night, despite his intent to reason with +himself. It was morning, and he had made no decision--or so he thought. +There was the question of enlisting. Many of his friends had already +gone. Older men were now riding the ranges. Even the clerk in the +general store at Stacey's had volunteered. And Lorry had considered him +anything but physically competent to "make a fight." But it wasn't all +in making a fight. It was setting an example of loyalty and +unselfishness to those fellows who needed such an impulse to stir them +to action. Lorry thought clearly. And because he thought clearly and for +himself, he realized that he, as an individual soldier in the Great War, +would amount to little; but he knew that his going would affect others; +that the mere news of his having gone would react as a sort of endless +chain reaching to no one knew what sequestered home. + +And this, he argued, was his real value: the spirit ever more potent +than the flesh. Why, he had heard men joke about this war! It was a long +way from home. What difference did it make to them if those people over +there were being starved, outraged, murdered? That was their own +lookout. Friends of his had said that they were willing to fight to a +finish if America were threatened with invasion, but that could never +happen. America was the biggest and richest country in the world. She +attended to her own business and asked nothing but that the other +nations do likewise. + +And those countries over there were attending to their own business. If +our ships were blown up, it was our own fault. We had been warned. +Anyway, the men who owned those ships were out to make money and willing +to take a chance. It wasn't our business to mix in. We had troubles +enough at home. As Lorry pondered the shallow truths a great light came +to him. "_Troubles enough at home_," that was it! America had already +been invaded, yet men slumbered in fancied security. He had been at +Sterling-- + +Lorry could hear Ramon stirring about in the kitchen. The rhythmically +muffled sound suggested the mixing of flapjacks. Lorry could smell the +thin, appetizing fragrance of coffee. + +With characteristic abruptness, he made his decision, but with no +spoken word, no gesture, no emotion. He saw a long day's work before +him. He would tackle it like a workman. + +And immediately he felt buoyantly himself again. The matter was settled. + +He washed vigorously. The cold water brought a ruddy glow to his face. +He whistled as he strode to the kitchen. He slapped the gentle-eyed +Ramon on the shoulder. Pancake batter hissed as it slopped over on the +stove. + +"Cheer up, amigo!" he cried! "Had a good look at the sun this mornin'?" + +"No, senor. I have made the breakfast, si." + +"Well, she's out there, shinin' right down on Arizona." + +"The senora?" queried Ramon, puzzled. + +"No; the sun. Don't a mornin' like this make you feel like jumpin' clean +out of your boots and over the fence?" + +"Not until I have made the flapcake, Senor Lorry." + +"Well, go the limit. Guess I'll roust out dad." + + * * * * * + +Bud Shoop scowled, perspired, and swore. Bondsman, close to Shoop's +chair, blinked and lay very still. His master was evidently beyond any +proffer of sympathy or advice. Yet he had had no argument with any one +lately. And he had eaten a good breakfast. Bondsman knew that. Whatever +the trouble might be, his master had not consulted him about it. It was +evidently a matter that dogs could not understand, and hence, very +grave. Bondsman licked his chops nervously. He wanted to go out and lie +in the sunshine, but he could not do that while his master suffered such +tribulation of soul. His place was close to his master now, if ever. + +Around Shoop were scattered pieces of paper; bits of letters written and +torn up. + +"It's a dam' sight worse resignin' than makin' out my application--and +that was bad enough," growled Shoop. "But I got to do this personal. +This here pen is like a rabbit gone loco. Now, here I set like a bag of +beans, tryin' to tell John Torrance why I'm quittin' this here job +without makin' him think I'm glad to quit--which I am, and I ain't. It's +like tryin' to split a flea's ear with a axe; it can't be did without +mashin' the flea. Now, if John was here I could tell him in three jumps. +The man that invented writin' must 'a' been tongue-tied or had sore +throat some time when he wanted to talk awful bad. My langwidge ain't +broke to pull no city rig--or no hearse. She's got to have the road and +plenty room to sidestep. + +"Now, how would I say it if John were here? Would I start off with 'Dear +John' or 'Dear Old Friend'? I reckon not. I'd just say: 'John, I'm goin' +to quit. I tried to do by you what I said I would. I got a chanct to +bust into the State House, and I got a good reason for bustin' in. I +been nominated for Senator, and I got to live up to the name. I'm +a-goin' to run for Senator--and mebby I'll keep on when I get started, +and end up somewhere in Mexico. I can't jine the reg'lars account of my +physical expansibility and my aige, so I got to do my fightin' to home. +I'm willin' to stick by this job if you say the word. Mebby some folks +would be dissap'inted, but I can stand that if they can. What do you +reckon I better do?' + +"Now, that's what I'd say if John was here. Why in tarnation can't I say +it on paper? Lemme see." + +Bud filled a sheet with his large, outdoor script. When he had finished, +he tucked the letter in an envelope hurriedly. He might reconsider his +attempt if he re-read the letter. + +He was carefully directing the envelope when Lorry strode in. + +'"Bout time you showed up," said Shoop. + +Lorry dropped his hat on the floor and pulled up a chair. He was a bit +nervous. Preamble would make him more so. He spoke up quickly. + +"Bud, I want to resign." + +"Uh-uh. You tired of this job?" + +"Nope; I like it." + +"Want more pay?" + +"No; I get all I'm worth." + +"Ain't you feelin' well?" + +"Bully! I'm going to enlist." + +"Might 'a' knowed it," said Bud, leaning back and gazing at the newly +addressed envelope on his desk. "Got your reports all in?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, seem' you're quittin' for the best reason I know, I'm right glad. +You done your work like I expected. Your mother knows you're goin' to +jine the army?" + +"I told her yesterday. I've been at the ranch." + +"Uh-uh. How's your dad?" + +"He ain't so spry. But he is better." + +"Uh-uh. That young Mexican stayin' at the ranch with him?" + +"You couldn't chase Ramon away with a gun." + +"Uh-uh. Well, Lorry, I just been sweatin' out a letter tellin' John +Torrance that I've quit. I'm goin' to run for State Senator." + +"I knew they would land you. Everybody knew it." + +"So we're both leavin' the Service. And we're leavin' a mighty good job; +mebby not such big pay, but a man's job, that has been the makin' of +some no-account boys. For no fella can work for the Service without +settin' up and ridin' straight. Now, when I was a young buster chasin' +cow-tails over the country I kind of thought the Forestry Service was a +joke. It ain't. It's a mighty big thing. You're leaving it with a clean +record. Mebby some day you'll want to get back in it. Were you goin' on +up?" + +"I figured to straighten up things at the cabin." + +"All right. When you come down you can get your check. Give my regards +to Bronson and the little missy." + +"You bet I will!" + +Bud rose and proffered his hand. Lorry, rather embarrassed, shook hands +and turned to go. "See you later," he said. + +"I was going over to Stacey," said Shoop. "Mebby I'll be out when you +get back. But your check'll be here all right. You sure look like you +was walkin' on sunshine this mawnin'. Gosh, what a whoopin' fine place +this here world is when you are young--and--kind of slim! Now, Bondsman +and me--we was young onct. When it comes to bein' young or State +Senator--you can have the politics and give me back my ridin' legs. +You're ridin' the High Trail these days. + +"If I could just set a hoss onct, with twenty years under my hide, and +look down on this here country, and the sage a-smellin' like it used to +and the sunshine a-creepin' across my back easy and warm, with a sniff +of the timber comin' down the mawnin' breeze; and 'way off the cattle +a-lookin' no bigger'n flies on a office map--why, I wouldn't trade that +there seat in the saddle for a million in gold. But I reckon I would 'a' +done it, them days. Sometimes I set back and say 'Arizona' just to +myself. I'm a-lovin' that name. Accordin' to law, I'm livin' single, and +if I ain't married to Arizona, she's my best gal, speakin' general. +'Course, a little lady give me a watch onct. And say, boy, if she sets a +lot of store by you--why, you--why, git out of this here office afore I +make a dam' fool of myself!" + +And the genial Bud waved his arm, blustering and swearing heartily. + +Bondsman leaped up. A ridge of hair rose along his neck. For some +unknown reason his master had ordered Lorry to leave the office--and at +once. But Lorry was gone, and Bud was patting the big Airedale. It was +all right. Nothing was going to happen. And wasn't it about time for the +stage to arrive? + +Bondsman trotted to the doorway, gazed up and down the street, and came +back to Shoop. The stage had arrived, and Bondsman was telling Shoop so +by the manner in which he waited for his master to follow him into the +sunlight. Bud grinned. + +"You're tellin' me the stage is in--and I got a letter to send." + +Bud picked up his hat. Bondsman had already preceded him to the doorway, +and stood waiting. His attitude expressed the extreme patience of age, +but that the matter should be attended to without unreasonable delay. +Shoop sighed heavily. + +"That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." + +Halfway across the Blue Mesa, Dorothy met her ranger man. She had been +watching the trail. Lorry dismounted and walked with her to the cabin. +Bronson was glad to see him. They chatted for a while. Lorry would have +spoken of his father's offer--of his plans, of many things he wished +Bronson to know, yet he could not speak of these things until he had +talked with Dorothy. He would see Bronson again. Meanwhile-- + +A little later Lorry went to his cabin to take stock of the implements +and make his final report. He swept the cabin, picked up the loose odds +and ends, closed the battered piano gently, and sat down to think. + +He had made his decision, and yet--he had seen Dorothy again; touched +her hand, talked with her, and watched her brown eyes while he talked. +The Great War seemed very far away. And here he was at home. This was +his country. But he had set his face toward the High Trail. He could not +turn back. + +Dorothy stood in the doorway, her finger at her lips. Bronson was busy +writing. Lorry rose and stepped out. He stooped and lifted her to Gray +Leg. She sat sideways in the saddle as he led the pony across the mesa +to the veritable rim of the world. + +Far below lay the open country, veiled by the soft haze of distance. He +gave her his hand, and she slipped to the ground and stood beside him. +For the first time the tremendous sweep of space appalled her. She drew +close to him and touched his arm. + +"What is it, Lorry?" + +"You said--once--that you would wait for me." + +"Yes. And now you are here, I'll never be lonesome again." + +"Were you lonesome?" + +"A little. I had never really waited--like that--before." + +He frowned and gazed into the distances. It had been easy to +decide--when alone. Then he faced her, his gray eyes clear and +untroubled. + +"I'm going to enlist," he said simply. + +She had hoped that he would. She wanted to think that of him. And yet, +now that he had spoken, now that he was actually going--Her eyes grew +big. She wanted to say that she was glad. Her lips trembled. + +He held out his arms. She felt their warm strength round her. On the +instant she thought of begging him not to go. But his eyes were shining +with a high purpose, that shamed her momentary indecision. She pressed +her cheek to his. + +"I will wait for you," she whispered, and her face was wet with tears of +happiness. + +She was no longer the little mother and he her boy, for in that moment +he became to her the man strength of the race, his arms her refuge and +his eyes her courage for the coming years. + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Jim Waring of Sonora-Town, by Knibbs, Henry Herbert + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JIM WARING OF SONORA-TOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 12189.txt or 12189.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/1/8/12189/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Gene Smethers and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12189.zip b/old/12189.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee3e527 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12189.zip |